Chapter 17
April
Ithink I’ve met every single person in Cloudcroft tonight, and I’m completely smitten. Not just with the town, but with the way it makes me feel—welcome, at home, as if the world paused just long enough for me to step inside it.
There’s music playing from a Bluetooth speaker. Streamers flapping overhead. Someone’s passing out sodas from a cooler labele.
“FRED’S BIG NINE-OH.”
I’ve danced, I’ve held a baby I didn’t know, three separate women have offered me banana pudding, and through it all—every hug, every twirl, every laugh—I’ve kept half an eye on Max. He’s across the restaurant now, helping clean up.
Not because someone asked him to, but because that’s who he is. He’s tossing empty paper plates into a trash bin, stacking cups, nodding politely as Lori talks his ear off beside him. He’s trying. Even though this is clearly not his comfort zone. Even though I’ve learned small talk and strangers and a chicken-themed birthday party are not his idea of a dream night.
Still… he stayed, and when our eyes meet, I freeze mid-step, cupcake in hand, and my cheeks burn with something soft and sweet and downright terrifying. He gives me the smallest smile, half exhausted, half amused, and I bite back a grin and turn away like a total coward.
What is happening to me?
I shake it off and spin toward the center dance floor, where, somehow, Peaches is now waddling through the crowd like she’s officiating the music. People part around her like she’s royalty. Naturally, I reach for my phone and start taking pictures—first of Peaches strutting past a pile of balloons, then of the little girl with a glittery headband chasing after her.
When Fred sweeps Peaches off the ground and cradles her in one arm, I switch to portrait mode.
“Fred!”
I call.
“Can I get a picture of you and Peaches?”
“You sure can”
he says, straightening his sash.
I snap a few photos, then walk over to show him.
He withdraws a pair of glasses from his back pocket, perches them on the end of his nose, and squints at the screen.
“Well, damn. What are you, some kind of professional photographer?”
“Something like that,”
I say with a shrug.
Shortly after, Lori and Max join us while Fred holds the phone up proudly.
“Look, honey. She made me look ten years younger.”
“Ten?”
Lori grins.
“I’d say fifteen. Maybe twenty if I squint.”
“Want me to take one of the three of you?”
I offer once Fred hands me back my phone.
Lori practically squeals.
“Yes, please! Come on, Fred. Hold Peaches like she’s our prom date.”
I step back as they pose—Fred in the middle, Peaches nestled in his arms, and Lori’s loops her arm through his. They’re ridiculous and wonderful.
I lift my phone and take the shot, then a few more just in case. When I glance over my shoulder, Max is standing a few steps behind me, with his hands in his pockets. His expression is unreadable, but I swear there’s a softness there that wasn’t there before—a quiet kind of awe.
And I feel it too.
As I lower my phone, the music cuts out. Someone dims the string lights overhead, and a hush falls across the courtyard as a massive cake with ninety candles flickering and an overabundance of frosting is carried out from the far end. Fred stands tall beside it, Peaches tucked under one arm, with a party hat still standing tall on his head, and then the entire town starts singing.
Not like a polite hum, but a full, joyful, off-key choir of people who’ve probably been singin.
“Happy Birthday”
to Fred for decades. A few harmonize, someone claps wildly off rhythm. A little boy lets out a lou.
“Cha Cha Cha.”
Max is watching it all with a baffled kind of reverence—his brows lifted slightly, lips curved in the faintest smile, eyes tracing every detail as though committing it to memory. There’s a stillness in him, a quiet that says he doesn’t want this moment to end.
When the song finishes, Fred raises one hand.
“I’m not a man with many wishes,”
he says, voice crackling through a tiny microphone someone must’ve handed him.
“But I do have one tonight.”
Lori turns toward him, smiling.
“I want to dance with my favorite girl.”
She covers her mouth, gushing, even though I’m certain he’s probably said this every year for the last several decades.
“And,”
Fred continues, glancing around the crowd.
“I think every man in this room should invite their girl to dance too.”
Then his gaze lands on Max. The look is subtle, barely a pause, but it’s enough. Enough to warm my cheeks and have me forgetting how to breathe.
Fred hands Peaches to the sheriff and offers his hand to Lori, who takes it like it’s still 1963 and they’re in matching saddle shoes.
As the first notes o.
“Wonderful Tonight”
by Eric Clapton drift through the speakers, the whole town seems to exhale at once.
Fred and Lori move to the center of the dance floor, slowly swaying. Their bodies move with a careful rhythm, steady and sure, never missing a beat. Their hands meld together. Around them, other couples follow. People rise from chairs. Laughter fills the air. A sea of swaying bodies, gentle shoulder squeezes, and quiet murmurs shared between people who have known each other a lifetime.
