Harper’s still sprawled in the grass, fanning herselfdramatically. “If Micah had better coordination, we would’ve crushed you two.”
Micah laughs, brushing off his jeans. “If you hadn’t tackled me mid-run, maybe we wouldn’t have somersaulted into the finish line.”
“Details,” Harper mutters, waving him off.
I lean toward Ivy again, just enough that only she can hear me. “Raincheck on that kiss,” I murmur, letting my thumb brush her hand. “But fair warning, the second we’re alone, I’m cashing in.”
Her breath catches, and I smile, low and sure.
Before she can answer, Harper groans again. “Micah! You literally tripped me.”
“I did not,” Micah fires back, brushing himself off. “Your coordination is just trash.”
I chuckle, finally dropping my hand, though the heat of her lingers against my palm.
She steps back just slightly, cheeks flushed, but there’s a smile tugging at her lips. “I guess we won.”
I meet her gaze, softer now. Steady. “Yeah. I guess we did.”
By the time the last of the tables are cleared from the church lawn, the sun has already dipped low, painting the horizon in streaks of orange and gold. The August heat hasn’t given up yet, but in the evenings you can almost believe fall is on its way, and the lingering scent of cinnamon-spiced cider follows us as we lug everything back inside the fellowship hall.
I balance a cooler against my hip, pushing the door open with my shoulder while Ivy trails behind me, arms full of folded blankets. Olivia carries a half-empty jug of cider like it’s gold, and Micah shuffles through with a stack of folding chairs. Harper follows close, cinching a trash bag tight as if it personally offended her.
“Don’t drop that,” she warns Micah, eyeing the wobbling tower of chairs in his arms.
Micah arches a brow. “Relax, Harper. I’ve got it.”
“Famous last words,” she mutters, brushing past him to set her garbage bag down.
Ivy leans against the counter, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear as she smiles at Olivia. “They’re definitely going to fall for each other.”
Olivia grins, lowering her voice just enough for me to catch it. “Oh, for sure. You can practically feel the tension.”
I snort, dropping the cooler onto the linoleum floor. “Tension? That’s not chemistry—that’s a disaster waiting to happen.”
Ivy’s eyes light with mischief as she looks at me. “Or…it’s the start of something.”
“They argue about everything,” I say flatly, gesturing toward Harper, who is now lecturing Micah about how he stacked the chairs against the wall. “That’s not love. That’s war.”
Olivia smirks, stacking her empty cups neatly. “Sometimes those are the same thing.”
Ivy laughs, her shoulders shaking as she tries to stifle the sound.
Harper must hear, because she spins around, eyes narrowing suspiciously. “What are y’all doing just standing there? Some of us are actually working.”
Ivy lifts a folded blanket with mock innocence. “I’m working.”
Olivia raises the cider jug like evidence in court. “Me too.”
Harper doesn’t look convinced. “Then quit whispering and help so we can all go home before it gets dark.”
Micah walks by with that infuriatingly calm grin, clearly enjoying himself. “Bossy much?”
Harper whips around, glaring at him. “I’m not bossy—I’m efficient.”
“Sure,” he says, dragging out the word. “That’s what all the bossy people say.”
Ivy and Olivia erupt into quiet laughter again, and I have to turn away, hiding my grin behind the cooler lid I’m pretending to adjust.
