Page 86 of The One Night Dash
Honestly? Y’all are giving Nicholas Sparks vibes, but hotter.
Sofie
Find me a man who looks at ME like that. You’re not allowed to let this one go.
Claudia
This isn’t even candid. This is destiny in high-def.
Photo two: The Turkey Trot. Dash, still gorgeous, jogging beside me, our strides matched without even trying, well, on my part, anyway. I’m flushed and laughing; he’s pretending to trip me.
Nalani
Couples who wobble together gobble together.
Sofie
This is rom-com GOLD. Someone write the screenplay.
Claudia
Even sweaty, y’all are disgustingly cute. I’m offended.
Photo three: Again, the Turkey Trot. Me on his back, my brothers ahead of us, clueless, people behind us laughing, and some scandalized by the cheating. He looks so happy. I look like I’m trying not to be.That hits.
Nalani
Rule-breaking, back-carrying, look-at-him-smiling kind of love. The rest of them don’t even matter.
Sofie
Cheating? Please. This is the definition of winning.
Claudia
You’re hanging on like you don’t want to, but your eyes are screaming otherwise. Girl, we SEE it.
Next is a video of Koa from their kitchen.
“I’m just gonna say it. I’ve known Dash for nearly a decade, and I have never—never—seen him like this. Dude’s in love. Not crush, not fling. Love-love. The kind that sticks. He’s in this for the long haul, so buckle up or go into witness protection.”
The thread explodes with heart emojis, from the girls.
I don’t respond. Not to a single one. My thumb just scrolls. Scrolls and scrolls.
Every photo is another knife in my chest, but not because I don’t want him—God, I want him—but because of how stark the difference is.
Every angle of Dash screams safety, warmth, devotion. Nothing like Jimmy. Jimmy’s smiles were masks, brittle and sharp. Dash’s are unguarded, real, almost boyish. Jimmy’s touch had always felt like ownership. Dash’s touch, even in a photo, appears to convey reverence. Jimmy’s words, even before that night, were entitled. Dash’s … team.
They ship us. They cheer us on. And, for a second, I want to lean into the absurdity. Instead, my stomach twists. Because they don’t know the truth—not about Jimmy, not about how allof this has shattered me tonight, and not about the way I just pushed Dash away when he tried to stay.
The messages keep pouring in, the screen lighting up until I almost can’t look at it. But I do. Because avoiding them feels worse. And I hate myself, because even as I bleed from tonight’s truth, my heart keeps betraying my fears. I’m finding every difference. Falling harder for the man I just pushed away.
And then, as if the girls hadn’t unknowingly gutted me enough with their screenshots, they start dropping old photos. Not recent ones. Not wedding or trot.Before.Before Dash and I were even a thing.
A pic from an Icehouse booth.I’m squeezed into the corner, a half-empty basket of fries in front of me. Dash is at the end, turned completely in my direction, his arm draped over the backrest, body language screaming “Focus.” I’m mid-story, animated, hands flying. He’s not even pretending to listen to anyone else.
Nalani
