Jimin from BTS. Janelle Monáe. David Bowie. And three separate times, Little Women: (1994: Professor Bhaer; 2019: Jo; Book version: Laurie). Bettie Hughes.

“What am I looking at?”

“These are the people I find myself the most strongly attracted to.”

I stare at the graph. My name sits at the highest peak, twenty points above Jimin. Clear, irrefutable confirmation that Hall likes me.

It feels like my heart has turned into bubbles.

His brow furrows like a frenzied scientist boggled by his own creation. “Crushing has hit me with a vengeance, barreling out from around a corner to punch me right in the brain. But it seems that out of all possible personalities, my favorite type is you.”

Me.

Out of all of his favorites, I’m the very favorite. He’s been telling me all week that he thinks I’m spectacular. Giving me hugs, compliments, a kiss. The way he gazes at me as if I invented hot chocolate. I had to take his ardent attentions with a grain of salt, because he celebrates everyone like this. Which is a quality I adore about Hall, but it’s good to know that I’m special to him in a different way.

I feel my face break into a smile, but the balloon of big, happy feelings pops when I see that Hall doesn’t look pleased about this development at all. He isn’t smiling. Which . . . okay, I sort of get it if his attraction is reluctant. My life was a mess when he showed up. But it’s been steadily improving and, in my opinion, can only get better from here. He and I are good together. Our spark feels magical, distinctly Bettie-and-Hall; I don’t think either of us could replicate it with anyone else as a partner. We encourage each other to dream big, shoot for the moon, reaching out a hand when the other gets stuck, bringing the other down to earth whenever one of us gets too carried away—a perfect balance. Being with Hall is so fun, so easy, so just right. I never knew a dynamic could be like this. I always thought romantic relationships had to be dramatic battles dominated by tears and stress.

The graph disappears. “And that’s not all,” he goes on. “There’s so much I want to try. I’m thinking about everything I still haven’t done, and it’s got me in a panic. Look at this.” He summons a mug of coffee from thin air. Or not coffee, knowing him. “Red velvet creamer.”

I knew it.

“I love red velvet creamer. I love it with all of my heart. And peppermint mocha, sugar cookie, and gingerbread latte creamer. Not eggnog latte, though, it tastes too much like teleportation. But what about caramel apple? What about pumpkin spice?” His eyes are tormented. “They’re not on shelves anymore.”

“Can’t you magic some up?”

He shakes his head miserably. “It’s not the same. I want to try autumn flavors in autumn. Are there summer flavors? Spring? What is Coffee mate keeping from me?”