Reid shakes his head, but he’s smiling. “I really don’t.”

“Where’s my present?”

Reid rolls his eyes. “Shut up.”

He tosses me a small box wrapped in blue menorah paper. It is jewelry box–size, which unleashes a sort of panic I’ve never quite felt before. To distract myself I reach into my oversized sweater pocket and pull out my small gift.

“You have a present too. From me.”

Reid starts laughing. “Wait, seriously? I’ve been so stressed out that this is weird.”

“I mean… it is weird.”

Reid opens his present first, a customized reed case that I found during one of my more pathetic Etsy spirals. It says REID’S REEDS on the back because, well, I write, I can’t resist wordplay. Standing here, watching him open it, seeing his face—like he’s shocked that I’m capable of being thoughtful.

He smiles so big. “I love it. Thanks. Open yours.”

My present is not jewelry, thank God. It’s a key chain with two enamel charms—a flame and a director’s slate. They’re metal and flat, both engraved on the back. MELTED: THE MUSICAL on the flame charm and the date of opening night on the back of the slate. I’m probably making the same face as Reid right now, because it’s somehow perfect.

I wrap my arms around my knees. “Thank you.”

“You could do it,” Reid says. “Write and direct, for real. If you want to.”

My heart swells. My parents have told me this for years, but in a very wish upon a star and dreams can come true way. When Reid says it, I believe I can do it, for real. Reid doesn’t speak words he doesn’t mean, at least not to me. He never could.

I open my mouth to say something, but instead of speaking words my mouth is on his mouth, oops. Except it doesn’t feel like an oops, like our first kiss. This kiss is softer, intentional—his hand cups my cheek, and mine are in his hair, finally. Kissing Reid feels so good it’s, like, why did we spend all these years fighting when we could’ve been doing this?

It’s probably Melted brain, most likely the rush from a week of great rehearsals and seeing our show come to life for the first time that’s stirring all these feelings up out of nowhere. I’ve been convinced that after it’s over, things will go back to the way they were. It’s why we’ve been doing the work—so Reid can have his band back and I can direct non-musical dramas and we never have to work together again.

But… I think I’m going to miss it. I think I’m going to miss him.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

After the two-week intermission that is winter break, the countdown to Melted is on.