Epilogue 1 Sabrina
The gym smells like popcorn, punch, and too much cologne.
Heart-shaped balloons float above our heads, swaying beneath the glittery streamers that crisscross the ceiling.
A DJ in a red hoodie is blasting throwback love songs that have the seventh graders awkwardly slow dancing while the eighth graders pretend not to care.
And here I am—technically off duty, since this isn’t even my class—but volunteering as a chaperone anyway, because I couldn’t leave Miss Tyler and Coach Higgins short-staffed.
Also, because well, at the time I signed up I thought I’d need the distraction.
Valentine’s Day has always been a little complicated for me.
Until now.
Theo walks beside me, towering and broad, ridiculously handsome in his black button-down and sleeves rolled to the elbows.
He’s helping me collect stray cups from the edge of the dance floor, grumbling about sugar highs and unsupervised punch bowls like he’s not also the hottest man in the room.
I glance up at him and whisper, “I’m sorry.”
He stops in his tracks and looks down at me with that furrowed brow of his.
“Sorry for what?”
“I just—I feel bad. I know you probably wanted to do something romantic or normal. You know, not spend Valentine’s Day surrounded by hormonal pre-teens and heart-shaped confetti.”
He sets the cups on a nearby table and takes my hand.
“Angel, that’s nonsense. I just want to be wherever you are. Doesn’t matter if that’s on top of the Eiffel Tower, eating at Tavern on the Green overlooking Central Park, or in the living room in our jammies watching reruns of Stranger Things.”
My heart melts. Again.
God, how is he mine?
And just when I think he can’t possibly top that, he smirks and takes his phone out of his pocket.
“Which reminds me—I got you something.”
My phone pings.
“A Present?”
I blink, pulling it out of my pocket, and swipe open the message. It’s a link.
Zillow.
A listing.
I squint at the picture and feel my knees go a little weak.
It’s the house.
My dream house.
The one I drive past all the time on the edge of Verona with the wraparound porch, the garden boxes, and the big, sunny kitchen I’ve always fantasized about baking in.
“What the—what is this?” I ask, breathless.
“It’s ours,” he says simply. “Got the keys this morning.”
My jaw drops.
He steps closer, his voice low and husky.
“So, you about ready to make an honest man of me?”
I squeal.
Actually squeal.
And then I throw myself into his arms.
Lucky for me, Theo catches me like he was built for it.
Strong arms around my waist, spinning me in a circle as a few eighth graders groan and pretend to gag in the corner.
We dance there—beneath paper hearts and strobe lights, surrounded by shy preteens and tired teachers—and I swear the world melts away.
Yeah, it smells like gym socks and fruit punch.
But this?
This is the best Valentine’s Day I’ve ever had.
And I already know every one after this is only going to get better.
As long as he’s there.
And we’re home.
Together.