Chapter Ten

I try to think of the last time I went clubbing, and then my brain unhelpfully supplies, Never . When we were traveling, Griffin was always way more into chasing adrenaline rushes than exploring anything local or getting to know people. Usually by the time we'd finish on the day's excursion, I'd be too tired or too rattled from the cliff jumping or the hot-air ballooning or the white water rafting to go out anywhere after dark.

Which leads me here, back to my childhood closet, wondering if college me left anything remotely hip enough to wear for a night out that still fits.

My parents still own the place we grew up in a few blocks from the beach, a little yellow house with blue trim that's wearing at its edges, but in a way that's only ever made me love it more. It has marks of us everywhere—a few old clothes and mementos, scuff marks on floors from Dylan's cleats, a collection of hoarded mugs and teacups that could probably fill a museum—but a lot of it's been cleared out, now that my parents are renting it as an Airbnb.

I'm about to wade through the closet when Dylan calls. This isn't unusual for him—he'll either text a bunch of emojis that only Mateo and I can reliably interpret, or just give a ring.

"What's up?" I ask.

"First of all, you missed happy hour again," says Dylan.

I wince. I've been so busy with Tea Tide and Levi that I've had to bail twice now. The bar probably thinks I've been raptured. "Sorry, sorry—did you want to talk wedding details?"

"No. I wanted to steal sips of your Blue Moon while you weren't looking and catch up. I haven't even seen you on morning runs."

It's probably impossible for Dylan to see much of anything at the speeds he's clocking, but I keep that to myself.

"Rain check," I promise him, trying not to sound as distracted as I am by the outfit debacle. "Did you have a second of all?"

"Yeah. Second of all, you are my flesh and blood, right?" Dylan asks.

I look down as if to make sure I'm still corporeal. "Last I checked."

"Then why am I finding out from my track team that you're the original version of that ridiculous cake meme?"

I bite down a laugh. "I'm still recovering from the shock of it myself," I tell him.

After Sana gave Cassie the photos of us to post on her page, she also gave her a snippet of the footage she got of us alone in the cake tasting room. Specifically, the snippet where I lean forward and thumb the crumb off Levi's face, which is equal parts mortifying and thrilling to watch played back. I didn't realize how slow I'd been about it, how deliberate. And in the heat of the moment, I hadn't noticed how Levi's eyelids had lowered, his gaze skimming my face like he was hungry for something else entirely.

The camera didn't miss a beat of it, though. Cassie captioned it cake: the only thing that tastes better than a #RevengeEx , undoubtedly prompted by Sana, and it took off like wildfire from there. It was uploaded to TikTok within the hour, with choice comments like we need to gatekeep cake from hot people, and i just KNOW griffin is shaking right now and them: how many times did you watch this? me: yes.

It snowballed from there—the next day people were parodying it into oblivion, doing it with random foods like mashed potatoes, or dressed as characters from books (most notably, a vampire one where they did it with fake blood and the character licked it off their thumb and said, "Mm, O neg"). It's even inspired some interpretive dance move where people are pressing thumbs to each other's face, a TikTok where someone recreated Cassie's pistachio cake recipe, and an "expert in body language" to assess the way Levi and I interacted beat by beat.

Sana would be proud of how quickly we've gotten into the swing of this trope, because the expert declared us one of the most sincerely in love couples she'd ever seen.

In the meantime, Cassie's so grateful for the extra publicity she's texted and emailed me multiple times, emphasizing how much she'd love to talk about franchising when things have calmed down. I've answered her back but continued to sidestep the offer. Even if I wanted to entertain the idea of franchising, I'm barely keeping up with demand at Tea Tide right now—our supplier was so alarmed by the amount of caramel and dark chocolate we had to order to keep the Revenge Ex scone in stock that he made me repeat the order to him three times.

"See? This is why you have to come to happy hour. So we can keep tabs on each other whenever one of us breaks the internet," says Dylan. There's an undertone in his voice, one that sounds almost sad. But I'm pretty sure I've imagined it when he adds brightly: "You and Levi are really something now, huh?"

I hesitate, the guilt wrapping itself around my throat. Dylan misinterprets the silence and lets out a cackle.

