Chapter 35 Sophie
SOPHIE
The second I push my door open, I barely get a step inside before—
“I KNEW IT!”
Ava’s voice hits me like a confetti cannon. She’s sitting cross-legged on my bed in pajamas, hair piled on top of her head, eyes practically glowing with anticipation. A half-eaten bag of gummy worms is open beside her, like she’s been waiting for this moment all night.
“God, Ava—” I start, laughing, but I don’t get another word out.
“Details,” she says, jabbing a gummy worm at me like it’s a microphone. “All of them. Right now. Now, now.”
I lean back against the door, cheeks still warm from what happened outside. “I just walked in.”
“Yeah, and I just heard you squeal like someone got you tickets to a Sloane Swift meet-and-greet, so don’t you dare pretend nothing happened.
” She narrows her eyes, bouncing on the mattress like an over-caffeinated detective.
“Spill. Start at the beginning. Was there hand-holding? Kissing? Did he walk you up? Tell me everything.”
I try to play it cool, but the smile spreading across my face gives me away instantly. Ava gasps like she’s just confirmed a royal scandal.
“Oh my God, you kissed,” she whispers dramatically, clutching her chest. “You kissed him again, didn’t you?”
I groan, covering my face with my hands. “You’re insufferable.”
“And yet you love me. Now. Talk.” She pats the bed beside her like an interrogation chair. “Don’t leave out a single thing like you tried to do last time.”
I toss my bag toward the chair and kick off my shoes, knowing there’s zero chance I’m getting out of this. Ava has that look—the one that says she’s prepared to camp out until sunrise if that’s what it takes.
“Okay, okay,” I say, raising my hands in surrender. “But you have to chill.”
“Chill?” She presses a hand to her heart like I’ve offended her. “Sophie Prescott, you just got walked up to your door by Beck Harrison—while holding hands—and you expect me to chill? I’m practically living on crumbs here. Start talking.”
I try to hide my smile but fail miserably. “Fine. After the game, there was the party. You already know about that kiss.”
“Oh, I know,” she says, leaning forward. “The way he was looking at you all night? Please. Even a blind squirrel could’ve seen it coming.”
I roll my eyes but keep going. “Today, we met up to work on our psych project, and then…we ended up spending the whole day together.”
Her brows shoot up. “The whole day?”
I nod, choosing my words carefully. “We went off campus for a while. It was…a lot, but good.” I skip over the visit to his mom’s facility entirely—some things aren’t mine to share. “And then he invited me to dinner with his family.”
Ava lets out a sound—somewhere between a gasp and a squeal—and grabs a pillow to hug. “You met his family?!”
“His stepmom, Caroline, his dad, and his little siblings,” I say, smiling at the memory. “They’re amazing. It felt like walking into a house that already knew how to make room for you, you know?”
She looks like she might actually combust. “And?”
“And…” I laugh, sinking onto the edge of the bed. “It was so good. Like I’d been there before. Joey wouldn’t stop talking, Alyssa made me promise to come back and play dolls with her. It was really sweet.”
Ava slaps my arm lightly. “You’re glowing.”
“I’m not glowing.”
“You are absolutely glowing,” she says, pointing accusingly. “And don’t think I didn’t clock that hand-holding moment outside. I was by the window. I saw it.”
My face heats instantly. “Ava!”
She squeals, clapping her hands over her mouth. “Oh my God, you kissed him again, didn’t you?”
I press my palms to my face. “Maybe.”
She tackles me with a hug, practically shaking me. “Sophie Prescott. You’re in it.”
“And then he walked me up to the dorm,” I finish, cheeks aching from smiling so much.
Ava is sitting cross-legged on my bed, wide-eyed, clutching a throw pillow like it’s the finale of a reality show. She just stares at me for a beat—then lets out a slow, dramatic exhale.
“You’re done for,” she declares. “Completely and utterly done for. This isn’t fake anymore. Not that I thought it ever really was, at least from your end. My girl, you were basically all googly-eyed from the get go.”
