“Wanna hit the photo booth?” I ask, nodding toward the corner where it’s glowing with cheap neon charm.
Matty doesn’t answer– just grabs my hand and tugs me in that direction with a grin that already tells me I’m in trouble. We squeeze into the little booth, shoulder to shoulder, and yank the curtain closed behind us.
As soon as the countdown starts, he leans in with that ridiculous, heart-melting grin of his, looking every bit the charming bastard while I’m mid-silly-face. The camera flashes again and again, capturing a blur of crooked smiles, kissy faces, and one particularly dramatic pose where I pretend to swoon in his arms.
When the strip of photos slides out, I grab it first, laughing as I look it over. He looks way too pretty next to me pulling silly faces, the two of us ridiculously mismatched.
“Here,” I say, handing it over to him with a smirk. “Maybe instead of posters, you should get a pin board for your wall. Put up photos, mementos… stuff that makes it feel more like home.”
“Well you’ve been staying over a lot, and havingyouthere makes it homier,” he murmurs, tucking the photo carefully into his hoodie pocket like it’s something fragile.
I smile, shrugging one shoulder. “Yeah, well. We’ve already established that your room’s cleaner. Fewer death traps.”
He laughs. “I think your room has its own weather system.”
I roll my eyes. “There’s beauty in chaos, you know.”
“Oh, I know,” he says, a lazy grin spreading across his face. “Honestly, the mess doesn’t really bother me. It’s just gonna be a trip someday when we move in together.”
My heart skips a beat.
It’s not the first time the thought’s crossed my mind, but it’s the first time he’s said it out loud. And now that it’s out there, hanging between us in the arcade’s buzzing light and warm air, I realize I’ve kind of already assumed it– counted on it, even.I’ve slipped so easily into this life with him, falling asleep beside him, stealing his hoodies, teasing him about his obnoxiously organized bookshelf.
Somewhere along the way, I stopped wondering whether he’d stay
“I think,” I say slowly, “that living with you would mean I’d never lose another charger again.”
“That’s optimistic,” he laughs. “But hey, you’d never run out of coffee.”
I smirk. “Tempting offer.”
His hand finds mine, fingers curling between my own with an easy sort of certainty, like we’ve done it a thousand times and will do it a thousand more. He pivots so he’s facing me more fully, the overhead lights shining in his pretty blue eyes.
“I’m glad we found each other, Blair,” he says, his voice low and sincere. “No matter how weird or complicated it was. I’d do it all again.”
I swallow around the lump in my throat. “Yeah,” I murmur. “Me too. I never thought this would happen, but... now that it has?” I glance up at him, a soft smile curving my lips. “I wouldn’t change a thing.”
He leans in, and the kiss is soft– deeper than a peck but slower than a full-on make-out. It’s the kind of kiss that hums with something steady and real, the kind that makes you forget about the sounds and lights around you. Just for a second, it’s quiet. Just him. Just us.
When we finally pull apart, I’m breathless in the best way.
The future’s still waiting, but it doesn’t feel like pressure anymore. Just a path we’ll figure out together.
For the first time in a long time, I’m not running.
I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
epilogue
MATTY
“Shit,” I hiss, sucking my finger into my mouth and tasting blood. It’s the third time I’ve cut myself on one of these damn thorns, and at this rate, the scene I’m trying to set up is going to wind up looking more like a haunted house than a romantic gesture.Then again, maybe Blair would prefer that.
Grabbing for the box of tissues on the nightstand, I pull one out and wrap it around my finger, holding it tight to stem the bleed. I glance at the clock nervously as I give it a couple minutes to clot, mentally calculating how much time I’ve got left before Blair walks in.Not enough.
Tossing the bloodied tissue onto the nightstand to join the others, I resume the painstaking task of removing rose petals from the stems, scattering them over the white duvet on our bed. I’m so focused on dispersing them evenly that it takes a second for the scent of smoke to register.
Shit, shit, shit!