"Mom and Dad are gonna be so stressed when we have to throw another Hart wedding hot on the heels of the first one," he says.

"All right, all right, rein it in," I tease. "We're barely a thing."

I say it as preemptive damage control—I don't want Dylan getting attached to the idea of me and Levi when we have an unclear but imminent expiration date—but also because it's true. I haven't even seen much of Levi these past few days. He agreed to help his dad at his auto shop while the buddy he co-runs it with is out of town. I've turned my head an embarrassing number of times in the back of Tea Tide to make quick remarks to Levi in the middle of the day only to remember he isn't there.

But just under that disappointment is a quiet kind of relief. That body language expert's words are still echoing in my ear, almost like a warning. Don't get too close to Levi. Not just in the romantic sense, but the friend one, too. If he lets me down again, it's going to take a long, long time to come back up. Hopefully these few days apart will be the reset I need to make sure I've got him at arm's length again.

A length I'm about to put to the test, because he's arriving in approximately five minutes.

"Hey, what are you up to tonight?" Dylan asks. "You could come over and watch a movie."

"Oh. Actually—Levi and I are going to Happy Shores to check out the replacement DJ for the wedding," I tell him. They had one picked out who ended up booked this time around, but in a bizarre stroke of luck, he has an identical twin who also DJs for a living. I'm mildly terrified imagining how hard their family must throw down at reunions, but grateful for the boon. "Do you want to join in?"

Dylan laughs. "As much as I'd love to see Levi bust a move in a club, I'll have to sit that out. Mateo and I are both zonked from work, plus we're about to call his mom to talk small bites for the cocktail hour and that's probably going to take a while."

If there's one thing Dylan and his future mother-in-law have in common, it is a deep and abiding love for appetizer-based foods. Seeing as the rest of the plan is to have the main affair catered by Mateo's uncles, whose tamales are so popular there's often a line out the door at Sirena on weekends, we're already in good hands.

"We'll chill some other day this week, then," I say, still riffling through the closet.

"Yeah. Text me a day that works for you," says Dylan. "I haven't seen your face in forever."

"You could always look in a mirror and squint," I joke.

He laughs again, but I don't miss the way it tapers off. I feel that knot of guilt in me tighten again. Dylan was more jarred by our parents leaving for the West Coast after Annie's death than I was; he'd been here the whole time I was traveling, part of our parents' day-to-day in a way I never was as an adult. We're the only family each other has close by now, and while we never take that for granted, every now and then, life gets in the way.

There's a knock at the door that can only be Levi.

"Yeah, I'll text you," I tell Dylan quickly.

"Good. If you need me tonight, Mateo and I are gonna be rehearsing your cake meme so we can use it as our first dance."

"Can't wait to deeply alarm your wedding videographer. Love you, bro."

"Love you too, sis."

I hang up and call out to Levi to let him know he can come in, then grab the only dress I've spotted that fits the bill—a dark red bodycon dress with a V-neck and spaghetti straps that I wore when I was going out with friends in college.

I shove it on quickly, already clad in a pair of nude pumps I borrowed from Sana, my hair curled and makeup in place. I steal a quick glance at myself in the flimsy full-length mirror Annie and I used to jokingly push each other in and out of before school. The dress doesn't fit like it used to, but not in a way I particularly mind—it's absolutely tighter in the chest, giving me some subtle cleavage it never did back in my "going out" days, and it rides up a little higher than it used to, exposing more of my muscled running legs.

I walk out of the bedroom and into the front hall, and oh. Oh my . Levi has just hit a very specific kind of synapse I didn't know my brain had, one that's practically humming, it's so pleased with itself. He's wearing his usual jeans and a white T-shirt, but over it is a worn-out, dark brown leather jacket that is entirely too hot for late August and possibly entirely too hot for my eyes to behold. His hair is subtly gelled on the sides, just enough to give the curls on top a new depth that makes me want to run my fingers through them. He looks like he's about to toss me on the back of a motorcycle, like he's on his way to break a dozen hearts without breaking his stride.

What a deeply inconvenient time to discover that I have a thing for leather jackets. Or more specifically, a thing for Levi in a leather jacket.