I bury my face in my hands. “Ava—”
“Nope. Don’t even try to deny it. He brought you to a family dinner. I don’t think someone that had no intention of pursuing a future with someone would do that, let alone Beck.”
I laugh, dropping my hands. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Ridiculously right,” she fires back, pointing at me with the authority of a gossip columnist who’s just broken the story of the year.
I shake my head, still smiling, and glance toward the clock on my nightstand. The numbers blink nine forty two. My stomach drops.
“Oh my God,” I whisper. “Movie night.”
Ava blinks. “What?”
“I was supposed to be here hours ago,” I groan, sinking onto the bed beside her. “You were waiting for me, weren’t you?”
Her face morphs from dramatic glee to exaggerated betrayal. “You ditched me for a boy.”
“I didn’t ditch you!” I protest, laughing. “It just…happened. I lost track of time.”
She crosses her arms, feigning a pout. “Unbelievable. Here I was, sitting alone in my pajamas with snacks, ready to watch more terrible rom-coms, and you were out having main character moments.”
I nudge her shoulder. “You’re being so dramatic.”
“I am dramatic,” she says proudly. Then she grins, all mock offense gone. “But seriously, if you ever keep me waiting like that again, at least text me a play-by-play. I almost started the movie without you.”
I laugh, leaning against her shoulder. “Next time, you’ll get live updates.”
“Good,” she says, popping a gummy worm into her mouth. “Because something tells me this is only the beginning.”
The trees lining the path are halfway between gold and bare, leaves crunching under our sneakers as Ava and I make our way toward the practice field. Cheer practice hasn’t started yet, but the football team is already out, whistles and shouted plays cutting through the afternoon.
“Tell me again why we agreed to practice outside when it’s basically Arctic conditions,” Ava mutters, tugging her hoodie tighter around herself.
“It’s sixty degrees,” I say, laughing.
“That’s basically freezing.”
I shake my head, but my gaze drifts toward the field before I can stop it.
Beck’s easy to spot—helmet tucked under his arm, jogging off to the sideline during a water break.
He looks flushed and focused, hair damp with sweat, the hem of his practice shirt sticking to him in a way that makes my pulse do a dumb little stutter.
He spots me almost immediately. His mouth curves into that slow, easy smile that still hits me in the stomach every time.
“Oh God,” Ava says under her breath. “Incoming hottie alert.”
I roll my eyes, but she’s not wrong.
Beck jogs over, slightly out of breath but grinning. “Hey,” he says, his voice warm, sweat coating his forehead and what I can see of his arms in a very, very attractive way that somehow has me forgetting proper English.
“Hi,” I manage, tucking my hair behind my ear to give my hands something to do to keep myself from attacking him on the field. After all, he’s not a big fan of PDA, and we haven’t really talked about that since everything has changed.
“Hey, Beck,” Ava cuts in, already scheming. “Can I borrow your practice jersey this weekend?”
His brows lift. “Why?”
“For Sophie’s costume,” she says, like it’s obvious.
Beck’s grin widens as his gaze flicks to me. “Oh yeah? And what exactly is Sophie’s costume?”
“None of your business,” I say quickly, trying, and failing, not to blush.
He chuckles. “Fine. You can borrow it.”
Before I can say thanks, a voice cuts across the field.
“Let’s go, Romeo! Break’s over!” Logan’s shouting, of course, and a few guys hoot in the background.
Beck groans under his breath but he’s still smiling. “I’ve gotta get back.” He leans in, pressing a brief kiss to my lips. It’s over in a heartbeat, but heat floods my cheeks anyway.
“I’ll talk to you later,” he says, backing away.
“Yeah,” I say, maybe a little too dreamily. “Later.”
He jogs back toward the huddle, Logan still yelling something I can’t quite make out. The cheer girls around us don’t miss a thing—they burst into teasing and supportive catcalls the second he’s gone.
“Okay, Sophie!”
“Get it, girl!”
“Look at you!”
Ava fans herself dramatically. “I swear, this is better than any movie night.”
