Sera’s smile bloomed slowly, like sunrise warming the edge of something sacred. She didn’t drop his hand. If anything, her grip tightened slightly—reassuring, steady. Her espresso still sat on the counter behind her, half-finished, probably lukewarm by now. But she didn’t care.

She leaned in, eyes glittering with something half-serious, half-mischief.

“Well, obviously,” she said with mock solemnity, “it’s because I’m not a mere mortal like you, Asher Cole.”

She tipped her chin up, lashes fluttering just enough to be playful. “I’m clearly some magical, mythical being. A celestial gift to the human race. An espresso-fueled goddess, if you will.”

Then, feigning great effort, she sighed. “It’s exhausting, really. Holding the universe together one almond milk latte at a time. But someone has to do it.”

Her expression softened again, that playful sparkle giving way to something deeper beneath the surface. She raised their linked hands slightly and looked down at them—at the way his fingers fit so perfectly between hers, like they'd been designed with her in mind.

“But you make it worth it,” she added quietly. “Even when you’re brooding and dramatic and emotionally constipated.”

She finally turned to grab her espresso and took a long, unapologetic sip. “Mmm. Sabrina Carpenter was so right. This drink really is my boyfriend.”

Then she looked at him over the rim of her cup, one perfectly sculpted brow arching. “But you’ll do for today, I guess.”

Her smile broke into a grin, and she stepped back just enough to pull him toward the front door. “Come on. I’ve got a date with a double scoop of rocky road and a boy who thinks the world might end if he doesn’t figure everything out before graduation.”

She stopped at the threshold, turned back to face him fully, and tilted her head, eyes serious for just a moment longer.

“I don’t have all the answers either, Ash. But if the world is ending, then I’m spending the rest of today making sure you smile through it.”

And with that, she tugged him outside—into the sun, into the car, into whatever came next—laughing like maybe, just maybe, things didn’t have to fall apart all at once.

It was ridiculous how fast she could flip the switch—how one second he was drowning in his panic, and the next she was standing there, declaring herself a “celestial gift to the human race,” as if she weren’t also the only person keeping him from unravelling completely.

He almost laughed. Almost.

Not because it wasn’t funny—because it was. It was so her, all of it. The dramatic flair, the glitter in her voice when she was being ridiculous on purpose, the way she wielded confidence like armour and affection like a dagger made of silk. But it hit differently now.

Because beneath the espresso-fueled goddess routine, there was her. Still holding his hand and still choosing to stay.

And when she looked down at their fingers—really looked—it wrecked him a little.

Her thumb brushed over his, barely there. His chest tightened.

Even when you’re brooding and dramatic and emotionally constipated.

He snorted and rolled his eyes at her, but there was no bite in it. Just breath. Just relief. Just the small miracle of being seen completely and still being wanted.

She took that long, dramatic sip of espresso like it was the final word. Like Sabrina Carpenter had blessed their entire emotional crisis. And when she looked at him over the rim of the cup, smug and radiant, Asher couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at his mouth—even if he tried.

Which he didn’t.

Not anymore.

“You’ll do for today, I guess.”

He shook his head, lips parted like he might devise something clever. But before he could, she was pulling him forward with that quiet command only she could get away with. Straight through the hallway, past the familiar frames on the walls and the memories they never talked about, and into the light.

She stopped at the door.

And then she looked at him again—eyes deep, still, like maybe she’d been holding something back and just now decided to let it show.

“I don’t have all the answers either, Ash. But if the world is ending, I’m spending the rest of today making sure you smile through it.”

That one landed.
Hard.

Because, in the end, that was all he wanted. Not someone to fix it. Not someone to pretend it wasn’t happening. Just someone to stay with. Someone to see him and still be there.

And somehow, impossibly, that was her.

He let her tug him through the door. The sunlight hit them like a wave, warm and blinding. She laughed, full and free, and he held onto the sound like it was the last real thing in the world.

They climbed into the car—hers, not his, because she always insisted she didn’t trust his Spotify taste when he was “moody.” The door clicked shut, the engine hummed to life, and the scent of her perfume lingered in the air, familiar, maddening, and perfect.

Asher looked at her once more.

That grin. That certainty. That wild, fierce light.

And without thinking, without saying a word, he reached over, slid his hand into hers again, and held on like it meant something.

Because it did.

Then he let go.
Turned the keys.
And drove.

Not toward clarity.
Not toward answers.

Just forward.
With her.