Page 4

The point is, showing up to the formal really means something, it’s not just an excuse to throw on a dress and take pictures. It’s showing you’re worth bigger things than you have now. And whereas I adore the shelter, I would hate to miss the chance at something this big.

The door chimes again, but I don’t have to look up to know who it is—it’s 1:07.

1:07 p.m. on the dot every day means here comes Rowen.

“Sorry, I’m late.” I mouth the words as my boss speaks them and smile to myself. He’s never truly late, not when I know exactly when to expect him.

He sheds his jacket at the door and hangs it on the coat rack. It’s not super chilly yet, only the third week of September, but there’s been two days of a light nip in the air, and that means it’s fall to everyone in the South.

“Oh.” He grabs a flyer. “Are we advertising for Zeb’s CBD store?”

I snort. “No, it’s the Winter Formal flyers.”

Rowen lifts up a flyer to his face and squints. “Well, if it wasn’t an ad for weed gummies, then they missed a great collab opportunity.”

He tosses the flyer back in the box and slips around behind the counter.

“Do you mind if I put some on the bulletin board?” I ask.

Rowen shakes his head as he logs in his timesheet on the one and only computer we have here. It’s at least twice my age, but he refuses to get anything else, despite the fact that you have to forcefully slap the monitor when it glitches every few minutes.

I grab two flyers and go to pin both sides of the paper on our half-full bulletin board, covered in competing hair stylist business cards and a “take what you need” paper by the Rocket BBQ for a free side of bacon cheese fries. All the strips are gone except one. Rowen says he’s saving it for a rainy day, but I’m pretty sure it’s expired by a year minimum.

My eyes constantly trail the line at the bottom of the flyer where a QR code rests:

RSVP for you and your special one.

The thing is, I could ask a number of close male acquaintances to take me as a friend. Heck, even Odelia would go with me. Going alone isn’t the problem—the problem is, I know what I’m truly seeking. And it’s not for a friend to just match his tie to my dress and drop me off at nine o’clock. I want love. Passion. I want chemistry and hand-holding and giggling and side-eye glances and the kind of soft heat that comes from another person’s touch.

I want everything I read about. Love and romance and yearning and stories to tell future grandkids. And sure, maybe it’s fiction, but does that make the possibility of it happening to me any less real?

I say no.

Impossible things happen daily—case in point, I saw a groundhog chew his way through a metal door at the auto parts store downtown just two days ago.

My phone dings in my pocket, and once I’m satisfied with the flyer’s position, I yank it out to read the notification.

Well, speaking of impossible things…here they are.

Mom: How’s my little darling?

My heart leaps at the chance to text her; if I don’t answer while I have her attention, it will go unread for weeks or months, so I respond immediately.

Felicity: Doing all right, senior year has been good so far!! I’m still working at Happy Tails!

Mom: Sounds lovely, I was considering a visit soon. Do you think you can make some time in your wonderfully busy schedule?

Felicity: Just name the day, I can do whenever!

She reads it immediately, text bubbles come up and fall back.

“Flick!” Rowen calls from the back. “Did Nigel get into the cat food again?”

I hiss a curse as Mom answers right back, How does Thanksgiving sound?

“One second!” I holler and try to keep the steadiness in my hands together.

I’m aware most families have Christmas or Fourth of July or…I don’t know, Flag Day, as their favorite holiday, but Thanksgiving has been our thing for as long as I can remember.