But the thing that stops me dead in my tracks is her hair.

It’s the first time I’ve seen Willow’s hair down, and looking at it makes me feel like the air has been sucked out of me. It’s long and shiny and it cascades down in chaotic waves that somehow seem to encapsulate her entire personality while also stealing every coherent thought I’ve ever had. Even more surprising is what’s woven through her hair, a crown made out of a willow branch interlaced with flowers. I have never, in my entire life, seen anything as beautiful as Willow is right now. And now I’m supposed to talk to her?

“Oh—” I stammer. Emma honks once, then pulls away, while I manage a sort of half wave behind my back.

“What did he say?” Poppy says from overhead.

“I think he said ‘Oh,’ ” Violet says. “Not a great opening line.”

This is a category one disaster.

Willow takes another step forward, making it easier to see her face. “You’re back.”

My heart leaps at that, but her voice is wrong. Plus, she isn’t smiling. Does she want me to be back? Emma said she was expecting me, so why does she look so unsure?

Mason, say something. I open my mouth, but words refuse to appear. Say literally anything.

“You look—” I stammer again. I almost say You look like the Andromeda Galaxy. The galaxy is stunning, with a pinkish hue and trillions of stars, but it’s too weird of a comparison, and besides, Andromeda doesn’t hold a candle to how beautiful Willow is tonight.

She seems to realize I’m not going to finish my sentence, and she drops her gaze. “Thank you.” She hesitates. “The aunts made me a crown. It has something from all the women in my family. It’s supposed to make me brave.” I can see Willow’s flush, even in the darkness. Her neck is suddenly pink.

“I…” It’s all I can manage. I look down, shuffling my feet a little. You can do this, Mason.

There’s a great cackling from up above. “He’s the one who needs the bravery crown! He’s tongue-tied.”

Kill me now.

Willow steps forward again, craning her neck upward toward the aunts. “Okay, that’s enough. You guys said you were going to give me some space.”

“Who said that?” Marigold demands. “I paid for a show.”

“There’s no show,” Willow says, flushing an even deeper pink.

“All right, girls, let them have their moment,” Violet says, and then the other two are herded away, the window banging shut behind them.

And now it’s the two of us. Me sweating profusely while she blushes profusely. This feels classic us.

Not that there is an us. I’m sure I’ve ruined my chances of that. Except, maybe she’s into second chances?