T H R E E

By the time the weekend before Christmas rolls around, it's obvious that Josh and Chelsie are hiding something from me. Even Hayden is in on it, from what I can tell. He keeps staring at me with a twinkle in his eye and smiling but saying little else. But although I'm definitely curious, I don't have time to worry about it. I'm even busier than normal preparing for Christmas. I've got gifts to send out to all of my friends and family, after all. Which now includes Chelsie and Hayden.

Honestly, I've spent more time thinking about what I'm going to get Chelsie than I have thinking about what to get anyone else, family included. With my family, I can send them something that I know they'll like, and even if they don't like it, they won't have the heart to tell me. But with Chelsie, it's different. I'm at a loss for what to get her—I've only known her for a week and a half or so, and I care a ridiculous amount about what she thinks of me. This gift matters more.

At least I've got Hayden covered. I want to make them both something handmade, of course, because it's more personal and I can customize everything. For Hayden, I think I'm going to make a small wreath sculpture, probably out of wood since he'd probably end up breaking one made of clay, with two miniature teddy bears sitting in the middle. Because if I had to choose the two things that Hayden is most interested in since I've met him, it'd be the wreaths hung around town and Bronson. And this combines both into one small trinket perfectly.

I've considered a bunch of different ideas for Chelsie, but none of them seem right. At first, I was thinking about making a small minivan, but on second thought, that seemed a bit insensitive. Because she wasn't happy while she was living in her car, and I don't want to remind her of that. I also considered making a custom picture frame for a photo of her sister that I've seen on her nightstand, but I don't know anything about her sister, and that seems like it'd also be a sensitive topic.

The perfect idea doesn't hit me until Sunday afternoon, after I've spent the whole entire weekend stressing about finding a gift. A locomotive. The one from the movie last night. If I ever get around to confessing—and if it goes well—then it'll be a memento of that. But even if I don't confess, it'll still hold what I hope are good memories of the time we've spent together so far. It'll be personal enough to show that I care about her and that I've paid attention to her. Hopefully, it'll help her to start chipping away at the notion that she isn't worthy of loving.

It'll hard to make, though, when I'm working fourteen hours per day. And it'll be even harder considering I want to keep it a secret since we're living together. Luckily, Christmas falls on a Tuesday this year, so I still have another full day to pull everything together. Maybe I'll see if I can convince Chelsie and Josh to take over for a full afternoon so that I can spend a few uninterrupted hours in my studio.

Thankfully, Chelsie agrees right away when I ask her if she can take over for an afternoon. I don't tell her why, of course, though she can probably guess. But that isn't the important thing—I don't care if she knows I'm working on a gift, I just care that she doesn't know what the gift is. And since I haven't told anybody what I'm making for her, there's no way she could know.

Josh also agrees, though he's much harder to convince. I have to bribe him with letting him take a free ornament, but it's worth it. Honestly, I was expecting to have to do more convincing and more bribing. So, on Monday afternoon, I make my way over to my studio to get to work.

My studio isn't an official, fancy studio. It's basically just a large shed in my backyard that I've cleaned out and equipped with electricity, running water, and a small heating unit. In other words, it's just enough for me to get all my work done without needing a ridiculous amount of money to set up and maintain.

The single room is divided up into sections. On the left is a bench set up for ceramics, complete with a portable mini kiln, a pottery wheel, and a sink. Metals and jewelry are on the far wall, because that requires the least space and the far wall is the smallest. The right wall is where I keep my paints, wood-carving materials, fabrics, and other miscellaneous materials. And, of course, there's a large general workbench in the middle of the room for when I'm mixing and matching stuff or for when I just need more room to work.

Right now, I think the middle table is my best bet. For Hayden's wreath, I'm going to need a little bit of everything. Fabrics, wood, paint, and some stuffing. My sewing machine will be put to good use, I hope, if I can figure out how to make the miniature bears. If I have to, I'll just make them out of wood, but I think Hayden would like it if they were actually fluffy.

