Chapter 30
Ethan
I couldn’t believe how quickly the days went by.
One minute, Lily was spilling ideas across the counter like sparks; the next, the whole town had them caught and burning.
Racks showed up from the high school gym, mirrors from a neighbor’s garage, more string lights from Maggie’s attic.
Dresses came in by the armful—sequins, chiffon, silk, velvet.
The upstairs, usually nothing more than my quiet apartment and a storage mess, turned into something that looked a little like magic.
And it wasn’t just Lily. My guys pulled weight I hadn’t even asked for—Nate driving back and forth with his pickup, Ben smoothing out schedules, Matt making calls to track down a steamer.
Mom and Carol showed up without being asked, too, with baskets on their arms. They set up a folding table, lining it with lemonade, cheese cubes, and Carol’s famous lemon bars. “Can’t have dress fittings on an empty stomach,” Mom said, brushing me off when I tried to thank her.
By Thursday afternoon, we closed shop early to rearrange.
The bell stayed quiet, the OPEN sign flipped, while the two of us hauled racks, pushed bookshelves against the wall, strung lights until the whole upstairs glowed.
Lily had brought in a labeled mix CD—PROM PREP MIX scrawled in glitter pen—and the speakers pulsed Will Smith’s “Gettin’ Jiggy Wit It.
” She sang under her breath, hips swaying as she stretched lights across the ceiling, bopping in rhythm even when she was wrestling with extension cords.
At one point, she spun on her heel to hand me a roll of tape, hair catching the light, grin quick and infectious.
She moved through the space like she’d been born to transform it, calling out directions, twisting ribbon, fussing with details until it sang.
I mostly just followed her lead, steady hands where she needed them, but proud all the same.
Halfway through, Nate swung by, leaning on the doorframe with his usual grin. “Well, well. Didn’t know Calloway’s book nook doubled as a dance party.”
Lily laughed, perched on a stepstool to drape lights. “Tonight it does. You coming back for a fitting?”
Nate snorted. “Those days are behind me, Harper. Besides, prom memories? Got plenty. Like when Ethan here thought he could slow-dance in boots and nearly broke my date’s toes.”
Heat climbed up my neck. “That was your fault for double-booking two dances and shoving me in.”
Nate chuckled, unbothered. “Worth it for the look on your face.” He tipped his cap at Lily. “Good work, you two. Town’ll remember this.” Then he left us to it, laughter trailing down the stairs.
Silence settled once the door clicked. Lily climbed down from the stepstool, smoothing a sash on one of the dresses.
“You know,” I said, watching her adjust the hanger, “for someone who’s single-handedly reviving prom season in this town, I realized I don’t actually know anything about your prom.”
Her hands stilled, just for a second. “I… didn’t go.”
I blinked. “Wait. What?”
She tried to keep moving, sliding the dress onto the rack with a too-bright smile. “Didn’t go.”
“You?” I couldn’t stop the disbelief in my voice. “Lily Harper—boss of glitter, queen of color-coded chaos, life of every room she walks into—you’re telling me you skipped prom? You’ve been designing this whole boutique like you invented the concept, and you didn’t even go to your own?”
“Nope,” she said, popping the p and reaching for the next hanger like the conversation was already over.
But it didn’t make sense. Not for her. And the evasiveness crawled under my skin.
“That doesn’t track. Why not?”
Her jaw ticked. “Because I didn’t. Can you hand me that hanger?”
“Lily.” I moved closer. “That’s not an answer.”
She clipped the hanger harder than necessary. “And I don’t owe you one.”
That hit harder than it should have.
I exhaled sharply. “I’m not asking for your social security number. I just thought we were past the surface-level small talk by now.”
She froze. Slowly turned. “Oh, I’m sorry—did I not share enough of my tragic backstory during your crash-course field trip?”
My eyebrows shot up. “That’s not what I said.”
“It’s what you implied.” Her voice edged sharper. “Like if I don’t give you exactly what you want, you act like I’m doing something wrong.”
“What? No—Lily, that’s not—”
“Then why are you interrogating me?” She snapped another hanger onto the rack. “I said I didn’t go. End. Of. Story.”
“Because,” I said, heat rising in my chest, “I’m trying to get to know the real you, and you slammed the door in my face.”
That stopped her cold.
Her eyes flashed—hurt, anger, fear, all tangled so fast I almost missed it.
“The real me?” she echoed, voice low. “You think you get to decide when I share that?”
“That’s not what I—”
“You think you’ve earned that right? After one week of playing tour guide?” She threw up her hands. “You don’t get to demand pieces of my life like you’re owed something.”
