He feeds dollar bills into the slot and presses the right buttons. I lean against the side of the machine as it whirs to life, retrieving the plastic bottles and dropping them down with two solid thunks. It’s cool and quiet here. After today’s whirlwind, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be. Tonight, I’ll sleep easily in the luxe hotel bed, and tomorrow we’ll all book our flights to Tokyo. This doesn’t feel real. It’s unbelievable, somehow, that after all these years, I’m finally going to the Olympics. Everything is falling into place. Or, rather, almost everything.

Ryan bends down to pick up the drinks and hands me one, interrupting my train of thought.

“Thanks,” I say.

He starts to open his bottle, but I stop him.

“Wait,” I say, reaching for his hand.

“Yeah?” he asks.

I kiss him before I can lose my nerve, sliding my arms over his shoulders and pulling him toward me. I can feel the muscles in his shoulders tense for a split second, and I lean back, but then I see a dimpled smile spreading across his face.

“Come here,” he says softly. “I like that.”

We find our way back to each other tenderly. His hands brace my hips, and soon, our lips fall into rhythm together. I’ve spent so many months aching to be close to him, and from the way his mouth moves against mine, it’s clear that he’s felt the same way. He kisses me deeply, and it just feels so right.

“I didn’t expect that,” he mumbles into my hair.

“I didn’t plan on that,” I explain.

“I’m glad it happened, though,” he says earnestly.

“Me, too,” I say.

I didn’t know it was humanly possible to feel more relief and happiness than I’ve already felt today, but I’m so glad that my gut instinct was right—he wanted that kiss as much as I did. Ryan takes the Gatorade out of my hand and places both bottles on the linoleum floor by our feet so that he can kiss me again. It’s perfect.

“Look, I know I messed up—” Ryan starts, but I shush him with another kiss.

“There’s no need to keep apologizing,” I say, wrapping my hands around his waist.

“No, hear me out,” he insists. “I never stopped caring about you.”

He speaks slowly and fiercely, giving each word the weight it deserves.

“I didn’t say it before because I was an idiot, but the past few months have made me realize exactly how I feel,” he continues.

I go very still, even as my heart races. His dark eyes search mine.

“Avery, I love you,” he says.