I lost Jules once.
I’m not about to let that happen again.
"Well," Pearla clicks her tongue, adjusting the sleeve of her sweater. "I have to run the cake walk. Better head over there and get it started."
"Good luck," I say as she heads toward the gymnasium, though my attention never strays from Jules.
She’s in her element, soaking in the endless praise from passing teachers and parents. The decorations, the atmosphere, the little details only she would think to include. She’s the reason this festival feels like magic. And she graciously accepts every compliment, even though she never seeks the spotlight.
I’m tired of watching from a distance. I move toward her, slowly, deliberately. My pulse pounds harder with every step, but I don’t hesitate.
As if she senses me, she turns—just slightly—and catches my approach. Her lips twitch with the faintest smile before she looks away, but I see it. She’s happy I’m here.
That’s all the encouragement I need.
I step in behind her, my presence pressing close enough that she instinctively leans back just enough to let me know she’s aware of me. Jules can say whatever she wants, let her mind twist itself into knots, but her body never lies.
She wants me.
She always has.
My hand finds the small of her back, fingers grazing the soft fabric of her sweater. Her breath catches as she turns to face me, those hazelnut eyes darkening as they lock onto mine.
"Corbin!" Greta, Tate’s teacher, greets me brightly. “Have you seen all of Jules’ decorations? They’re amazing!”
"They are," I confirm, not looking away from Jules.
She meets my gaze, and her tongue flicks out to wet her lips.
My pulse trips.
She’s nervous. Good. She should be. Because I’m done playing this game.
"She’s a talented painter," I add, my voice dropping an octave.
More people chime in, throwing out compliments like confetti.
“And Tate’s snake costume! You’re beyond talented, Jules.”
“Just phenomenal, really!"
Jules tries to focus on them, but we’re in a world of our own. My thumb traces slow circles against her back, and the black pupils in her hazelnut eyes widen.
She feels it, too.
The spell breaks when Greta clears her throat. “There’s a line of kids waiting,” she announces. “We should let Jules get to work.”
Jules blinks, her cheeks turning a shade of pink I’d give anything to feel warm beneath my lips.
I smirk, stepping back, but not before dragging my fingers lightly along her back one last time. "I’m going to check on Tate," I tell her. "He and Leo are in the bounce house."
She nods, still looking a little dazed. “Don’t let him eat too much cotton candy.”
"I know, I know," I chuckle. "He’ll puke it all up."
She shivers dramatically. “I’ve had enough puke after that stomach bug he had a few weeks ago.”
Her expression shifts, turning thoughtful. I know exactly what she’s remembering.
