“Okay.”

He lowers his head. His lips find mine.

His arms wrap around me and pull me into him. I drag my arms to his neck and entwine my fingers through his hair.

The moonlight streams through the sidelights on either side of the door. Our shadows against the floor show a couple in a sweet embrace.

A couple in love.

His breath is warm, tinted with the chocolate from his milkshake. He presses his lips against mine as if with every movement he’s telling me something.

I kiss him back, emboldened by the way I melt into his body and the tenderness with which he holds me. And I wish, for a fleeting moment, that this could be an everyday thing.

Cole breaks the kiss. He pulls back just far enough to look into my eyes.

“Good night, Palmer,” he says.

I blow out a breath that’s just as fueled by relief as it is disappointment.

“Good night, Cole.”

He grins and then lets himself out.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE COLE

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

COLE

You’re up early.” Mom stops in the kitchen doorway and tightens her robe around her. “Is everything all right?”

I smile, even though I don’t know if everything is all right or not. It feels better than all right, and that makes me wonder if nothing is actually right at all.

The thoughts that I’ve volleyed back and forth all night, the mental game of Whac-A-Mole that I’ve played over the last few hours, are nutty.

I’ve paced the floor. I went for a jog and nearly sprained my ankle in the predawn haze. I grabbed a shower, sent two emails to Scott, and then left a message at my doctor’s office.

Finally.

But the movement has helped clear my head. The decisions that I’ve been so hesitant to make, the ones that I’ve felt so unsure about, have become obvious. I can’t really explain why things are so apparent to me now, and I don’t know what it was about spending my evening with Palmer and Ethan that really cemented how I feel and what I want for my future—but maybe it’s not just one thing.

Maybe it’s two things. Two very specific things. Two very specific people.

“Coffee?” I ask, reaching into the cupboard for a mug.

“Yes, please.” Mom’s voice is tinged with suspicion as she sits at the table. She takes the steaming mug I offer her. “You didn’t answer my question.”

I sit down beside her. “Everything is good, Mom. Great, actually.”

She grins. “Are you going to make me press, or are you going to just tell me what’s going on?”

“I don’t know. Watching you not know is kind of fun.”

She smacks my arm.

“I’m just kidding,” I say. “I just had . . . let’s call it a ‘quiet epiphany’ last night.”