Once I've gathered all my materials, I put on some music over the speakers. Not Christmas music though—after listening to it for more than twelve hours a day for over two weeks, even I get tired of Christmas music. Instead, I just put some of my regular favorite playlists on shuffle and let myself zone out.

I finish with Hayden's gift much sooner than I thought I would. I had thought it'd take at least three hours to get everything perfect, but it's only been one and a half. Considering I wasn't working from an outline sketch at all, I'm quite pleased, both with how quickly I got it done and with how the final product turned out. But the harder one is yet to come.

I start with the basic wooden shape for Chelsie's, using a reference image of the locomotive on my phone to help me shape it. I've done plenty of locomotives before, too, so making the general thing isn't too hard. It's the details that will be more challenging. Like the bell on the very front, or the intricate machinery around the wheels.

After I finish the carving, I cover the whole piece in a first layer of black paint. Then, while that dries, I manage to find a small bell in my box of beads and jewelry pieces that's just the right size to fit right on the front. And the bell actually rings, which is even better.

I add a second coat of paint once the first dries, and then once that one's dry too, I carve out the windows, both the passenger windows towards the back of the car and the hole that will act as the headlight for the train on the very front. In each one, I place a small, battery-operated yellow light, and then I carefully place one layer of white tissue paper over the space so that the lights come out all soft and glowing.

On a whim, I grab a piece of paper, tear a small piece off of the corner, and write out a short message. I hope that by now, you know that you're worth loving. Because I love you. And if you see this, and if you believe it, then the bell will ring. Then, I fold it up and place it inside the bell so that it dampens the noise of the clapper. Cheesy reference? Yes. Do I care? No. I'm betting on the fact that she won't notice it, anyway. This is a way for me to release some of my feelings, to get them out there, without her actually knowing about it.

It's already seven by the time I finish placing both things carefully into appropriate-sized boxes and wrapping them up. I decide to leave both gifts in the house, since Christmas is tomorrow and I doubt I'll wake up early enough tomorrow to sneak out and grab them before Hayden wakes up. Chelsie's already mentioned that he wakes up ridiculously early on Christmas, and I don't want to have to wake up even earlier on my only day off.

I finish cleaning everything off my workbench and then flick the lights off on my way out, sending the room back into complete darkness. It may have been light when I got here, but night has fallen now, and the sky is dark. I make sure to lock the door behind me and then head back to the shop, though not before snagging some dinner on the way.

It's far busier upstairs than I'd expected, though I guess is makes sense seeing that it's Christmas Eve and everyone is scrambling for last-minute presents. I feel horribly guilty for leaving Josh and Chelsie alone to deal with all of this, but not quite guilty enough that I wish I hadn't done it. It was definitely worth it. I'll just make sure to thank both of them profusely.

Chelsie just sends me a content wave when she sees me and turns back to helping a pair of customers find the perfect item, but Josh sags dramatically and pretends to collapse. "This is hard," he complains. "You left us for hours. Hours! I was almost trampled by people. You'd better have a good reason."

"I do," I reply, purposefully keeping it vague. "And I really appreciate it. Thanks so much, Josh. You're a lifesaver."

He still raises an eyebrow and smirks knowingly. "Making something for your girlfriend over there?"

Am I really that transparent? I certainly hope not. That'd be extremely embarrassing. "She's not my girlfriend," I say, my cheeks coloring.

"Yet."

"Josh!"

"What?" He shrugs. "It's true, isn't it? You want her to be, at least. You can't deny that. The way you look at her isn't exactly the most subtle, you know. At least, not to me, since I've known you for years. It's kinda cute."

"It's not cute," I fume. "It's going to be the end of me. But yes, you're right, I guess. Congratulations for being the first to know about the beginning of the end for me."

