“I’ll say,” Dad adds from the kitchen where he's attempting to recreate Connor's pancakes. “But I’m telling you, Ari: This chocolate-chip pancake recipe could use more spirulina..."

“Dad, please. No more adding protein powder to thepancakes!" I steady a wobbling cardboard Elvis cutout. "This has to be perfect."

Because it has to be.

My phone buzzes:

YASMIN: Update on CEO location

YASMIN: Just left your apartment

YASMIN: Heading to dance studio

YASMIN: Operation Elvis is go

"He's on his way!" I nearly drop the photo frame. "Everyone out!"

"But the pancakes—" Dad protests.

"Out!"

"The decorations—" Lily starts.

"OUT!"

They scramble for the elevator, leaving me alone with approximately eight thousand dollars worth of Elvis memorabilia and a heart that feels too big for my chest.

I check my reflection in the window, Seattle's spring sunset painting everything in shades of possibility. The sequined dress Lily insisted I wear catches the light like stars, and something about the moment feels magical.

Terrifying.

Perfect.

My phone buzzes again:

KAT: You've got this

KAT: Though maybe skip the Macarena dance this time

I laugh wetly, adjusting the "Love Me Tender" banner one last time. Everything has to be exactly right. Has to show Connor that I remember every detail, every moment, every?—

The elevator dings.

Oh god.

The mechanical Elvis chooses that moment to start playing again, because of course it does.

"What the..." Connor’s voice carries from the entrance.

I close my eyes briefly, gathering courage. Then I step into view.

He stops.

Because his perfectly controlled penthouse has been transformed into a Vegas wedding chapel—complete with cardboard Elvises, sequins everywhere, and what might be an illegal number of fairy lights—Connor stands frozen in the doorway.

His sharp, calculating gaze sweeps over the room before landing on me. On the ridiculous, glimmering dress I never would’ve worn before. On the poker chip ring crushed in my palm.

I force myself to breathe. “Hi.”