I swallow hard, then worry Levi's going to notice I've gone about as red as my dress. Only Levi seems to be every bit as distracted as I am. His eyes don't meet mine, preoccupied with skimming the hem of the dress pressed against my upper thigh, the tight waist, the spot where one of the straps meets my collarbone.

Usually my first instinct would be to slouch or make some kind of joke. It's not that I'm uncomfortable in my body. It's just that dresses like this aren't necessarily my style anymore. Between traveling and Tea Tide and running, I'm not used to wearing something that isn't just for function. And after dating Griffin for so long, I'm not used to being noticed the way that Levi is so clearly, blatantly noticing me right now.

But I hold myself a little higher, a small smile curling on my lips. One that makes me feel like this dress has a quiet kind of magic I'd forgotten I like to play with. One that makes Levi give me a sheepish smile of his own when his eyes finally catch it.

"That's a nice dress," he says, his voice low in his throat.

I take a few steps forward to close the distance between us, relishing the way the heels give my hips a slight sway, the way Levi's eyes snag on them. I lift a hand and pat the front pocket of his leather jacket, catching a whiff of some cologne that must be lingering on it—something woodsy and deep that's going to drive me wild by the end of the night, I already know.

"That's a nice jacket," I tell him.

Levi's cheeks tinge pink, and it makes me take my hand off Levi and grab the keys to Bugaboo, makes me take a deep breath meant to uncoil the warm, tight feeling low in my stomach.

It doesn't work. I resolve right then and there that I will not be drinking a single drop tonight.

"C'mon, Indiana Jones," I tell him. "We've got a DJ to scout."

An hour later we are both so ridiculously, laughably out of our depth that I feel like I'm hugging the wall at my first school dance all over again. It's not that we've aged out of the club scene—it's just that we quite possibly never aged into it. Everyone around us has clearly pregamed and is so at ease dancing out on the floor with reckless abandon that I feel like I'm somehow drunk by osmosis. Like if we actually hit that floor and start dancing, something is going to let loose inside me in a way I'm certainly not prepared for on my own, let alone in front of Levi.

"Well," I shout into Levi's ear, "at least we know the DJ can get people dancing."

"What?"

"The DJ can get people dancing," I shout.

Levi shakes his head. "Sorry, what?"

"You have no right looking that hot in a leather jacket," I say, letting the crowd swallow it up with the rest of my words.

Levi shrugs again, shooting me an apologetic look. I save my old man jokes for later, seeing as he won't be able to hear them now. He wraps a hand around my wrist, gentle but firm, pulling me out of the pulsing nucleus of the club and over to the quieter bar.

"It seems like the DJ can really get people dancing," he tells me.

I let out a laugh so loud and sharp that Levi catches it like a cold, laughing himself without understanding why.

"Yeah," I agree. "So far, so good."

"I have a theory about DJs, though," says Levi, leaning in close.

I lean in, too, pretending it's to hear him better when really I just want to inhale more of that woodsy leather jacket again. "Do share."

"The first key is amping up the crowd. But the second one comes down to a perfect science. You have to recognize when the crowd has reached the most potential energy—has enough momentum for a full liftoff, if you will—and that's when any good wedding DJ will play ‘Uptown Funk.'"

I feel a grin spread on my face like butter on a warm scone. "‘Uptown Funk'?" I repeat.

Levi works his face into a playful kind of solemnity. "It's the most universally contagious song there is. But it has to be used wisely."

"How the hell do you know this?" I ask.

"I work in finance," he reminds me. "I've been dragged to so many weddings and second weddings and third weddings for all the partners at my firm in the last few years that I can basically make a set list myself."

"Then what are we doing here?" I ask him. "You should be the DJ."

Levi shakes his head. "I have the knowledge, not the gift. You'll see. If this guy pulls it off tonight, you'll see."

"Excuse the two of you, but am I going to get a single good shot tonight? Go dance out on the floor like regular humans."

We both startle at the appearance of Sana, who is a staggeringly beautiful sight with her thick hair pulled into a high ponytail, her lips painted a deep burgundy, and her body draped in a slinky, backless silver dress that sparkles like she's full of constellations.

