Page 29 of Press Play

“The one with the wild hair?”

“You meanBrave?” I chuckle.

“You’re lucky I like that one.”

I nudge his arm playfully, and he grins. As I lean back, Theo drapes his arm over my shoulders, and my internal temperature rises.

It’s around 10:30 p.m. by the time the cookies are done. Malory set us up with bowls of vanilla ice cream.

“This is why I need a daughter,” she says. “Theo never watches these with me.”

“I am right now,” he sasses.

“Only because Wren is here.”

I look down at my bowl, and nerves gather in my stomach. This looks too good to be safe for me to eat. Yet, I know it is because I helped bake them. I read each ingredient three times. This won’t make me sick; there’s no way it can.

With a moment of trepidation, I place a piece of the cookie in my mouth, and I almost whimper. I can’t recall the last time I ate something this divine.

“These are fantastic,” I tell her. “Thank you, this means a lot to me.”

Malory saw me in my hour of need and didn’t push me away. Instead, she took me in and made me feel at home. She made me realize that someone other than Theo cares for me. She makes me feel like I’m worth the extra mile.

“You’re welcome, my love,” she says in the lounge chair across the room. “Just be glad Theo didn’t burn them.”

“Hey,” he says, his mouth full of ice cream. “I would never.”

She eyes him, and I can’t help but chuckle. “Thank you for not burning anything.” I playfully nudge him.

“Yeah, yeah, just resume the movie.”

Once I finish my bowl, I lean against Theo’s shoulder and allow myself to relax. I ignore Malory’s eager grin and how Theo traces shapes on my forearm. The argument with my mom vanishes from my mind. I don’t have to be in survival mode, not while I’m here.

I simply exist.

Chapter Thirteen

Wren

My mind is ampedup with too many conflicting thoughts—my mother, the nightmare, Theo, and his endless kind gestures. It’s leaving me with too much restless energy.

Today, I wake up before the sun rises. So I summon all my extra energy and pour it into making breakfast. When I saw his fridge, I wasn’t too surprised. I mean, at least he had eggs. I placed a quick order, and the groceries arrived in less than an hour. With music playing from my phone, I get started on making waffles.

Two out of three.

I turn the volume up, quieting the voice inside my head.

I mix the batter and turn the waffle maker on, focusing on muting my mother’s voice. It’s just me, these waffles, and?—

“Cruel Summer” by Taylor Swift plays through the speakers, and I release a pent-up sigh. I mouth the words while gripping the edge of the countertop. When the chorus starts, I use the spoon as a microphone, sing the lyrics, and slowly start to dance around the kitchen island.

The chorus ends as the food sizzles. Swaying my hips, I put the waffle on a plate and start another. I close my eyes andcontinue singing, losing myself in the music. And when the final chorus begins, I put my heart into it.

I spin around, and my eyes land on Theo.

He’s watching me with an amused smile, his curls mussed from sleeping. Pointing at him, I beckon him forward to join me, and to my surprise, he does. He grabs my hand and twirls me. I tangle my hands in his hair and rile his wild locks. His eyes twinkle as we laugh.

As the song comes to an end, neither of us budge.

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