“I’m not demanding anything,” I shot back. “I’m trying, Lily. God, I’m actually trying, and you make it impossible.”
She laughed—short, sharp, disbelieving. “You don’t get to be the wounded one here, Ethan.”
“Oh really?” My voice came out harsher than I meant. “Because I thought we were finally getting somewhere. I thought maybe—maybe—you trusted me a little.”
Her shoulders tensed. Her chin lifted. “Well, maybe you thought wrong.”
That hit like a punch.
Silence dropped between us—thick, brittle, dangerous.
Finally, she reached for another dress, voice clipped and cold. “Could you grab those string lights? We need another row for the mirrors.”
The smile she threw at me was thin as paper, meant to shut me down. And it worked. I bit back the questions crowding my throat, the urge to keep pushing. But frustration prickled anyway, settling heavy in my chest. Every time I thought she might let me in, she locked the door tighter.
“Fine,” I muttered, grabbing the box.
And so I worked beside her, the glow of the bulbs painting shadows on the ceiling, the scent of lemon bars wafting up from below, the sound of her humming under her breath masking the silence between us.
But the more I watched her, the more I felt the distance between us—a chasm I wasn’t sure how to bridge.
Was it better to back off? To let her guard remain intact?
I wanted to believe that opening up was possible, but each moment felt like a reminder of her walls.
Where did that leave us? The ache of unfulfilled connection tugged at me, and I wondered if I was chasing something that could never be.
It left me with a bitter taste of doubt, and as I glanced at her bright, careful smile, I couldn’t help but question if I was just a fleeting moment in her life or something more.
***
By the time the first kids started showing up, the bookstore and my apartment were completely unrecognizable.
The racks we’d hauled in gleamed under strings of soft lights, mirrors leaned against the walls, and a long table glittered with bowls of pins, tape measures, and little cards for signing up for volunteer hours.
Lily had swapped out her daytime playlist for something warmer—slow R&B, a touch of acoustic pop—music that smoothed over the nerves in the air.
The kids came in hesitant, shoulders hunched, eyes darting like they weren’t sure if they belonged. But Lily met them at the door with that smile of hers, wide and genuine, like she’d been waiting all day just for them.
“Welcome to the boutique!” she said, arms sweeping grandly toward the racks. “Every hanger here is waiting for its perfect match. Try on anything, everything—no rules except fun.”
Some of them still hovered, shifting from foot to foot.
I saw one girl glance at a dress, then look away quickly, like it was too much to even touch.
Lily caught it. She didn’t push—just wandered over, light as air, and said, “That one? Total Cinderella moment. If you don’t try it, I might have to.
” The girl giggled, shoulders loosening, and ten minutes later she was twirling in front of a mirror, cheeks pink, friends clapping.
Kayla was everywhere at once—darting between racks, holding up dresses, announcing each find like she was an emcee.
Jason hung closer to the volunteer sign-up table, acting like a security guard but sneaking smiles at her whenever she passed.
Together, the two of them were the kind of hype squad every event needed—cheering kids on, clapping at reveals, even snapping a few Polaroids we’d set out for fun.
More kids filtered in. Boys awkwardly tugging at suit jackets, trying to figure out ties, their friends heckling from the sidelines. Lily made them line up in front of the mirror and strut like they were on a runway. The laughter that followed shook the rafters.
And the whole time, she floated through it like she’d been born to do this. Adjusting a hem here, pinning a strap there, fetching snacks from the table Carol and Mom had stocked—cookies, brownies, punch. She never stopped moving, never stopped smiling.
And me? I mostly stood back, steadying racks when they swayed, tightening bolts on mirrors, keeping the punch bowl full. But I couldn’t stop watching her. Lily Harper, who swore she didn’t fit here, was weaving herself into Willowbrook one laugh, one welcome, one saved prom night at a time.
By the end of the night, the volunteer sheet was full of names—kids trading a few hours at Summerfest for a night they wouldn’t forget. Dresses were tucked into garment bags, jackets draped over shoulders. The chatter spilled down the stairs and out onto the street.
I should’ve felt nothing but proud. And I did. Proud of her, proud of my town, proud of what we’d pulled off together. But under all of it, there was this sharp little ache I couldn’t shake.
Because as much as she gave, as much as she lit up every room she walked into, there were walls she wouldn’t let down. I saw it in the way she dodged questions, turned conversations, smiled too brightly when something pinched.
And watching her now, bathed in string-light glow, I couldn’t help wishing—just once—I could see the real Lily Harper.