"Wait. What are you doing here?" I ask. "This isn't one of our Revenge Ex dates."

"I'm here for two reasons," she says, pulling up freshly painted black fingernails. "One, to go home with the hottest guy here. And two, to get pictures of the two of you I can use to continue blowing up your spot for our mutual gain."

I balk, trying to absorb both the hotness and the audacity of her at the same time. "How did you even know we'd be here?"

Her brow furrows. "You asked to borrow my pumps. There's literally only one place in Benson Beach worth wearing pumps to," she says, the duh implied.

"Haven't we done enough damage to the internet this week?" I ask.

"You forget how fleeting the attention spans of our digitally raised audience are." She puts one hand on Levi's shoulder and the other on mine and bodily shoves us both toward the dance floor. "Go out there and do something with one modicum of sexiness. I beg. And then I will leave you alone to stand awkwardly at the bar like the faculty chaperones you're both destined to become."

In the DJ's defense, he has nothing to do with the crimes against dancing that Levi and I commit after that. Because after Sana shoves us onto the floor, we both meet each other's eyes with an unspoken resolve, and start busting out the dorkiest moves two human beings can possibly bust. I've got peace signs drifting along my forehead while Levi starts doing a shuffle like a boomer dad on vacation. I pivot into a scuba diver while Levi starts alternately framing both of our faces with his hands. At one point we both start doing the Macarena, Levi clearly not remembering any of the moves but attempting to follow my lead just the same.

"I hate you both!" Sana yells, putting her phone camera down. She blows me a kiss. "Don't come looking for me. I'm getting some."

With that, she abruptly departs, swallowed up by the crowd of dancers so fast that we couldn't follow her even if we wanted to.

A remix of a popular song comes on then, and Levi surprises me by taking my hand in his and pulling me in, so steady in the movement that I spin into him with an unexpected ease.

"Wait," I say, laughing, "I don't actually know how to dance."

I can't tell if he can hear me or not, but he must get the gist because his eyes glint almost like it's a challenge. He keeps hold of my hand and pulls back, then uses the momentum to spin me out again with our hands above our heads. I'm still laughing, struck by the strangeness of it—by the way Levi knows what he's doing so well that he can lead someone who has about as much experience dancing as a sack of potatoes and make it seem like we're on our way to a ballroom dance competition.

We spend the rest of the song in a flurry, spinning and twisting, his hands on my hands or guiding me by the waist. I can't stop grinning. It feels almost like flying. I'm grounded only by the warmth of his hands on me, so steady that it's like he knows the shape of me better than I do, can anticipate how I'll react before he even touches me. Every time I meet his eyes there's a mischief in them again, the same I've seen glimmers of lately, only this time, there's something just under it. An unmistakable heat burning in them. One that I feel pooling low in my own stomach with every swoop on the dance floor, every time our eyes connect.

Levi spins me out again, and this time when he pulls me in, my back is to him, pressed against his chest. He holds me there for a moment and I nearly stop breathing—there's fluttering in my chest where the air is supposed to be—until I lift my head to look back at him, and every part of me swells at the satisfaction in his expression, in the clear and visceral joy.

We're pressed so close that I can feel his heartbeat pulsing against my back. That I wonder if I pressed even closer, I might feel something else.

"You're a natural," says Levi into my ear.

The words shiver all the way down my back. I should laugh. Should find some way to break this sizzling tension between us, which is getting less friendly by the second. But then the DJ does it for me when the fading song is replaced with an unmistakable beat, one that has every single dancer on the floor jumping up and down like we're little kids losing our marbles in a bouncy house.

We break apart, doubling over with laughter, Levi triumphantly saying, "See?" just as "Uptown Funk" starts blaring through the club.

We throw ourselves into the crowd, both sweating profusely by the time the song ends, my feet aching in my heels, the smile aching on my face. Another song takes over, but by then, Levi and I both decide the DJ has our seal of approval, and head out of the noisy club and pile into the quiet of Bugaboo. Levi jokes that we ought to check the trunk for Sana with a camera, and we're still marveling about her uncanny ability to catch us by surprise when we pull into the lot behind Tea Tide.

