Page 270 of Sweet Nightmare

Everything around me goes still.

The fire of both fireplaces crackles behind me. Snow drifts beyond the glass windows, turning the mountains into a dream under the moon. And here I am, standing among hundreds of his books, holding a few handwritten words that feel more intimate and ground-shaking than anything the world has said about us all day.

Beneath the first lines, Stephen has written:

Meet me outside?

Then, beneath that:

I want to know more about the woman who carries the moon, stars, and entire galaxies in her eyes.

Oh.

My fingers tighten around the paper.

I’ve been photographed, praised, criticized, and discussed by people who’ve never once wondered or cared what it feels like to be me. I’ve spent years learning to make myself untouchable, to give the world nothing it can use against me.

And Stephen keeps finding ways to make me feel seen.

Not examined. Not understood because he’s figured me out but seen because he wants to keep learning who I am underneath.

At the bottom of the note, his handwriting changes, growing messier, almost boyish.

If you don’t come, I’ll assume you’ve finally accepted that my library was perfect before you rearranged it for the third time, princess.

A laugh escapes me, soft and helpless.

The cocky, beautiful man, hiding poetry beneath a snowflake and ruining the entire effect by insulting my organizational skills.

I fold the note carefully and slip it into my cardigan, close to my heart where it belongs.

My phone buzzes.

Mika: Where are you hiding?

Me: Correcting a crime.

Mika: Leave the man’s library alone.

Me: Never.

I step down from the ladder, leave the fallen books for tomorrow, and make my way toward the library’s double door.

I don’t need to know exactly what comes next.

I only need to know who’s waiting for me and that’s him.

“Come on, heart,” I whisper, smiling as I reach for the handle. “Let’s go find your other half.”

Khaos

I look down at the text Mrs. Han sent me minutes ago.

Mrs. Han: She is going to hate the sneakers. Good luck, boy.

I grin.

She’s absolutely going to hate the sneakers.