The past few weeks they’d spent as much time together as possible. He almost always had at least one event to attend while he was in L.A. for the weekend, often more, but other than that, he was with her almost the whole time. They’d been at her place and at his, at the movies and at the beach, and one rainy Saturday night when they were both in bad moods, he’d ditched his previous idea for a date, told her to put on all the rain gear she had, and drove them out to Anaheim for four glorious hours at Disneyland, where the rain cleared up just in time for the fireworks. They got in the car afterward, soaking wet and freezing cold and both smiling from ear to ear.

He’d kept waiting for her to respond in some way to what he’d said that night at the bowling alley, but she hadn’t. Their night at Disneyland had been the perfect time for it—they’d held hands on the roller coasters, they’d walked around with huge smiles on their faces, they’d stood, arms wrapped around each other, during the fireworks, and he’d known the entire time that he was no longer falling in love with her—he’d fallen completely. But she hadn’t said anything, so he didn’t bring it up again.

Did she feel the same way? He had no idea. He tried to be mature about this, to not feel hurt, but he couldn’t help it. Sometimes he just wanted to say “I love you, Olivia! Do you love me?” When he’d shown up at her house wearing a red wig, she laughed so hard she’d cried, and then she looked at him with this tender, loving look in her eyes, and he was sure she was going to say it. She hadn’t, but that look from her gave him hope.

It felt like a physical ache, how much he missed her, how much he would miss her even more in the days to come, how much it would suck to get on that long flight back to California on Friday morning and know he wouldn’t see Olivia at the other side of it.

He tried to shake it off. This wasn’t a big deal. He’d see her the following week; it would be fine.