I was done breaking. I had spent the last month moving. If I wasn’t at school, I was at dance. If I wasn’t at dance, I was at work. If I wasn’t at work, I was helping Mom, sitting beside her during doctor’s appointments, watching the way Dad’s jaw clenched every time the specialists spoke in cautious, measured tones.

It wasn’t cancer. But it was something.

Multiple sclerosis.

A slow, creeping illness, unpredictable and unfair. Some days, she was fine—her smile steady, her hands firm as she brushed my hair back. Other days, she struggled to button her coat, her fingers refusing to cooperate, her legs weaker than they should have been.

It could get worse, or it could stay the same.

There was no way to know.

So I moved. I kept my hands busy, my body busy. Anything to keep from thinking too much.

Tiffany let out a sigh beside me, twisting her brown hair into a bun. “God, it feels like we’ve been waiting forever,” she groaned. “They’re milking this for tips.”

I snorted, taking another sip of my soda. “You’re the one who insisted we come here.”

“Because my car desperately needed it.” She adjusted her pink sunglasses, squinting toward the group of boys hosing down the next car over. “And because I deserve some male attention after my two-month-long dating drought.”

I rolled my eyes. “Please, you’re incapable of being single for longer than a week.”

Tiffany gasped, clutching her chest. “I am offended, Beverly.”

I laughed. “You should be. It’s true.”

Tiffany didn’t argue. She just huffed, her eyes flicking toward something over my shoulder. “Heads up. You’ve got an admirer.”

I frowned, glancing behind me. A guy was walking toward us, hands in his pockets, a lazy smile pulling at his lips.

He was tall, dark-haired, well-dressed in a casual, effortless way, and something about him tugged at my memory.

Then it clicked. He came to the movies almost every weekend. Usually with his friends, sometimes with a date. He was one of those guys who liked to lean against the counter, flash a wide grin, and charm his way into free extra butter on his popcorn.

What was his name?

Ryan? No.

Riley? No, that was my coworker.

Reese? Maybe.

“Well, this is a surprise.”

I wiped my hand on my shorts as he stopped a few feet away.

“Beverly, right?” he said, his voice smooth, confident.

He was good-looking. Objectively attractive.

Actually, he had the kind of face girls swooned over.

But I felt absolutely nothing.

Nothing in my chest, nothing in my stomach.

It was almost disappointing.

Still, I forced a polite smile. “Hey.”

Tiffany made a quiet, approving sound beside me.

“I knew I recognized you.” His smile widened just slightly. “You work at the movies, right?”

I nodded.

“You always look like you hate being there.”

I huffed a quiet laugh. “I do.”