I try to hide my smile, but it’s useless. The grin’s already there.
My laptop is open on the bed, wedding spreadsheets pulled up in a mess of tabs—guest list, seating chart, last-minute vendor confirmations.
Claire’s face fills the corner of my screen, hair pulled into a low bun, a mug of tea in her hand.
She looks exactly like a bride who’s been living off caffeine and checklists for the last month.
“Okay,” she says, tapping something on her end. “We’ve got the bakery confirmed, the florist locked in, and Mom finally stopped trying to add more people to the guest list—miracles do happen. Now we just need to finalize the rehearsal dinner menu.”
“Right,” I say, though my eyes flick down to my phone lighting up next to the laptop.
Beck: missed seeing you after practice today.
Beck: you hiding from me, Prescott?
I bite back a smile, quickly typing a reply.
Please. I could see you from the mats. You were too busy running in circles to notice.
A few seconds later:
Beck: is that what we’re calling it now, pretty girl? I’m offended.
“Soph. Earth to Sophie,” Claire says, waving a pen at the screen.
“Sorry,” I say quickly, straightening up. “Rehearsal dinner menu. Got it.”
She narrows her eyes. “Uh-huh. What’s got you grinning like that?”
“Nothing.”
“Mhm.” She leans closer to the camera, smirking. “It wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain football player, would it?”
Heat creeps up the back of my neck. “You’re ridiculous.”
“You’re blushing,” she counters, laughing. “Oh my God, you are. You’ve barely looked at me this whole call. Who’s texting you?”
My phone buzzes again.
Beck: guilty. I was looking at you during warmups. try to act surprised.
I press my lips together, but a smile still slips through. “No one,” I lie, terribly.
Claire bursts out laughing. “Oh, this is so good. Sophie Rae, I haven’t seen you smile like that in a long time. Spill. How’s it going with the football player?”
I pick at the corner of my notebook, trying to play it cool. “It’s…good.”
“Good,” she echoes with a grin. “I’ll take that. And judging by your face, it’s actually really good.”
I shake my head, but my cheeks are warm, and my phone keeps lighting up, Beck firing back with flirty replies that make it hard to focus on centerpiece placements and salad options.
Claire watches me for a moment, her smile softening. “I like this version of you,” she says quietly. “Happy looks good on you, Soph.”
I duck my head, smiling into the glow of the screen. “Yeah,” I murmur. “It feels pretty good too.”
Claire’s still smiling at me like she knows exactly what’s going on, but then she straightens and taps the edge of her pen against her notebook. “Okay. While you’re floating off in football land, I actually planned for this emergency.”
I blink. “What emergency?”
She grins, smug. “The boy emergency, obviously. I sent you an updated seating chart earlier—check your email.”
I flip to the browser tab and open my inbox. Sure enough, there’s a new PDF titled Final Reception Layout – Updated. I click it, and my stomach does a little flip when I spot it: my name, front and center at one of the long tables…with Beck listed on one side of me and Ava on the other.
“Claire,” I say slowly, looking back at the screen. “What is this?”
She leans back in her chair, all too pleased with herself. “I figured you’d cave and bring him eventually. Might as well be prepared.”
“I haven’t asked him,” I blurt out. “I don’t even know if he’d want to come. Or if he has a suit. Or—Claire.”
She laughs, waving her hand like I’m being ridiculous. “Soph. If he makes you happy, he’s welcome—no matter what he’s wearing. Honestly, I don’t care if he shows up in jeans. You’re my sister. If someone’s important to you, they’re important to me.”
My throat tightens just a little, unexpected warmth settling in my chest. “Claire…”
She shrugs, softer now. “I can tell this matters to you. He matters to you.”
I glance at my phone lighting up again—another flirty text from Beck—and try to tamp down the smile tugging at my mouth. “Maybe,” I say quietly.
“Maybe,” she mimics, grinning. “Okay, Miss Maybe. You’ve got three weeks to figure it out. But the seat’s his if he wants it.”