"What's still open these days?" Levi asks. "I should grab dinner."

My heart is still thrumming in my chest, like it has too much energy to let the night end. "I've got two cold pizzas in my fridge if you want some."

Levi doesn't hesitate. "That sounds perfect," he says, freeing himself from Bugaboo.

I blink in the driver's seat, only then understanding the full ramifications of my offer. Levi is going to be in my apartment. Alone with me in my apartment. Wearing that leather jacket and smelling all earthy-sweet in my apartment.

I steel myself, mentally conjuring the ridiculousness of him doing the Macarena. We can be in my apartment as friends. In fact, him being in the apartment will prove that I am fine with the two of us being friends. A test of sorts.

I let him in and flick on the lights, and he takes in the apartment in all its cozy, mismatched glory. There's the formerly bright pink couch I thrifted that's long since faded into a pastel, covered in kitschy dessert-shaped pillows my mom sends for my birthday every year. There's the fridge so littered with Benson Beach fliers and pizza coupons and wedding invitations from old friends that it's a miracle it doesn't tip over from them. There are the end tables loosely decorated with framed pictures and old sand dollars from the beach, and the floor scattered with the DVD collection of early-2000s-era rom-coms that Sana and I still flip through on weekend nights despite splitting all our streaming accounts with Dylan and Mateo. The end result isn't exactly making any interior design magazines, but it's always felt like home.

"This is very June," he says in an affectionate way that makes my body go warm. I excuse myself for a moment to change out of the dress and into jeans and an old cross-country shirt and come back out to find Levi with his head in my fridge, looking impressed by the giant pizza boxes I've precariously wedged inside.

"You weren't kidding," he says, pulling them out and setting them on the little kitchen table.

I open the boxes with a flourish. "When I know I'm going to be slammed at Tea Tide, I'll get a deal at Domino's on Monday and eat cold pizza for dinner the whole week."

"In New York, we call that ‘meal prepping,'" says Levi, taking a slice of pepperoni.

We ignore the chairs at the kitchen table, settling on opposite ends of my couch, me kicking off half a dozen plush pillows to make room. I pull my knees up and burrow in, and the whole thing has such kid-at-a-sleepover vibes that it settles my nerves a bit.

"So are you going to tell me how you went all Dancing with the Stars back there?" I ask. "Because that must be a recent development."

Levi is suddenly very engaged in staring at his slice. "Well—Kelly and I were taking classes. We were going to do something at the wedding."

Kelly's name feels like a giant thunk on the floorboards of the apartment, knocking me back into reality. I slow my chewing, finally feeling the adrenaline in me start to settle. Starting to feel something heavy take its place.

But no—this is a good thing, talking about Kelly. It's redrawing the line I keep playing mental hopscotch with. If Levi and I are going to be friends after this the way I hope we will, we're going to have a lot of conversations about Kelly in the future. Might as well rip the Band-Aid off now.

"I wasn't sure how far along in that process you were," I say carefully.

"Oh, not very. We didn't have a date picked out. Just a general idea." Levi's lip quirks, his expression rueful. "I'd be a lot more helpful organizing this wedding, maybe, if we'd gotten any further."

I nudge his leg with my sock. "I'd say you're doing perfectly fine."

He stares down at his leg, pizza momentarily forgotten in his hands. "It's weird to think about, but if we hadn't put things off, I might be married by now." I can't see his face, and his tone is just as unreadable—something that might be relief and might be regret. "I probably should have realized something was off. But we were both so busy. I just chalked it up to that."

"I know it's not really my business, but—how are things between the two of you right now?" I ask. "Is any of this working?"

I'm preparing for him to say no , because then I'll have to make an offer I'm not sure I want to and tell him we can drop this whole Revenge Ex scheme now. Except when Levi opens his mouth, he says, "Actually, yeah."

It's like I had my arms braced in front of me and something came and hit me from the side instead. "Oh?" I manage.

He nods. "I think it is. We've talked a few times. A lot about the old days. She doesn't mention Roman." When his eyes finally meet mine, there's something guarded in them again. I stiffen at the sight of it, reminded of that cool distance he kept between us all the years he was gone. "She's said a few things about the future that make me think… maybe she wants me to be a part of it."

