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She hesitated. I remembered the distance, and the fact that she still became cautious whenever personal details narrowed around her.

“Or we can meet at the restaurant,” I added. “Whatever makes you comfortable.”

“Meeting there might be better.”

“Then I’ll send you the address.”

“Okay. For the record, I’m glad you called,” she said.

“So am I.”

When we ended the call, I collapsed back on my bed, holding the phone, my palms still damp and my stomach still tight, though the feeling had changed entirely.

I felt seventeen again. She had said yes, and nothing in the world felt more important.

15

HUDSON

THE CARPET TRIED TO WARN US

I arrived at Golden Wok twenty minutes early.

I liked being early. It gave me time to park, check the reservation, locate exits, assess seating, and determine whether the restaurant had made any surprising changes since my last visit. Being prepared had practical value.

Golden Wok occupied the corner of an older shopping center beside a hardware store and a tax office that remained open year-round for reasons nobody understood. A red-and-gold sign stretched across the front, several letters faded from years of direct sun, but still glowing faintly. Inside, a decorative fountain near the entrance bubbled while two stone lions guarded an artificial bamboo plant.

The restaurant wasn’t elegant.

Sloane and I had discussed first-date expectations after I sent her the address. She admitted that formal dining made her anxious because every menu description seemed designed to test whether she understood ingredients rich people consumed. I told her Golden Wok had laminated menus despite being a buffet, served soft-serve ice cream beside the sushi station, and enforced no dress code beyond shoes.

Sloane: Finally, romance without foie gras.

Sloane: That is a real food, right?

Hudson: Technically.

I stood beside my truck and checked the parking lot. Eventually, her gray Honda Civic turned in from the main road.

My stomach clenched before the car reached the first row.

Sloane parked several spaces away, then checked her reflection in the rearview mirror. She adjusted her hair, rubbed the skin under one eye, and took a breath that lifted her shoulders.

I looked away before she could notice me watching.

Sloane stepped out of the car, dressed in dark jeans, ankle boots, and a green blouse with sleeves that gathered at her wrists. She’d left her hair down, the gentle waves moving around her shoulders in the breeze. She wore more makeup than usual, though not enough to conceal the adorable freckles across her cheeks and nose.

The sight of them brought back every thought I had managed to contain since movie night.

When she saw me, she smiled. That smile made everything around me seem irrelevant.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hey.”

We stopped several feet apart.

The almost-kiss lingered between us. So did the hug we’d shared and the fact that this wasn’t a family event.