Chapter 32
Ethan
Time had a funny way of playing tricks on me. One minute, I was a nervous wreck, counting down the days to prom; the next, I was standing in front of the mirror, trying to remember how to tie a damn tie.
The man in the mirror looked older than I felt—late twenties in a suit meant for someone who had it all figured out.
Black shirt, charcoal vest, jacket pressed so crisp you could cut yourself on it.
But my hands wouldn’t stop fidgeting, smoothing fabric that didn’t need smoothing.
Because the truth was, I wasn’t just getting ready to chaperone a high school dance. I was getting ready to see Lily again.
And that scared me more than I cared to admit.
All week, she’d been lighting fuses I didn’t know were still there. I’d been dragging through my days for months—just me, the shop, my routines—but then she came in like a storm.
And just as quickly, she’d shut down when I asked about her prom. One second, she was laughing, tossing glitter into the air like it was oxygen, and the next she was stone. Just clamped the door shut and locked it from the inside.
And I hated it.
I hated that I wanted to know what was behind that door. Who she’d been before Willowbrook. What had carved those sharp edges into her, and what she kept tucked away where no one could see.
Because she made it easy for everyone else. She lit up a room, charmed kids into volunteering, spun dreams into plans like it was nothing. But with me? The second I brushed too close, she walled me out.
And maybe I should’ve left it there. She wasn’t mine to figure out.
She wasn’t staying. By the end of the summer, she’d be gone, back to her big-city life with her magazines and her high-fashion friends, and I’d still be here, same as always.
That was the deal. That was the smart way to think about it.
So why the hell did it feel like every time she shut me out, I lost something I didn’t even know I needed?
I stared at my reflection, jaw tight, tie hanging loose around my neck, and admitted the thing I hadn’t said out loud yet: it mattered because somewhere along the line, Lily Harper had stopped being just a guest in my town.
I straightened my tie and grabbed my jacket. Time to stop thinking and start moving.
I stopped by Mom’s place before heading out. Prom might belong to the kids, but dinner belonged to Mom.
She opened the door before I could knock, smiling so wide it knocked the breath out of me. “Well, don’t you look like your father.”
I blinked, throat tight. “Thanks, Mom.”
She welcomed me inside, where the kitchen smelled like tomato basil—her soup simmering in the pot—but I held up the paper sack from Joni’s. “Burgers. Couldn’t let you just have soup.”
She laughed, swatting my arm. “Always taking care of me. You should be getting ready for your dance.”
“It’s not my dance, Mom,” I said, plating her food.
“Funny,” she replied, settling at the table, “you look just as nervous as you did for yours.”
“Yeah, well, mine wasn’t exactly legendary.”
Mom’s smile went soft and mischievous. “Oh, I don’t know about that. You were the only boy in town who showed up with a corsage made from Carol’s lilacs because you forgot to preorder one.”
That made me choke out a laugh.
We ate slowly, swapping stories about the boutique—about Kayla darting from mirror to mirror with a fistful of safety pins, coaching younger girls, and squealing every time she saw another girl come down the stairs in a dress that fit just right, about Jason running “security” at the door with a clipboard and his best serious face until he tripped over a tangle of extension cords.
“You sound lighter,” Mom said finally, leaning her chin into her palm. “Your dad would be proud of you, Ethan. I am too.”
The words landed harder than I wanted them to. I didn’t know how to explain Lily, or what showing her Willowbrook had done to me—how it had woken something up I thought I’d buried with him. So I just kissed Mom’s cheek, washed the plates, and promised to stop by tomorrow.
The truck was quiet on the ride to the high school. Too quiet.
I let my thumb find the worn groove in the wheel.
“Well, Dad,” I muttered, eyes on the road, “I’m in a suit, heading to prom, and it’s not even mine this time.
” My throat tightened. “Mom thinks I’ve got my spark back.
Not sure if it’s true or if it’s just Lily making me forget for a while.
But I’ve been… alive this week. And I missed that. ”
The stoplight turned green, and I drove on.
***
The high school gym had undergone a complete transformation—no longer just four walls and a basketball court, but a wonderland of streamers cascading from the ceiling, twinkle lights woven through everything, and balloons floating like constellations against the dark backdrop.
I could feel the music before I even opened the doors, the steady thump-thump-thump vibrating through my fingertips as I pushed my way inside.
Nate spotted me first, waving me over with his bow tie already undone and a grin that said he’d been thriving in a building full of twenty-something teachers. A pair of first-year English teachers drifted past, and he sent them a wink that nearly made them trip over their heels.
Ben, meanwhile, was at the coat check, corralling a swarm of freshmen like he was running airport security. And Matt had planted himself near the speakers, arms folded, eyes narrowed—patrolling the dance floor like the DJ might break a law at any moment.
Sarah stood with him, lipstick immaculate, tapping her watch.
“Where are my girls?” she groaned. “If Rachel and Maggie bailed on chaperone duty, I am leaving.”
“They’re coming,” Matt said. “There was probably a hair emergency.”
Nate wandered over, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just told a couple of the new teachers I went to prom in this gym. They looked at me like I’d said the word rotary phone. Turns out not the flex I thought it was.”
Ben joined us, shaking his head. “You walked right into that one.”
We all cracked up and, for a second, it felt like we were seventeen again—same gym, same lights, same dumb nerves—just with better suits and creakier knees.
We were still laughing when Jason edged over from the punch bowl, his tie crooked, fingers tugging at the knot like it was choking him. “Uh—hey. You guys got a second?”
Ben clapped him on the shoulder. “What’s up, champ?”
Jason’s voice dropped. “So… Kayla. Do I, like, ask her to dance right away, or wait? I don’t wanna screw it up.”
Matt grinned. “Son, overthinking is the screw-up.”
“Just be confident,” Sarah added. “And tell her she’s pretty.”
Nate leaned in, deadpan. “And definitely don’t spill punch on her dress. Learned that the hard way.”
Jason’s ears went pink. He nodded like he was storing each note in a vault. “Okay. Right. No punch. Pretty. Confidence.”
“Relax,” I said, surprising myself. “She already said yes to prom. That means she wants to be here with you. Just… enjoy it.”
Jason exhaled like I’d just handed him a cheat code. “Thanks,” he muttered, then hurried back toward the dance floor, straightening his tie again.
The DJ’s voice crackled over the speakers, promising something slow for the next dance. Then the first chords of Edwin McCain’s “I’ll Be” filled the gym, soft and soaring, pulling everyone’s attention toward the door.
And that’s when she walked in.
Lily Harper.
The gym lights caught on the sapphire silk clinging smooth down her frame, the color so deep it looked like midnight had melted just for her.
Her hair—soft waves framing her face—was styled half-up, loose strands cascading over her shoulders, and when she laughed, the sound wrapped around me like a melody I didn’t know I needed to hear. It was simple. Stunning.
Conversations faltered. Even the kids, half-distracted by their own drama, turned to look. But all I could do was stand there, rooted, as if the song had been written for this exact second—for her.
I swear my chest actually ached. It wasn’t just that she was beautiful. It was the way she made the room come alive. In that moment, the urge to reach for her, to pull her close and share in that joy, was almost overwhelming.
And it hit me hard—she was the most impossible thing I'd ever wanted, and she wasn't mine to keep. Yet there I stood, already imagining what it would be like to build something with her, even as I reminded myself she had walls up and one foot out the door.
Wanting and not wanting in the same breath.
But as the music pulsed around us and the laughter continued, I knew I had to find a way to just make it through this night—one moment at a time, keeping my heart guarded while hoping I could still enjoy the magic of being here with her.