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Tomorrow would be about her, about giving her a night where she could just let go.

And hopefully, I’d make it one she wouldn’t forget.

SLOW DANCE IN A PARKING LOT

My mind lingered on the conversation and the strange warmth that had settled inside me. I loved how Wells seemed to just know what I needed without me saying a word. A night out, a little fun—who would’ve thought it would be so easy to let go?

I closed the door behind me and changed into my comfy clothes. The bed looked too inviting, and I couldn’t resist. I crawled under the covers, the softness of the sheets making it feel like I was sinking into a cloud. I grabbed the book I’d been reading and settled in, the quiet of the room wrapping around me like a cocoon.

It didn’t take long before the words blurred together, the fatigue of the past few weeks catching up with me. Slowly, my eyelids grew heavier, and the book slipped from my hands.

I woke up with a start, blinking at the soft light pouring in through the window. My eyes darted to the clock on the nightstand. It was almost eleven.

A groan escaped me, and I buried my face into the pillow. I’d definitely overdone it. I never slept this late, especially with so much to do. The guilt crept in quickly, but I couldn’t deny how good the rest had felt. I needed it. I deserved it.

I sat up, glancing out the window, and the sight that met my eyes made me smile. Wells was out in the garden, his sleeves rolled up as he tended to the vegetables, moving with that calm precision I had come to associate with him.

I let out a long breath, standing up and stretching as I pulled myself out of bed. The room still felt warm and cozy, but I knew I had to get moving. A quick shower would help wake me up.

A few minutes later, I stepped into my jeans and a simple T-shirt before heading downstairs. I paused by the door, catching one last glimpse of Wells in the garden, then walked outside, my footsteps soft against the porch.

“Oh hey, Sunshine.” Wells greeted me with a smile. He dropped a zucchini into the basket.

“Hi.” My voice felt a little groggy from sleep, but I was definitely starting to feel more awake.

“Did you get some good sleep?” He asked, turning to face me with that easygoing smile I’d come to love. He adjusted his hat so he could see me.

“Yeah, I feel a lot better. I’m ready to go out tonight. I wanted to see if you were in the mood for lunch?” I added, crossing my arms over my chest.

“What are you making?” His grin widened, and I could tell he was already imagining something delicious.

“Grilled cheese is about the extent of what I can do on my own.” I shrugged, laughing at how simple it sounded. But honestly, I wasn’t trying to impress him with anything fancy.

“That sounds great.” He said, the approval in his voice making me feel better about the idea of such a simple lunch.

“I’ll come get you when it’s ready.” I turned on my heel and went back inside.

“Don’t burn the house down.” Wells joked.

“I won’t!” I called over my shoulder.

I smiled to myself as I gathered the bread and cheese for the grilled cheese sandwiches. It was such a simple, small thing, but I couldn’t shake the feeling it was just another sign of how much I was starting to care about Wells. As I rummaged through the kitchen drawers in search of a spatula, I came across one I hadn’t opened before. My hand froze when I saw it—tucked neatly inside was the sour Skittles bag I’d sassily given Wells during our flight a few months ago. My heart skipped.

I couldn’t help but stare at the bag, a mix of surprise and warmth spreading through me. I hadn’t expected to see it here, tucked away in his kitchen. The bag looked slightly crumpled, evidence of it having been carried around and perhaps enjoyed more than once. I thought back to that flight—how heavy my world had felt then. Yet now, seeing that bag, it somehow felt like a little piece of our connection, still lingering.

I picked it up, my fingers grazing the faded label, then shook my head, chuckling softly to myself. “Of course,” I muttered under my breath. It was such a Wells thing to keep something like this, even though I had been awful to him on that flight and for a while after.

I turned the bag over in my hands for a moment before carefully setting it back in the drawer. It felt like the kind of small, unexpected gesture that meant more than I could articulate. I quickly snapped myself out of my thoughts, reminding myself that I still had grilled cheese to make. But a smile lingered on my face as I turned back to the stove, a quiet warmth settling in my chest.

Once I set the plates on the counter, I headed outside to let Wells know lunch was ready. As I stepped through the door, he was already making his way in, wiping his hands on a rag.

“Lunch ready?” he asked, his voice easy and familiar.

I met his gaze with a small smile. “It is.”

This all felt very domestic.

We sat down at the table, the scent of buttery, toasted bread filling the air as I slid a plate in front of Wells. He picked up his sandwich without hesitation, taking a big bite. I watched, waiting for his reaction, but he chewed thoughtfully, nodding to himself like he was genuinely impressed.