"I don't think it'll be the end of you," he says with a sly smile. Like he knows something I don't. "Don't rule anything out quite yet, Avagator. You'll see."

My heart rate feels like it's suddenly doubled. "What are you trying to say?" My mind is racing, now, at a pace that almost matches my heart. Has Chelsie said something to him? Has he noticed something about Chelsie that I haven't? Or could it even be Hayden that's said something?

"Oh, nothing. You'll find out soon enough, I think."

I stomp my foot on the ground. "Josh. Tell me."

He takes a step back and smiles. That idiot. He's enjoying this. "Nope. It's not my place. I told you, you'll find out soon enough. Patience is a virtue, you know. And you're lacking it."

"Well, you're lacking honesty," I retort. "And responsibility. And kindness, and—"

He holds out his hand. "We get it, we get it. I'm a bad person. I'm still not going to tell you. Nice try, though. Well, I'm off. Have a nice evening." And then he's gone before I can stop him. And, as much as I wish I could chase after him, I can't. So, cursing softly under my breath, I get back to work.

I work extra late that night, because each time I'm about to close up, another person comes rushing in the door and asks if I'm still going to be open. How can I say no? I understand the rush to get presents for everyone. I understand it all too well. And since I'm not working tomorrow—I make a point to take Christmas off every year, the one day in the whole three or four months that I get to truly relax—I'd feel bad for closing early tonight.

Chelsie, Hayden, and I finally get home around eleven. Hayden's already asleep in Chelsie's arms, and his head rests gently on her shoulder. Our footsteps crunch softly in the snow, and our shadows elongate and compress as we pass under the streetlamps. It's a quiet walk home, but I don't mind the silence. It's peaceful, but it still feels like we're sharing the space. It's intimate.

"Merry Christmas Eve," Chelsie says as we finally get back to the house and walk inside.

"Merry Christmas Eve," I echo. We fall silent again after that, but it's not really an awkward silence. It's just a tired silence. I can feel my whole body screaming out for sleep, and I'm sure she's feeling the same. Hayden must be too, because he's already run off to bed by the time I've gotten my shoes off. So I decide to not push any more conversation. "Good night."

"Good night. Just a warning, Hayden will probably wake you up quite early. I apologize in advance. I'd try to stop him, but somehow, he always manages to sneak out before I'm awake."

I let out a laugh. "It's okay, I don't mind. It just means he's excited, which is good. Besides, I used to be the one waking my parents up horrendously early, so now I'm finally getting a taste of my own medicine. Besides, anything past five will be sleeping in for me, anyway."

"Alright, if you're sure," she says. "Good night, Ava. See you in the morning."

"See you."

And, true to her word, Hayden wakes me up the next morning at six thirty by bouncing on my bed, and when I blearily rub at my eyes to clear the fog dancing in my eyes, I'm met with a boxy, broad smile. "Wake up, Ava! Wake up! It's Christmas!" he cries, letting out an excited wiggle. "We've got to go open presents!"

"Is Auntie Chelsie awake?" I ask him.

His smile fades a little, and he lowers his voice to a whisper. "Not yet. I didn't want her to stop me from waking you up."

"How about we let her sleep until seven?" I ask. And, before he can protest, I add, "If you let her sleep until seven, I'll make pancakes for breakfast. How's that?"

"Pancakes?" he mumbles, rubbing his chin. "Pancakes...okay. But only until seven. I'll wake her up exactly at seven. What do I do until then?"

"How about we get up and make some hot chocolate? And you can go through your stocking."

His eyes widen. "I really have a stocking? Oh!" Then, he's out of the room almost before I can blink, and I can hear his small feet puttering down the hall.

With a sigh, I haul myself out of bed, throw on a bathrobe over my pajamas, and slide my feet into the pair of slippers waiting beside the doorway. It's almost like I'm suiting up for battle, except cozy clothes are my armor and my opponent is a loud and overly excited eight-year-old. But what can I say? I love anything and everything cozy—blankets, bathrobes, slippers, fleece pajamas, fuzzy socks, and anything else that just has that cozy vibe. They help me get ready to face the day.

