That's the way I loved you ~Jeremiah Fisher~

The house is quiet when I wake up the next morning, sunlight spilling through the linen curtains in soft streaks. For a second, I forget everything—Nicole's text, the late-night movie with Jeremiah, the way Belly looked at me when Conrad pulled up with the bag of clothes. But the second passes, and it all comes flooding back.

I pad downstairs in a pair of leggings and a tank top, my hair still damp from last night's shower. The air smells like coffee and toast. Susannah's probably already in the kitchen, humming along to one of her old Fleetwood Mac records.

But when I walk in, it's not just Susannah—it's Belly.

She's sitting at the table, a mug cradled in her hands, her long hair tucked behind her ears. She looks up when she sees me, her mouth opening slightly like she didn't expect me to be here this early.

"Morning," I say softly.

"Morning," she echoes. There's a pause. "Do you want some coffee?"

I nod, and she gets up to pour me a cup. She sets it on the table in front of me like a peace offering.

"I didn't expect you to come last night," she says after a beat.

"I wasn't planning on it." I stir a little sugar into the mug. "But Nicole invited me. And I thought... why not."

She bites her lip. "I'm glad you came. Even if things got... messy."

I glance at her. "You mean when she left you stranded naked in a cove?"

A breath of a laugh escapes her. "Yeah. That."

There's a moment of quiet where we both just sit with our coffee. Then she says it:

"I miss you, Soph."

I blink. Her voice is soft and real, and it hits me like a wave.

"I miss you too," I admit. "But I was hurt, Belly. What you and Jeremiah did... it felt like I didn't matter."

"I know," she says quickly. "And I don't have an excuse. I was confused and selfish and—God, Conrad makes me insane. And Jeremiah was there, and it just... happened. But it shouldn't have. Not like that."

"Do you love him?" I ask, because I need to know. I need the truth, even if it hurts.

She shakes her head. "No. I care about him. But not like that. It was never going to be real. I think I was just trying to forget."

We fall quiet again, and then she reaches across the table and squeezes my hand.

"I want to fix things," she says. "If you'll let me."

And for the first time in days, I let myself smile.

"Yeah," I whisper. "Let's try."

⸻

That afternoon, I'm flipping through a dress catalog for the debutante ball, sitting on a striped lounger on the porch, when the screen door creaks open.

Jeremiah steps out, hands stuffed in his pockets, hair tousled like he's been nervously running his fingers through it. He's in a clean white t-shirt and board shorts, but he looks... put together.

"Hey," he says.

"Hey."

He hesitates, like he's building up to something, and sits on the edge of the chair next to me.

"I was thinking," he starts. "Since you and Belly are good now, and the ball's coming up..."

I look at him, raising a brow. "Jeremiah Fisher, are you trying to ask me to a formal event?"

His cheeks flush, and he rubs the back of his neck. "Maybe."

I set the catalog on my lap, giving him my full attention. "Go on, then. Ask me."

He exhales, then turns to face me, eyes meeting mine.

"Sophie Summers," he says, "will you do me the honor of letting me escort you to the debutante ball?"

A smile tugs at my lips, despite how badly I try to keep a straight face.

"Hmm..." I pretend to think. "I don't know. What do I get out of it?"

He grins, leaning in slightly. "The best dance partner on the floor. Maybe a matching corsage. And possibly a very charming kiss at the end of the night."

I laugh, shaking my head. "You're impossible."

"But is that a yes?"

I look at him, taking in his soft blue eyes, the way he's looking at me like I'm the only thing that matters.

"Yes," I say. "It's a yes."

He leans back in victory, hands behind his head. "Told you I was charming."

"You're lucky you're cute."

He winks. "That too."

As he walks off to tell his mom, I feel it—that buzz in my chest, the one that tells me this summer's not over yet. Not for me. Not for Jeremiah. Not for us.