Paxton: NO. WAY. Are you serious???
Me: Yep.
Paxton: What’d you say?
Me: Nothing. Because I’m a chicken.
I rest my head back against the chair, the ocean a steady hush beneath my heartbeat. I’m still trying to convince myself it was the right reaction.
Paxton: WTF Cami!!!!
Me: I panicked! It felt too big. And we promised no falling.
Paxton: You’re ridiculous.
Me: Tell me something I don’t know.
Text bubbles bounce.
Paxton: But you’re also adorable. How’s it been since then?
I smile despite myself. Paxton’s always known how to snap me out of my own spiral.
Me: Normal. I mean, he told me I didn’t have to say it back until I’m ready.
That memory makes my throat tighten. Knox made it sound likefeelingit’s enough.
Paxton: He’s giving Prince Charming vibes.
Me: Right?! And the last two weeks we’ve been floating on an even larger cloud nine. Romantic dates, more summer festivals, sunset gazing under a cozy blanket, cooking meals together, toe-curling sexy times.
Paxton: I’m literally fanning myself. Please tell me he has a twin brother who makes bad decisions and appreciates a man who can keep up.
I chuckle, startling a seagull off the railing.
Me: I can’t imagine being without him.
Even through text, the words land heavy.
Paxton: What about those cute fur babies? You two splitting custody?
Me: We worked it out. I’ll explain when I see you.
Paxton: Alrighty. When do you land at JFK?
Me: Saturday around noon. My dad’s picking me up from the airport, taking me to lunch, then to the new apartment.
The thought makes my stomach twist. Saturday feels both forever away and yet way too close.
Paxton: We have to go out for drinksies. I found this cute bar in SoHo.
Me: I can’t drink…POTS, remember?
Paxton: MOCKTAILS babe. We’ll even have the tall, dark, and hot bartender (who I might have a teenie crush on) throw in umbrellas for flair. Saturday night? 8pm?
Me: Deal. I’ll text you my new address once I’m settled. Dad’s still convinced every Uber driver is a serial killer / kidnapper.
I set my phone back on the side table, sun dipping low, painting the sky in blush and gold.
