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Ahead? With a board I was still learning how to use? “I mean…not really, but…”

“I’ll handle closing.”

“You’ve never closed before, Lauryn.”

“It’s not like it’s busy.” She hopped off the counter and gestured to our one customer in the back, who was bobbing his head along to “What Baking Can Do” from Waitress. “I’ll lock up at five and then count the money in the register and lock the drawer before I leave. Easy.”

“Easy”? “I guess I could get up early and set cues in the morning since we don’t have practice till later? Or wait, did we have something in the morning?”

“Eliza.” She put her hands on my shoulders. “Go have fun for once.”

Reed waited for me on the outskirts of town. Leaning against his truck, he smiled as I drove up and parked under a chestnut tree. He wore a white and dark-blue baseball tee over a pair of Nike shorts, and his Fulton Hawks hat sat backward on his head. Everything about him exuded confidence and comfort.

As for me, I never felt more nervous and excited in my entire life. My chest tightened. My hands shook the way they did when a curtain speech finished and I had to press my first cue. The difference was this: In the booth, I was in control. I set every mark, memorized each cue, and knew how each would affect the following moment. I knew the highs and lows of the story from the safety of the light board.

But here? Walking toward him? I was a principal on center stage delivering a monologue that I hadn’t rehearsed on opening night.

“Hi,” he said, his voice husky.

Maybe he was just as nervous as I was but better at faking it?

“Hi,” I barked.

Smooth, Eliza. Smooth.

He swallowed hard and scratched the back of his neck. “So I believe I owe you a slice of pie.”

“Yes, you do.” I smiled.

“Great.” He walked around to the passenger side of his truck and opened the door for me. His hand touched mine ever so lightly as I climbed inside. Warmth circled and coiled its way around my hand and wrist until he let go.

“How’s practice going?” I pushed my sweaty hands against my shorts.

“Pretty good.” He smiled at me, making my cheeks burn. “I’m getting more comfortable with my curveball. Gotta get used to throwing to Troy though—”

“Isn’t Ben catching for you?” I tucked one of my legs under the other.

“He is, but…” He drummed on the steering wheel. “He hasn’t really been himself lately. Coach wants to make sure Troy is ready.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry about.” He reached across the center console and squeezed my hand, sending little goose bumps up my arm. “This is between me and Ben. We’ll be okay.”

I opened my mouth and then closed it. Reed’s face looked sad. Pained. Whatever was going on between the two of them didn’t sound okay or anywhere close to it. But I had never lost a best friend before. Who was I to give him advice about it?

A few minutes later, he pulled into Jenny’s Diner, a place Robbie and I went to all the time when we were kids and old enough to ride bikes alone outside of town limits. Reed and I walked up together, and he looped his pointer finger through mine. It wasn’t a big gesture, not full-on holding hands or leading me by the small of my back, but it was something. He was something.

And it felt right.

We found a booth near the far side and sat opposite each other. A waitress handed us laminated menus and said she’d be back in a moment to take our orders.

My leg bounced wildly under the table. I couldn’t remember the last time I went on a date, but I don’t remember ever feeling this excited about it.

Reed cleared his throat and flipped over his menu. “Apple or cherry, Crowley?”

“Yes,” I said.

He laughed and lowered his menu. “Both it is, then.” When he smiled, the dimple that I once wanted to punch but now desperately wanted to kiss appeared and made me flush all over. But just as I reached across the table to lay my hand on his, the door to the diner opened, and the universe threw us the worst possible curveball ever.