A friend would ask him right now if he wants to be a part of her future. If he's willing to settle for "maybe." If this entire debacle with Roman is really something he can see himself getting past and trust it won't happen again.

And I want to be Levi's friend. But the truth is, under the surface, I know I have an agenda of my own. One that would be asking those questions for my own sake, and not just for Levi's.

I let the question die in my throat. Someone else can ask Levi, but it probably shouldn't be me.

"Well—that's good," I say. "That it's working, I mean."

Levi nods again, his eyes drifting out to the rest of the apartment, nearly lost in a thought before he pulls himself back.

"What about Griffin?" he asks.

I don't miss the edge in his voice. I might be keeping my feelings about Kelly to myself, but Levi still has no qualms about how he feels about Griffin. It makes me bite down a quick smile. It's not the same as Levi being jealous, but there's a satisfaction in it just the same.

"He's somehow both super quiet and ridiculously loud," I say. "He's not texting me anymore, but he's been posting nonstop."

I'm not even checking Griffin's Instagram on purpose anymore. He's just always there at the top of my feed, the new poster child for Doing the Most. Selfies of him with Lisel on a hike, a picture of him snuggling Lisel's dog, an announcement that he's collaborating with yet another protein powder or fitness brand. I can only assume his new manager never sleeps.

"And you're okay with that?"

I shrug, sidestepping the question. I'm not okay with it in the sense that I don't understand how someone I cared about so much can have such little regard for my feelings. But I also don't care much what goes on in Griffin's world and find myself caring less every day.

"It's different for me. I don't have any desire to be with him anymore." I smirk. "Honestly, the whole thing is kind of funny now. I think the attention on us is really getting to him."

Levi bristles. "He always did have a way of needing to be in the spotlight, even in school."

"Speaking of," I say carefully. "I know you're not a huge fan of that spotlight. You're still okay with all of this?"

The irritation eases out of Levi's expression. "June, I'm hiding in the back of Tea Tide all day. I'm the one who should be asking you that."

I consider for a moment. "I don't mind it now. Everyone's just curious, mostly. And I've always liked talking to new people."

The only downside to that, of course, is that Tea Tide is so crammed with new people that it's still pushing the regulars out. But I'm hoping that'll resolve itself when the hype dies down.

"I guess I was just worried about your writing situation," I elaborate. "If this weird viral fame is going to affect how you handle it at all."

Levi shakes his head. "Even if it did, I'm pretty sure the whole business with Kelly would have blown it up first," he says. "And anyway, I'm still planning on publishing under a pseudonym."

"Hmm." I take another bite of my pizza, chewing thoughtfully. "You're going to need something broody and edgy, to go with that novel of yours."

He rolls his eyes affectionately. "I'll probably just use Dawson," he says, which is his mom's maiden name.

"Or you could commit to the mood. Archer Blaze Storm," I venture, leaning in.

Levi casts his eyes back up to the ceiling, already sensing I'm on a roll. "Here we go."

"McManly Mysterious Man," I throw out next.

He furrows his brow. "Why would a parent with the last name ‘Man' name their kid ‘McManly'?"

I lower my head ominously. "Bruce Wayne."

"Aren't you breaking that little rule of yours?" Levi asks.

I point a finger at him. "I said no pestering you about the manuscript. I made no promises about your alter ego."

And in my defense, I haven't pestered him one bit about the manuscript. It's hard to get a spare moment to do much of anything outside of Tea Tide and wedding planning right now, but it's also hard because the more I read, the more I feel an open ache for the younger version of Levi who wrote it. In every line it's clear just how lost he felt when he was first in the city, just how abruptly the change rattled him and how cut off he felt from home.

It makes me ache for him, but quietly, it also makes me angry. It didn't have to be that way. But his first two years of college especially—before his mom would have gotten sick, before he met Kelly—he was more out of touch with me than he'd ever been. That loneliness was a deliberate choice.

"Do you really remember that much of The Sky Seekers ?" Levi asks unexpectedly.