Then I feel that pull. Max’s eyes on me. I turn, and he takes a small step forward, hesitant, like the question’s already hovering in the air between us.
“Would you dance with me?”
My heart trips over itself, and I nod.
“Yeah. I would.”
I place my hand in his, and just like that, we’re moving. Slowly, carefully, and I am hyperaware of how fragile the air between us has become.
The song is soft and familiar. The kind of love song that gets played at weddings, anniversaries, and for slow dances in the middle of living rooms. His hand rests at my waist, and mine settles on his shoulder. It’s tense—not in a bad way, just... uncertain. Like we’re both trying to figure out how close is too close, how far is too far, and what exactly is this.
Then something clicks, and we settle. Like our bodies were meant to fit together in this exact way. As if his palm was always meant to rest right there on my back. Like this moment has been waiting for us to arrive.
“I never got to thank you for the shirt,”
he whispers in my ear.
“It was a really thoughtful gift.”
I smile against his shoulder.
“I never thought it would lead us to Cloudcroft’s party of the year, but… here we are.”
He laughs. Quiet and warm, and without even thinking, I lay my head on his chest. His heartbeat is steady, calming; the world could swirl around us, and I’d still be okay right here.
We sway, and when the song ends, we don’t stop. Not right away. We stay like that for a few extra seconds, locked in place while the rest of the dance floor shifts into a new rhythm. Something faster, something bouncier. But neither of us move until I glance up and ask.
“Are you ready to head back?”
“Only if you are.”
“We’ve got a long drive tomorrow, we should probably rest.”
He nods.
We say our goodbyes to Fred and Lori, who are now sitting side by side, sharing a slice of cake while Peaches naps between them.
“Thank you for letting us crash your birthday,”
I say, smiling.
“It wouldn’t have been a proper party without you two,”
Lori says, glowing.
“Do you mind giving me your address? I’d love to mail you a copy of the photos I took.”
“Oh, honey, that would be wonderful.”
She digs into her purse, pulls out a floral notepad, and scribbles down her address with a flourish.
I wave to the rest of the townies as Max offers to pay for the sodas we ordered, but he is declined, so he hands the waitress a tip instead.
We start our walk back to the motel, and the town is quieter now. The lights are still twinkling. The moon is full and soft. There’s a hush to the night that feels sacred. I lean toward Max, partly for warmth, partly because I want to, and of course, he notices.
“I knew the temperature would drop,”
he says.
“I should’ve brought a sweater for you.”
“You didn’t have to, but that’s really sweet.”
We walk in silence for a few seconds, our shoulders brushing, our steps falling in sync. Then—right as we pass under a stretch of fairy lights still strung since possibly last Christmas— Max slows and turns to me slightly, and in that moment, I feel it. Something careful. Something charged with all the things we haven’t said yet.
“April?”
“Yeah?”
“Tonight was…”
He pauses, as if searching for the right word.
“Really good.”
“Yeah,”
I whisper. “It was.”
He doesn’t reach for me, he doesn’t have to. I know in the way his gaze lingers, in the way he’s memorizing this version of me under the moon light, in a town we’ll probably never see again, and I think—for a breathless second—he’s going to kiss me.
But he doesn’t. He simply steps closer and gently bumps his shoulder into mine. Like a promise we’re not done.
Not yet.
We make it back to the motel, quiet and content. Max walks me to my door and says goodnight with a smile that might ruin me. I close the door behind me and lean against it for a second to catch my breath.
Then I kick off my shoes, peel off my T-shirt, and swap it for the shirt I’ve been wearing to sleep in. I brush my teeth, wash off the glitter someone dusted me with at some point, and collapse onto the bed with a sigh.
When I grab my phone from the nightstand, I finally see the notifications.
Battlefield ???????
16 unread messages.
I scroll up until I find the last ones.
MAY
You think she’s dead or getting railed by the handsome stranger?
JUNE
I think she might have died from the rail she’s been needing for a year.
I snort so hard I nearly choke on air and immediately start typing.
ME
Very mature of you both to talk about your OLDER sister behind her back.
MAY
look at her talking in third person. must be alive.
JUNE
Or freshly ghost-railed.
ME
We accidentally went to a stranger’s 90th birthday party.
I met a chicken named Peaches.
And I danced with the hottest guy in the room.
That’s what I’ve been up to.
Three dots appear almost instantly.
I set the phone on my chest and stare at the ceiling, smiling like a complete idiot, and for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel like I’m running out of time. I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.