It’s my mom. In the house.

My brain is having a hard time reconciling these two things together.

One minute I’m completely wrapped up in Mason, prepared to spend the absolute rest of my life kissing him, the next I’m in a full-fledged panic, reality hitting me starkly in the darkness.

My mom knows I’m here. And it isn’t going to be pretty.

Mason freezes, his hands firm on my waist, his posture hypervigilant. I don’t want him to get in trouble. Not when he was helping me.

“Go up on the roof,” I say. “I’ll keep her busy while you climb down.”

For a split second I see him think it over, then he shakes his head calmly. Firmly. “I’m not leaving you here.”

“Willow? Mason?” my mom yells. She’s on the stairs now.

Too late anyway. I remember the spell on the roof, the circle. Panic courses through me. If she sees it, she’ll know exactly what it is, and I’ll never spend time here again. “Don’t tell her what we were doing.”

“Kissing?” I can see his smile in the darkness, and for one moment I completely forget about the impending doom headed toward me in the form of Mary Haverford.

A laugh bursts out of me and I raise my fingers to my lips. Mason’s smile grows. “I meant casting spells. But don’t tell her that either.”

“Or… we could run away together?” I know he’s joking, but his voice has this perfect vulnerable edge to it, and before I know it, my mind kaleidoscopes me forward into a series of images. Me burrowed in my bed while I talk on the phone to Mason deep into the night. Me visiting Mason on a busy college campus, his sweatshirt tied around my waist. More ladder situations.

For once I can see something concrete in my future that isn’t travel. It’s him. Mason is going to be part of my future, no matter what is about to happen.

“Mason—” I start, but I don’t know how I’m going to tell him that, if I should tell him that, but the words are crowning up in my throat. How do I tell him Everything in my future feels fuzzy except for you?

It’s way too soon for that. But here’s the thing: It wouldn’t scare him. I know it wouldn’t. Because it’s Mason.

“It’s going to be okay,” I finally manage.

“Willow.” The door flies open and the room floods with light. For a moment Mason and I blink at each other before turning to look at my mom in the doorway. She is wearing her usual tailored blazer, her hair smooth. When she sees me, her shoulders round forward, her body sagging in relief.

“Mom,” I say weakly.