I had never worn and discarded so many outfits in my life. My bed looked like a fashion tornado had touched down, and Kaylie was sitting cross-legged in the middle of it like a judgmental storm chaser.
"No," she said for the fourth time. "That makes you look like you're trying too hard."
I groaned and flopped backward onto the pile. "I am trying too hard. I'm meeting his mom as his girlfriend. She already knows I'm the girl Jordan used to endlessly torture when we were younger."
"Justice was served," she said, tossing a pillow at me. "Wear the blue sweater. It makes your eyes pop and says 'I'm approachable but also not afraid to dish out sass if necessary.'"
Honestly, it wasn't bad advice.
Thirty minutes later, we walked over to the Gallaghers' driveway and my stomach was already a mess of butterflies and panic. My dad cleared his throat. "Everyone be cool," he muttered.
"I am cool," Kaylie said, just as Jordan opened the front door.
And smiled.
Not just the cocky, smirky one. The soft one. The one that made something under my ribs loosen just a little.
"Hey," he said, stepping out onto the porch.
"Hi," I whispered, trying not to visibly melt.
Mrs. Gallagher appeared behind him like a warm, terrifying shadow. "There's my favorite neighbor girl!" she said cheerfully, pulling me into a hug before I could even process what was happening.
"Come in, come in," she beamed, ushering us into the house. "Shoes off at the door, dinner's almost ready, and nobody mention Jordan's middle school emo phase or he'll cry into the casserole."
"Mom," Jordan groaned.
My parents gave each other a look. That quiet, shared-parent look that translated to: this will be interesting.
And it was.
Dinner started off fine. Jordan and I sat next to each other, which was both comforting and dangerous because his leg kept brushing against mine under the table, and my brain kept forgetting how forks worked.
Mrs. Gallagher told stories—so many stories. Some were adorable. Some were mortifying.
"—and then he screamed when the squirrel jumped out of the mailbox, like full-on horror movie scream," she said, mid-laugh.
"It had fangs," Jordan muttered into his mashed potatoes.
"And then he told Elyse she couldn't come to his birthday party unless she wore a dinosaur costume, and she actually did it!"
"I was five!" I protested.
"But you did it," Jordan whispered, eyes soft as he looked at me. "You always did."
My mom watched all of this with the intense focus of someone building a psychological profile. Dad sipped his wine like it was a coping mechanism. Kaylie was stuffing rolls in her mouth and pretending she wasn't living for every second.
And then came the moment.
"So," Mrs. Gallagher said brightly, "what do you two do together? Like… when you're alone?"
I choked on my water.
Jordan went very still.
"I mean," she continued, clearly oblivious to the panic in our eyes, "do you study? Watch movies? Stargaze? Discuss philosophy?"
"We talk," Jordan said quickly.
"Lots of talking," I added.
"With words."
"Fully clothed."
There was absolute silence before Kaylie full-on snorted and my mom said, "Well that's a relief."
Mrs. Gallagher grinned. "I was just teasing. I know you're good kids. But if either of you even think—"
"We won't!" we both said in unison, voices a little too high.
My dad cleared his throat. "Jordan, why don't you help me bring out dessert?"
Which really meant: Jordan, I am going to interrogate you in the kitchen where no one can see us sweat.
To his credit, Jordan stood, nodded once, and followed him like he was heading into a battlefield.
I caught his hand under the table before he left, squeezing it.
He squeezed back.
By the time dessert was served, the air had settled into something that could almost be called normal—if you ignored the lingering threat of dad's silent interrogation in the kitchen.
Jordan returned with a peach cobbler in hand and a slightly traumatized expression. He sat beside me again, brushing his knee against mine like a grounding wire.
"You survive?" I murmured.
"Barely. Your dad asked me how I handle conflict," he whispered back. "I panicked and said 'with snacks.'"
"That's not wrong," I said, sliding the dessert spoon toward him.
Everyone dug in. For a moment, it was peaceful.
Too peaceful.
Which should've been the warning.
"You know," Mrs. Gallagher said brightly, "when Jordan was little, he used to tell everyone he was going to marry Elyse."
The spoon stopped halfway to my mouth. My mom raised an eyebrow. Kaylie choked on her cobbler. My dad made a noise somewhere between a cough and a laugh. Jordan froze mid-chew like she'd just revealed state secrets.
"Mom," he said tightly. "No."
"Oh, come on," she waved a hand. "You loved her. You said you were going to live in that treehouse behind the elementary school and have twin kids named Liam and Mia. And Kaylie would live next door with twelve cats."
"Mom."
I could not physically look at him. I was too busy trying to process the words marry Elyse and Liam and Mia and treehouse dreams.
"That's adorable," my mom said, clearly enjoying this way too much.
Kaylie was howling into her napkin. "Wait—wait, I get to be the cat aunt?"
"You were very specific about it," Mrs. Gallagher continued. "You even drew wedding invitations on construction paper."
"Okay, dessert's over," Jordan muttered, already standing. "Elyse, come help me with, uh, porch stuff."
"Porch stuff?" I repeated, following him anyway.
He held the back door open and we stepped into the night. The air was cool and quiet, the hum of cicadas filling the silence. Jordan leaned against the porch railing, head tilted toward the dark sky. I stood beside him, arms crossed.
"So," I said finally, "Liam and Mia, huh?"
He groaned. "I was seven."
"Seven and committed, apparently."
Jordan shot me a look, then sighed. "I told her not to bring that up. She said she wouldn't. And then boom, full broadcast."
I nudged his elbow. "Hey. It's kind of sweet."
"It's kind of mortifying." He glanced at me, then away. "Also... kind of true."
I blinked. "Wait, what?"
He rubbed the back of his neck. "I mean, not the twin names or the cat colony. But yeah—I liked you. A lot. Always have, probably. But I was a dumb kid. And it was easier to… I don't know. Pretend to hate you than admit to myself how much I actually liked you."
I stared at him.
He kept talking, quieter now. "You were always you. Brave and smart and sarcastic and infuriating and... impossible not to notice. And I guess I figured if I acted like I didn't care, it'd hurt less when you inevitably didn't like me back."
I stepped closer. "Jordan."
He finally looked at me. "What?"
"I did like you back."
"You liked the kid who threw soccer balls at your head?"
"Okay, not that version. But the one who gave me his hoodie after gym class, and the one who let Kaylie borrow his Switch even when she dropped it. The one who climbs through my window and brings granola bars and sets up fairy lights on rooftops."
A slow smile tugged at his lips. "So... you're saying there's still a chance for Liam and Mia?"
I swatted his arm. "You're such a dork."
"And yet," he said, gently brushing his fingers against mine, "you still came out here with me."
I let my hand fall into his. "Of course I did."
For a minute, we just stood there. Hands linked. Porch lights glowing soft around us. The sounds of our families laughing inside.
"You know," he said softly, "I meant what I said. It's still easier to joke around. To pretend. But with you… I don't want to pretend anymore."
"Then don't," I whispered.
He leaned in and kissed me—soft and slow, like a promise.
When we pulled apart, he rested his forehead against mine. "Still want to run away to a treehouse?"
I grinned. "Only if we get bunk beds and a mini fridge."
He laughed, pulling me in close. "Deal."
And for the first time that night, I didn't feel nervous anymore.
I just felt… right.