Page 48 of His Wisconsin Wallflower
The school loomed ahead, and something tight cinched around her chest. Inside, the halls were hushed and eerily. No bells, no teenage voices, no lockers slamming. Just silence and memory.
He opened the front doors and led them inside.
“You have a key?”
He winked and started walking down the corridor, adjusting his step so she and Nana could easily follow.
The gym doors were propped open.
She stepped inside... and froze.
The space smelled faintly of floor wax and teenagers’ sweat. The overhead lights were dimmed, casting long shadows across the polished linoleum. Her breath caught.
This room. God, this room.
She’d spent years in here, sitting against the walls during dances, pretending she didn’t mind not being asked. It was where she’d given her first public speech for English class, heart pounding so hard she’d thought she’d faint. Where she’d tucked herself behind the bleachers with her notebook, scribbling stories no one ever read.
Where I learned how to escape with words, because no one invited me into the world happening around me.
Quinten led her to the center of the floor and whispered, “Don’t move.”
She blinked at him, suspicious. “Why?”
“Humor me.” He escorted her grandmother to the bleachers, before jogging toward the wall.
For a second, all she could see was the boy he used to be—lean, fast, full of untamed energy. But the man he’d become? Broader, more grounded, with strength etched into everymovement. He’d always been sexy, but maturity had sharpened him, added a quiet power that made him flat-out irresistible.
She still couldn’t believe he was hers.
He fiddled with something she couldn’t quite see.
The lights went out.
Her heart stuttered. “What?—”
Then a soft spotlight flicked on, casting a warm circle of gold a few feet in front of her.
From the bleachers, a shuffle of fabric and heels echoed, and then—unexpectedly—Nana’s voice floated from the shadows. “Hush, child,” she muttered.
A phone’s screen lit up. Nana tapped it confidently, and music swelled through the gym.
Ed Sheeran. Shape of You. The acoustic version.
Raisa’s breath hitched.
Her mouth parted. “You didn’t?—”
Quinten stepped into the light. “I sometimes wonder what would’ve happened if I’d asked you to prom. If I could’ve been the guy who made you feel seen back then.” He took a slow step closer. “I can’t change the past. I can’t undo the way we treated you. But I can do better now. I can love you the way you always deserved.” He paused, lifted his hand. “Dance with me?”
She stared at him, at the light gilding his cheekbones, at the nervous edge to his smile. At the absolute absurdity of dancing in the school gym almost twenty years after leaving school—with her Nana in the bleachers working the music.
She kicked off her heels.
Barefoot, she stepped into the circle of light and took his hand.
His palm was warm and callused. He pulled her close, slipping one arm around her back, the other holding her hand like it was something precious. They swayed gently at first, hercheek brushing the lapel of his suit, the music settling into the hollow of her bones.
“You should have been my queen back then,” he murmured in her ear, “but I can’t change the past.”
