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The teasing response sitting on the tip of my tongue disappears at the sincerity in his voice.

“I…” I glance away, suddenly incapable of looking at him. “I should go home.”

“Let me guess. It’s late again?”

My shoulders sag at the accusation beneath his words.

“I’m not running, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“Are you sure?” He takes a step closer.

Instead of answering, I wrap my arms around his neck, rise onto my toes, and kiss him.

“You want me to feel, so I will,” I whisper against his lips.

A slow smile spreads across his face as he wraps his arms around me.

“That’s all I needed to hear.”

He leans in to kiss me again, and I happily oblige, losing myself in the familiar feel of his lips against mine. It takes a considerable amount of willpower to finally pull away, especially when he tries to steal one more kiss.

“That’s enough for tonight. Don’t get greedy on me, Fletcher,” I say with a soft laugh, taking his hand.

“No promises.” He chuckles but lets me lead him down the sidewalk. Once we’re moving again, I slip my arm around his waist and tuck my hand into his back pocket, just like I used to when we were kids.

A quiet laugh rumbles out of him, breaking through the stillness of the night.

Apparently, some things are impossible to forget.

“So? Is there any reason in particular why I’m walking you home so early? Or did our make-out session exhaust you that much?”

“Cocky much?” I laugh. “No. It’s just…” I hesitate. “I’m writing a new book.”

“Really?” His entire face lights up. “Is it against some kind of author code if I ask what it’s about?”

“You can ask.” I bump my shoulder against his.

“Then tell me. I’m dying to know what new adventure Max Usher is taking her readers on.”

So I do. I tell him about the story and how it’s completely taken over my life. I tell him about my writer’s block and how, ever since I returned to Fairhope, the words have been pouring out of me faster than I can get them onto the page.

I tell him everything. Even how I’m not entirely sure how the story will end yet. Only that I know one thing for certain—my main character deserves a happy ending.

“Does that mean most of your stories don’t end with a happily ever after?”

I shake my head. “Aside from all the gore and spooky elements, my readers don’t really care if all the characters make it out alive or not. Usually, the only one left standing is the final girl. And even then, if it’s a series, her neck could be on the chopping block too.”

“The final girl?”

“Yep. She’s the character who endures all the hell I put her through. Remember all those slasher movies Sienna made us watch? There was always one girl who made it out alive.” I pause. “Scarred. Traumatized. But alive.”

“So that’s who you want to protect? In your book, I mean.”

I nod. “I like her. I think she deserves a better ending than just making it out of the clusterfuck I put her through. She’s been traumatized enough. She deserves—”

“Love?” Milo finishes for me.

“Yeah.” I look into his eyes. “She deserves to find love. Happiness. Peace.”