And it's strange, because it's almost like he's asking for something else. Like he's asking me to flip my heart over, to show him the underside of it, that secret part where you keep things tucked away long after other people forget them.

"You don't?" I ask.

Levi shakes his head. "I can't find the manuscript, either. It was only ever on Word. I didn't back it up."

He knows I've read it—or what little he had of it, just before things between us fell apart. That version was choppy. Unfinished. Missing parts that Levi had clearly forgotten, with little notes to go back that he never fixed. I tore through it just the same, reliving adventures old and new, settling in with familiar characters in their magical world.

It was clearly set in Benson Beach. In the versions Levi told me growing up, it revolved around two kid siblings, but in its polished form, they were teenagers. They've known since they were ten that there's a world parallel to theirs where all these mythical creatures quietly exist and are granted the ability to see them after they're tapped as the next two guardians—a responsibility inherited from the guardians of the town that came before them. For the most part, they live in harmony with the other world, occasionally acting as the bridge between them. But at the start of the book, something splits in the sky between the two realities, and they have to combine their elemental abilities to fix it before the two dueling natures of the realities collide.

When I read those pages the first time, I ached from the satisfaction of it. Of the way Levi's written words captured the old ones he'd say out loud to me during those long walks we took exploring the woods, back when it felt like we were making our own kind of magic.

But in reading it, I recognized something I didn't as a kid. The guardians Levi created weren't just characters. The one that could manipulate water was Dylan. The one who could wield fire was Annie. And I was nowhere to be found.

It hit like a gut punch back then, but it was one I needed later. A clear signal to move on. That he was never going to think of me the way I thought of him. I wasn't a part of the larger story he wanted to tell.

But that hurt is an old one, the kind so settled in me that I don't feel it much anymore. Which is why I give him a small, triumphant smirk and say, "So you went looking for the manuscript."

He tilts his head sheepishly. "Being here makes me miss it a little," he admits. And then, a moment later: "Being around you makes me miss it."

My smirk softens. I'm not sure what to make of that, especially knowing how determined he is to write something else. I tell myself it's just an echo of that old reminder—Levi and I are friends. That's all we're equipped to be. And the last thing I want to do is take it for granted.

Because I've missed this. All of it. Sitting on the couch eating cold pizza, unabashedly talking as we chew. Talking about a shared history that nobody else knows except the two of us. Watching Levi come back a little more every day, his posture loosening, his expressions open and easy. I'm not going to take it for granted.

"Well, maybe after you finish the Untitled Levi Shaw Memoir," I quip.

Levi takes the last bite of his crust. "I think I'm going to title it June Hates This. It's got a better ring to it."

"In that case, you'd better fully credit me in the acknowledgments." I hop to my feet. "I need another slice. Want one?"

"Yeah, sure."

Once my back is turned to him, I have a decidedly wicked idea, one that feels like it will cement this new dynamic of ours. Levi and June, friends again. The good, the bad, and all the nonsense in between.

He takes the slice from me so trustingly that I come close to maybe, possibly, for the splittest of seconds, feeling bad when he takes a giant bite of it.

"June August September October November December Hart," Levi exclaims.

I cackle as he registers the Pop Rocks going off in his mouth. Watch the way his eyes crinkle first in surprise, and then disgust, and then amusement, so many shades of Levi all at once that I almost trip on my own carpet from laughter.

He swallows hard, his throat bobbing with the effort. "You are a menace to society," he tells me.

My eyes catch on the way he skims his teeth with his tongue, checking for stray Pop Rocks. Friends shouldn't have thoughts about their friend's tongues, particularly the other places they could skim, but I allow myself that one last weakness. It's late and we're tired and I'm only human.

"And don't you forget it, McManly," I say, swapping out his slice for a fresh, untampered one and taking his, biting right into the edge he just bit into himself.

The Pop Rocks start ricocheting in my mouth, and I let out an "Oh, no ," and Levi and I are laughing and swapping the rest of the Pop Rocks pouch back and forth. If I'm not imagining things, Levi's own eyes linger on my lips, trailing up to my eyes. There's a moment our eyes meet, and there's a spark between us that feels like it could light a flame.