By the time I make it out into the kitchen, Hayden has already removed his stocking from its spot above the fireplace, but somehow, he's gathered the self-control to wait until I'm in the room to look inside. But just barely—as soon as my foot touches the tiled floor, he plunges his hand in and pulls out the first item.

"Candy," he gasps once he's gotten the wrapping paper off, holding up the bag. "I've never seen those before! What kind of candy is this?"

"They're called candy melts," I tell him as I take out two mugs from the cabinet to start making the hot chocolate. "You can make different shapes of candy with them. Is there anything else in your stocking?"

"Oh, there is!" he exclaims after a moment of feeling around. "It's plastic shapes! Can we make some later?"

"Of course we can," I say. "But for now, let's have some hot chocolate." So far, it's only been fifteen minutes. Another fifteen to go, and I've run out of things to entertain him with. My mind races, but the only thing I can think of is to keep talking with him. But what should I ask him about? Most of the questions that I really want to ask are too personal and things that I should probably hear from Chelsie, if at all.

I place a cup of hot chocolate in front of him and then issue a hasty warning to let it cool as he brings it to his lips immediately. Even that doesn't stop him for long, though—he just blows on it for three seconds and then drinks the still-scalding liquid, wincing a little as it burns his tongue.

"I told you it was going to be hot," I chide.

"But I was hungry." He's pouting, and his eyes are watering a bit, though whether it's from my scolding or the pain I'm not sure. I'm also not sure which one I'd rather it be.

"Okay. Well, I can fix that. First, I'll get you some cold water to help your tongue, and then why don't we make some pancakes?"

"Can we make chocolate chip ones?" he mumbles around a mouthful of water.

"Sure!"

By the time we get the pancake mix prepared and heat up the pan, it's exactly seven. I don't point it out, because I'm happy entertaining Hayden for a bit longer, but he notices anyway and races out of the room. I hear a faint yell of "Auntie Chelsie!" coming from the other room, and I can only assume that he's doing the same thing he did to me to her.

A minute or two later, Hayden comes skipping back into the room triumphantly. "She's awake now," he declares. "Now we can make pancakes and then open presents!"

I'm a little worried that he's going to be disappointed because there won't be as many presents as he's used to. There's one from me, two from Josh, and I imagine two or three from Chelsie. Which isn't an insignificant number. But I'd assume that he's used to more, and even though he won't be disappointed because he's greedy, he'll still have that childlike enthusiasm for gifts that might be hard to live up to this year.

But I don't say anything, because there's a chance that he'll be perfectly happy, and I don't want to plant ideas in his head. Instead, I show him how to pour the pancake batter onto the griddle and then how to wait until there are bubbles in the top and the edges start to turn firm before it's okay to flip it over. And by the time Chelsie emerges from her room, we have a full plate of pancakes ready.

"Thank you so much," she says to me as she walks over and gives me a hug. Exactly what she's thanking me for I'm not sure, but a flush immediately crawls its way over my ears and face until I'm positive I look like a tomato. It's not that we haven't hugged before—I've hugged her more than I've hugged pretty much anyone else, actually—but it's always been me offering her a comforting hug. It's never been her reaching out like this. And knowing that is doing weird things to my heart on a scale that all those other instances couldn't quite match.

I'm slowly learning to ignore the uncomfortable parts of having whatever this is and focus on the good parts. It's kind of a crush, but it's a bit different, too. Deeper, more profound. I don't know how to describe it, exactly. But now that I've accepted that it won't go away, now that I'm no longer fighting it, the discomfort has subsided a little, leaving me to bask in the feeling of being completely overwhelmed by someone else. There's something a little bit nice about the fuzzy feeling I get when we hug, or the tingly feeling I get wherever her hair brushes my skin.

