I huff a quiet laugh. “Weren’t we already doing that?”
Before he can reply, the waitress returns, gathering our empty plates with a bright smile. “Can I interest you in dessert? We’ve got a special tonight.”
Ryan and I glance at each other for half a second, speaking silent words, then nod in sync. “Yes, please.”
“Perfect,” she says. “It’s on the house. For the newest couple.”
“Well,” Ryan says smoothly, “that’s very sweet.”
“Thank you,” I add, biting back a grin.
The second she walks away, we both laugh quietly, shoulders shaking, still sitting way too close. Our knees are brushing every time one of us moves and I prop my chin on my hand, leaning a little toward him. “This is working a little too well.”
Ryan leans in too, voice low. “Should we start charging for autographs?”
“Yeah, next thing you know they’ll build a statue of us.”
He smiles and neither of us moves back.
Ryan pulls up in front of my house and cuts the engine. As we walk up the path, the porch light clicks on, bathing everything in soft yellow.
“I’ll get the next one, by the way,” I say, nudging my keys free from my purse. “Then it’s on me.”
Ryan’s brows lift. “Next date? You really can’t go that long without me, huh?”
I shove lightly at his chest. “Oh, shut up.”
A quiet laugh slips out of him, easy and warm. “Don’t worry about it.”
“You sure?” I ask.
“Yeah. I’ve got it.”
I snort. “Thank you.”
And now we’re just standing here. My brain scrambles. What do I do now? Do I hug him? No. That feels weird. Too much. Do I wave? No. That's worse. I settle for the safest option.
“Well,” I say. “Uh—thanks. For tonight.”
He nods, placing his hands into his pocket. “Yeah. You too.”
I turn toward the door, fingers already on the handle, when he adds, almost casually, “You looked really nice tonight.”
I pause, then glance back. “Thanks.”
He gives me a small, warm smile before turning around. “Goodnight, Mads.”
“Night, Ry.”
I step inside, closing the door behind me, and through the window I watch him walk back to his car before pulling away.
“Hey, Cinderella.” Noah’s voice drifts in from the kitchen. I follow the sound and find him perched on one of the bar stools, one elbow propped casually on the counter. He looks up at the flowers, then back at me with a slow smirk. “Had fun at the ball?”
I roll my eyes, slipping past him toward the cupboard. “Hilarious.”
I grab the first vase I find and carry it over to the sink, carefully filling it with water before placing the lilies inside.Their pale petals fan out softly as I adjust the stems, trying to make them sit right.
Right then Dad strolls into the kitchen. He slows when he notices the flowers, his gaze settling on the vase.
