“Scarlett, this issohigh school.”
Her lips quirk. “Did you mean to quote a Taylor Swift song?”
“What do you think?” I remember our running joke—seeinghow many of Swift’s titles we could sneak into a conversation without the other calling us out.
She lifts an eyebrow in surprise. “Are you seriously challenging me to that game right now?” We both know how this ends. She doesn’t just know Taylor Swift songs—shespeaksTaylor.
“Scarlett, you need to calm down.” I almost keep a straight face, but at the last second, lose it.
She cackles with laughter. “Good one. But if you think you can beat me,you’re on your own, kid.” Then she winks.
I might be up by one quote, but there’s no universe where I win this. She made me listen to the entire Taylor Swift discography all those years ago—something I only endured because it washer. And even back then, she knew every word by heart.
After I left for the Marines, I listened to those songs on repeat before falling asleep every night. Texas. California. Australia. Germany. They were a lifeline, a way to keep her close when she was so far away.Reputation. Lover. Folklore.Every song carried her voice with it in my mind.
I could picture her singing along while getting ready in the morning, and the soundtrack to her life as she drove to Magnolia Brew and worked her shift at the cafe. Those songs became the thread that tied me to her for years.
As she walks backward now, still tugging me toward the dance floor, memories stir that I’d buried long ago.
“Scarlett,” I exhale, finally giving in. “I don’t stand a chance against you.”
And I don’t just mean the game.
I mean this dance. The pretending. This woman who’s been under my skin for half my life.
I have never stood a chance.
ELEVEN
Scarlett
Honestly, I can’t believe I gotMr. I Don’t Do Funout here on an actual dance floor.
Get ready, Coach—that air-hockey victory was just the appetizer. I’m going to make him have fun if it kills both of us, even if it means dragging him onto this floor that’s sticky from spilled beer and who-knows-what-else.
I kick my white sneakers off to the side—but no socks, unfortunately, which leaves me barefoot on what is definitely not the cleanest floor in Charlotte.
“What are you doing?” Brendan asks, staring at my feet.
“What does it look like? I’m taking off my shoes so I can dance better.”
“But the floor is disgusting.” He grimaces, like he can see germs with his naked eye. “There’s probably beer spilled on it. And stains of questionable origin.”
I stare at him. “Does it look like I care right now? I want to dance.” I grab his hand and pull him toward me.
A woman I’ve never seen before dances over to us. She’s older than most of the crowd tonight, maybe in her sixties, with silver streaking her temples and decades past caring what people think about her dance moves. “I haven’t seen youtwo here before.”
“We’re just visiting.” I glance at Brendan, who looks annoyed that he’s being forced to socialize with a stranger. “Short weekend trip.”
“I could tell you were a couple the moment I spotted you. There’s just something about the way you act together.” She extends her hand. “I’m Joanne, by the way.”
I stop dancing to shake her hand. Either we’re incredibly convincing actors, or my attempt to hide my feelings isn’t working all that well.
“I’m Scarlett, and this is Brendan.”
Brendan’s mouth pulls into a tight line.
Undeterred by Brendan’s expression, which clearly saysplease leave, Joanne asks, “Are you married?”