After a moment that's a little too long to be generally socially acceptable but still a little shorter than I want it to be, she pulls away and pads across the kitchen in slipper-clad feet to plant a kiss on Hayden's head. "Good morning, bud. Thanks for letting me sleep in."

"I almost didn't," he tells her. "But Ava said we should have hot chocolate first and I got to open my stocking and we can make candy later!"

At the mention of a stocking, Chelsie's eyes widen slightly, and she shoots me a questioning look. I guess she didn't notice them last night, though now that I think about it, I did them right as she was going to bed, so she wouldn't have had a chance.

"I thought he would like it," I mouth at her while Hayden sits at the table and eats a pancake, oblivious to our silent discussion. "Is that okay?"

She just nods, though I suspect I'll be hearing a whole lecture later on in the day about how I really didn't have to and shouldn't have and I'll need to accept something as compensation. It's a little frustrating sometimes how she refuses to accept help without paying me back in some form or another, though if I think about what I would do in her situation, I'd do the exact same thing.

Hayden finishes his breakfast and is dismayed to find that we haven't eaten yet, so he pesters us as we rush through a hasty meal. But even though it's rushed, it's still not quite as rushed as my breakfast normally is, since I'm normally doing something else while I eat, so I enjoy it even though it's not quite as relaxed as I had wanted. Then, as soon as we're done, we get dragged out to the living room.

Hayden makes a beeline for the tree and takes a present off the stack. It's not the one I made for him, because I purposefully put his and Chelsie's gifts from me at the bottom of the pile so that they'd get opened last. It just seemed right, somehow. So for now, I get to be amused watching Hayden open a bunch of other fun gifts from Chelsie and Josh.

It only takes about twenty minutes for him to tear through the rest of the gifts, and then suddenly, he's picking up the one from me. I can't keep myself from getting a little nervous, even though I know there's nothing to be nervous about. I've never been the best at giving gifts is all, and I really want him to like it.

As it turns out, though, I don't have to be worried at all. When he removes the wrapping paper and then gently opens the box, he gasps with delight and jumps up and down twice. "Look, Auntie!" he exclaims, thrusting the box out in her direction. "It's Bronson and Ava's teddy on a wreath!"

"Wow," Chelsie mutters under her breath. "That's beautiful. Ava, this is amazing. Hayden, what do you say?"

"Thank you, Ava!" He smiles and comes over to give me a hug.

I'm practically shaking with giddiness now. Hayden liked my gift, and Chelsie thought it was amazing, which I'm hoping means that she will like hers just as much, if not more. But I still have that irrational fear that she'll hate it for some reason, so my heart pounds as she takes the wrapped box in her lap and begins to peel back the wrapping paper.

Once again, my worrying is for naught. After the initial wonderstruck expression wears off her face, a small smile spreads across her cheeks, and that smile only grows after she finds the small button on the bottom that causes the windows of the train to light up and glow yellow.

"I don't know what to say," she whispers. "I—" Her voice cuts off, and she just turns the train over in her hands, carefully examining every surface. Which is absolutely fine with me until she finds the bell. Because she's seen the movie, and she's smart enough to know that the bell should ring. I forgot about the note I put in there, and now I'm regretting it.

She reaches up and takes the folded piece of paper out of the bell, and when she gently shakes the train again, the bell rings this time. I'm temporarily filled with hope that she'll just leave the paper alone now that the bell rings, because I really did not think this through well, but when I look at her next, she's unfolding it.

This can't be happening. Please don't let this be happening. No, no, no, no, no. I sit silently in my seat until I can't take it anymore—I'm sure she's read it by now, because she's been looking at the completely open paper for at least five seconds by now, but she's not doing anything. I scramble to my feet and start making my way out of the room.

I don't know where to go, but all I know is that I have to go somewhere. Except that decision is taken out of my hands when Chelsie reaches out and grabs my wrist. "Wait."

