But if I’ve learned anything from the books I love to read, it’s that life is full of misunderstandings, raw emotions, and hard truths—and so are relationships. I’ve sometimes wondered if spending too much time lost in fiction has left me unable to face reality, but maybe it’s done the opposite. Maybe it’s been preparing me all along for this very moment: messy and complicated and real.

And now? I’m finally ready.

I look up at him. “I don’t want to go to dinner.”

“Oh,” he says, disappointment in his eyes. “I understand—”

“You have a room, right?”

He blinks. “At the hotel? Yes.”

“Then let’s go.”

I grab his hand and start marching back the way I came, no longer wobbling in my heels.

“Wait—what’s going on?” he says, tugging on my hand to turn me around.

“What’s going on?” I repeat, facing him. “This is the best news I’ve gotten in years.”

It takes a moment for that to hit him, but when it does, his entire face changes, confusion morphing into hope. “It is?”

“I’ve been an absolute mess, torn between RJ and Ryan, wishing I could somehow keep you both. So yes, we’re going to need to talk at some point, but all I can think of right now is picking up where we left off the other night.”

“I—” He shakes his head, a smile spreading across his face. “Then let’s go.”

We hurry down the sidewalk, hand in hand, grinning like kids on their way to the Scholastic Book Fair. When we reach the hotel, though, he starts tensing up, sneaking shifty glances at me in the elevator. And when we reach his door, he fumbles with the key card and drops it.

I stoop to pick it up, then pause and touch his cheek. “Hey. How you doing up there?”

He looks like he’s stuck his finger in an electric socket: eyes wide, glasses askew. “I’m having trouble believing this is happening. Is this happening?”

I hold the key card to the reader. “I sure hope so.”

The card registers, I turn the handle, and we both enter. And as the door clicks shut behind us, all his nerves swoop right into me.

It’s the sight of the bed, crisp and white, his suitcase open on the floor next to it, the cardigan and jeans he wore earlier draped over a chair, the warm glow of the lamp on the nightstand. The intimacy of it. We are alone in a hotel room and nothing is going to interrupt us.

“Hey,” he says, touching my cheek. “How you doing down there?”

“I’m…nervous,” I say.

“Why?”

“Because this matters to me.”

It never has before, I realize. Not with anyone else.

He’s looking at me with pure sweetness. “You know I’ve got you, right?”