SAVANNAH
I wanted to shake my head, to walk away from Blake and whatever he had to say. But Brenda caught my eye and nodded encouragingly before disappearing down the hallway toward the living room.
"Five minutes," I muttered, not looking at Blake.
He opened the door to what looked like a guest bedroom and stepped aside. I hesitated before walking in, my heart hammering against my ribs like it was trying to escape.
Just as the door closed behind us, my phone rang. Mom's face lit up my screen.
"Hey, Mom," I answered, turning away from Blake.
"Savannah! How's the party going?" Her voice was bright, excited, the way it had been more often lately.
"It's fine," I said, conscious of Blake's presence behind me. "I did Brenda's makeup. I promise I'll send you a picture of us."
"Oh, I'd love to see that! You two are becoming such good friends."
"Yeah, we are," I agreed, surprised at how true it felt.
"Well, I'm calling to let you know I'm going out tonight," she said, her tone shifting to something almost... girlish. "So you can take your time at Brenda's. No rush to get home."
I frowned. "Going out? Where?"
"Just... out. With a friend."
"What friend?" I pressed. "Like, a date?"
"I've got to go, sweetie! Send those pictures! Love you!"
And just like that, she disconnected. I rolled my eyes, staring at my phone in disbelief. I'd never seen my mom with another man since Dad died when I was six. But she deserved happiness. She was still young, still beautiful—it was high time she started dating again.
"Everything okay?" Blake asked, his voice unusually gentle.
I turned to face him, still processing my mom's behavior. "Yeah, fine. Just Mom."
Blake gestured to the edge of the bed. "Do you want to sit?"
"I'm fine standing," I said, crossing my arms. "What did you want to talk about?"
He ran his hand through his hair, a nervous gesture I'd never associated with confident, arrogant Blake Armstrong.
"You did that makeup for Brenda?" he asked instead of answering my question.
I nodded, confused by the direction he was taking. "Is it bad?"
"What? Of course not," he said quickly. "I just didn't know you were a makeup artist."
"I'm not," I said with a shrug.
Blake nodded, then fell silent again. The tension in the room was suffocating. I sat down on the edge of the bed, giving up on my power stance.
"Blake, what did you want to talk about? Your five minutes are ticking away."
He hesitated, raking his hand into his hair again. "I'm sorry about what happened at the pool this noon."
I didn't say anything, the memory of his hands on me, pulling me away from Tyler, still fresh in my mind.
"Savannah?" he prompted when I remained silent.
"It's fine," I said finally, though it wasn't. Nothing about this situation was fine.
He paced a few steps, then stopped. "How's Tyler?"
"I don't know."
"Can I get his number? I should apologize to him too."
I shook my head. "I don't have Tyler's number."
Blake raised a suspicious eyebrow. "Really? You sure you don't have his number."
I didn't respond, my mind flashing back to earlier that day. My phone buzzed with a text, breaking the tense silence. Mom again: Send me those pictures! I'm itching to see them!
I sighed and held my phone out to Blake. "Send me the pictures you took of me and Brenda. My mom wants to see them."
He took my phone, his fingers brushing against mine for the briefest moment. After a few taps, he handed it back, a smirk playing on his lips.
"What?" I asked, suddenly wary.
"Nothing. I've sent your mom the pictures and I just got Tyler's number already."
My eyes widened. "What? How—"
I lunged for my phone, but Blake was quicker, darting to the other side of the bed with a laugh I'd never heard from him before—light, playful, almost... normal.
"Give it back!" I demanded, scrambling across the bed.
"Come and get it," he taunted, moving away just as my fingers grazed the phone.
"Blake, I swear to God—"
I followed him around the bed, anger and something else, something dangerously close to excitement propelling me forward. I caught his wrist just as he tried to spin away again, the momentum pulling us both off balance. He fell backward onto the bed, and I followed, landing squarely on his chest with an "oof."
We froze, my body pressed against his, my face inches from his. I waited for him to shove me off, to make some cutting remark about my weight.
But he didn't move. Didn't speak. Just looked at me with those intense blue eyes that suddenly seemed to see all of me, not just the parts he'd mocked for years.
"I'm sorry, Savannah," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
The way he said my name now felt different from how he used to spit out "Savvy" like it was something distasteful. It sounded sweeter. More romantic. Sexy, even.
I couldn't believe what I was thinking. I slapped myself mentally.
"Sorry about what?" I managed to ask, still not moving from my position on top of him.
"Everything," he said, his eyes never leaving mine. "I'm sorry about everything, Savannah. Will you forgive me?"
In that moment, everything Brenda had told me about Blake rushed back—how he had lost his twin brother, how that tragedy had broken something inside him, how his first love had shattered what was left. I thought about all he had done for me too, despite our history. How he had stopped me from embarrassing myself at the party. How he had defended me and stopped others from bullying me, even while he continued to do it himself.
It was confusing, this new version of Blake, or maybe it was the original version, the one that existed before loss and pain had hardened him.
I didn't know who moved first—him or me. All I knew was that suddenly, my lips were on his.