"I'm sorry," I say reflexively. "I didn't think you'd find that. I counted on you not noticing that. I'm so sorry."

"What is there to be sorry about?" she asks, still using that soft tone of voice where I can't tell what she's thinking. At all. "Did you lie?"

"No," I whisper, swallowing hard. There's no point in denying it. That would just hurt her more, I think, and that's the last thing I want to do. This way, she'll only be uncomfortable, but not hurt.

"Then what is there to be sorry about?" she repeats. Her voice is stronger now, and a little bit angry, though she seems to be implying that she's mad at me for being sorry, not for writing the note. Which is not at all the reaction I was expecting.

"Uh, I mean, I—you—you don't—"

"Who says I don't?" she interrupts. Then, she seems to realize that she's still standing and clenching onto my wrist, because she loosens her hold and sits back down on the couch. "Sorry. Here. Open this."

I take the small package that she's taken from her bathrobe pocket wordlessly and pick at the tape that holds the wrapping paper together. I'm dragging this out by unwrapping it carefully, I know, because there's this foolish part of me that hopes that if I can drag this out forever, I won't have to face anything else. But all too soon, I've managed to undo the tape without making any tears in the paper, so I no longer have an excuse to delay any longer.

Inside the package that I've so carefully unwrapped is a single envelope, which only adds to my curiosity and anxiety. Because now there's yet another thing I have to undo before I can figure out what's inside. I open the envelope somewhat impatiently this time, nearly giving myself a papercut in the process, and carefully pull out a small piece of paper.

On the paper is a simple message: Come see the fireworks with me tonight? It's followed by a simple heart.

All of a sudden, my mouth is dry. Does this mean what I think it means in the way I think she means it? Everything about the context makes me think that yes, I'm interpreting this the way I'm supposed to. The heart, the way she gave it to me right after she found the note, and the way she insisted that I have nothing to be sorry about. But I'm still wary, because I don't want to be wrong. It would hurt too much.

"How do you mean this?" I ask her after a long, heavy moment of silence. "You know what I want to assume this is, but is that really how you mean it? I don't want to take this the wrong way, but—"

"It is," she confirms, letting out a small giggle when she sees my slack-jawed expression. "You're not the only one. It's really okay, Ava. Trust me."

"Oh my god," I breathe, collapsing down onto the couch next to her. Hayden is no longer in the room, I notice, but I can't bring myself to care at the moment, especially because I hear him in the next room over. "Are you sure? How did you know that I..."

"Your friend Josh isn't the best with secrets," she admits with an amused smile. "I was asking about you a little too much, I guess, or doing something else to make my feelings obvious when I didn't mean to. He teased a confession out of me and then told me to get on it because you were torturing yourself about it."

"He told you?" I splutter indignantly. "That idiot. When?"

"A few days ago."

In all honesty, I'm not that surprised. He's never been the best at keeping secrets, especially if he sees a benefit in telling someone. And this seems like it's turning out okay, so I'm not that mad that he told her, but I'm still a bit miffed by the principle of it. "Oh," is all I can think to say.

She reaches out and grabs my hand, lacing her fingers with my own. "Yeah."

We spend a few moments in contented silence until the sentence comes bursting out of me. "Can I kiss you?" But she doesn't reply right away, and her initial shock is enough to send me reeling. "Wait, no, sorry. Ignore that. I know that you're ace, and I don't know what your boundaries are, so that was a stupid question for me to ask. I don't want to make you uncomfortable—"

"It wasn't a stupid question at all," she counters. "I was just surprised because nobody's really cared about my boundaries before. They knew I was ace—some of them did, at least, though ironically, my husband didn't—but they didn't realize that being ace means different things to different people, and they just pretended I wasn't. I always had to remind them that I had boundaries—they didn't care unless I forced them to. So, thanks. We can talk about boundaries more later"—she winks— "but yes, you can."

