"So I don't know. I just felt thispressure. To stop. Like something was going to go wrong. Or Morgan was going to burst in. Or someone would walk in on us and somehowI'dbe the one who got hurt."
The table is suddenly very quiet.
"Zoey." Avery's eyes are wet. "Honey."
Quinn squeezes my hand. "Listen to me."
I look at her.
"You are allowed to be wanted, babe. You're allowed to bemessyandneedyand enjoy every goddamn second of it." Her voice is fierce as always. "And if Colt Lane is the man who's trying to remind you of that… you let him in. You let himallthe way in."
I stare at Quinn, then at Avery, not knowing what to say.
Because I alreadyhavelet him in. The bakery. The hockey partnership.Morgan.
This is just the next step. The scariest one. The one I've been training myself for years not to take.
Thankfully, my phone buzzes on the table and breaks the tension.
I jump like it bit me, flipping it over and reading the message flashing on the screen.
Morgan: MOM. Isla's mom said yes!!! Please please please please please please please can I stay at the sleepover???
A photo loads beneath the message. Morgan and her 'BFF' Isla in matching Snow Leopards tees, cheek to cheek, both throwing peace signs.
I show the phone to Avery and Quinn, and their whole faces light up.
"Oh, you arenotsaying no to that," Avery says.
Quinn just snatches the phone from my hand.
"Quinn—"
I reach over, trying to yank it back, but she's already typing. "Yes, baby, have so much fun, love you, Mom xxx."
"Quinn, no!"
"Too late. Already sent."
They share a weird fist bump that reminds me of Colt's handshake with Morgan.
"I hate you both," I groan, pressing my hands over my face for the second time in fifteen minutes.
"Say yes, Zo." Quinn slides the phone back. "Sayyes. To whatever that beautiful hockey hunk wants. He's gone for you, and we know you are there too."
But then, just as I'm about to admit that they're right, the bell above the door slams open with enough force to rattle Harold's vintage espresso cups on their shelf.
"OH FOR THE LOVE OF—" Harold barks. "IT'S NOT A DRIVE-THROUGH, PEOPLE!"
Colt Lane is in the doorway, scanning the café like a man on a mission.
"Sorry, Harold!"
He's wearing a Snow Leopards hoodie, but his hair a mess. His cheeks are flushed and red, and his eyes lock onto me from across the room like a tractor beam.
"There you are!" He starts striding toward me. "Excuse me ladies, but Zoey, I need you.Now."
Avery makes a sound somewhere between a squeal and a delighted gasp.