"Okay," I whisper, but in my state of shock, I can't bring myself to do anything but just sit there. So she comes to me. Her lips are soft and warm on mine, everything I had imagined and more. I faintly notice her arms coming up behind my neck, and I register my own resting on her waist, but those sensations are faint in comparison to the electric tingling coursing through my body. It feels like there are sparks dancing across my cheeks, down my back, through my stomach, and then out to my fingertips. And I love it.

Eventually, we break apart. My cheeks are on fire, but I'm not the only one—there's a deep red flush painted across her face as if someone took a paintbrush covered in red and just dragged it in a horizontal line across her cheeks, and her ears are turning redder by the second. Her lips are slightly parted, and her eyes are shining, too. It makes me feel much better about the way I must look right now.

"How do you feel about staying longer?" I ask her when I get my breath back.

"What do you mean?"

"I originally told you that you could stay at least until Christmas, and then we'd figure something out. Remember that? We talked about it a while ago, so I'm not sure you do. But anyway, I'm extending my invitation. Indefinitely."

"Indefinitely?" she repeats. She sounds disbelieving, and I'm not quite sure how to take that. "Really? You mean it? Are you sure?"

"Yes," I say. There's no doubt, no second-guessing. In my offer, that is. Her response is a different story. "I don't want you to leave. I mean, I'm not saying you can't, but you know what I mean. I hope. And from what I know, you don't have anywhere to go right now. It seems logical, doesn't it?"

"Well, when you put it like that..." She pauses for a moment. "Okay."

"Are you sure?" I ask. The tables have turned, and now I'm the one asking her. "This town is small. Pretty conservative, though not horribly so. We're kind of out in the middle of nowhere. You're going to be pretty far from California. And—"

"Are you trying to convince me not to stay?" she asks with a laugh. "Trust me, I've thought about this. As embarrassing as it is, I've been thinking about what might happen between us. I'll have to talk to Hayden, of course, because he gets to have a say in this, too. But for now, my answer is yes."

"Okay. That sounds good to me."

When Josh comes by later that afternoon to take Hayden for the evening so Chelsie and I can go on our date, I tackle him in a hug in a rare show of affection. "Thanks, Josh," I mumble into his shoulder. "Even though you shouldn't have."

"You're welcome," he replies, awkwardly patting my back. This is probably only the second time I've hugged him, after all, the first being when I came out to him and he accepted me. It's only natural for him to feel awkward. "Now, stop making your girlfriend jealous."

I glance over my shoulder to find Chelsie leaning against the wall, an exaggerated pout on her face. She's smirking at the same time, so I can tell she's not mad, but I walk over and place a kiss on her cheek anyway. Just because I can.

"Are you ready?" Josh asks Hayden, who's practically vibrating with excitement. I don't think Hayden knows where Josh is taking him—I don't even know, for that matter—but Hayden loves hanging with Josh, so it won't really matter. Hayden still gives a very enthusiastic yes.

And just like that, Hayden and Josh are gone, and the house is quiet. I'll have to thank Josh later, though I'm sure Chelsie has already done that. And now, Chelsie and I will have the whole evening to ourselves to go out and watch the fireworks together. It'll be the perfect evening.

"Are you ready?" Chelsie asks me, placing her hat on her head, wrapping her scarf around her neck, and then pulling on her gloves.

"Yep," I reply, though I feel much more underdressed since all I have is a puffy coat—I don't have gloves, a hat, or a scarf tonight. I've been overheating since our kiss this morning, and as long as I'm next to her tonight with the knowledge that she likes me too and that we're on a date, I don't think I'm going to cool down anytime soon.

"Okay," she says. "Let's go, or else we'll miss the beginning."

"We wouldn't want that," I say as we both make our way out onto the porch. I lock the front door behind me, and then we're on our way.

"No," she agrees, "we wouldn't. Hey, Ava?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

The smile on my face is brilliantly wide. "I love you too."