My finger hovers over the screen. A familiar ache of regret spreads through my chest. The sensation has faded, but I’m not sure it’ll ever go away completely.
I was so happy in that moment. From the looks of it, Will was too. It doesn’t seem fair that a few careless comments could have ruined that feeling completely.
But they did. And life moves on. It has to. I drag in a breath and skim through the rest of the photos, not letting myself linger on any Will is in too long. I’ve tortured myself over the past enough already.
I’ve just reached the last picture when a Twitter alert pops up. Sierra has tagged me in a tweet. That’s odd. My clients don’t usually draw me publicly into their social media chatter. I tap over to see what she had to say.
I hear there’s something big happening by Sunset Plaza today at six o’clock, she’s written. A bunch of her friends are tagged too. That’s . . . very vague. She must have thought it was gossip I’d be interested in. Sometimes figuring out how teens think is like attempting extraterrestrial interpretation.
As I stand up, the app pings again. One of my other clients, a sixteen-year-old who does super-popular video game commentary, has tagged me too. What’s going down at Sunset Plaza in half an hour? I don’t know, but it sounds like it’ll be crazy!
I stare at the tweet for a minute, frowning. What the heck is going on? There’s no way that’s a coincidence.
Then a third tagged tweet pops up. Dionne Jackson is giving me a nudge with the somewhat lesser subtlety that I guess comes with being twelve.
You’ll want to be over at Sunset Plaza at six today! Especially if your initials are R.W.
Okay, this is just ridiculous now. Clearly my clients are in on some scheme. I hail a Lyft as I call Dionne’s number. She’d better tell me what’s up.
My call goes through to her voice mail. Hmmm. I shoot her a quick text telling her to call me and then try the other two. Neither of them responds either. I’m thinking a little chat about appropriate client-PR rep communication is going to be in order.
It’s ten to six when I arrive at Sunset Plaza. Nothing looks odd among the expensive boutiques and cafes. Tourists and locals mingle as they amble along the wide sidewalk. The traffic rumbles by. A B-lister is signing a napkin for a fan who probably staked out this part of the Strip specifically to celebrity-watch.
I meander along uncertainly. My phone hasn’t buzzed again. Bizarre as this situation is, if my clients are wrapped up in it I should stick around to see what happens.
The clock hits six. Suddenly, the opening notes of a song peal out into the air. Several passers-by stop and glance around. I step back against the wall, looking curiously around.
The music swells with a pulsing beat and rolling melody that sound vaguely familiar. Then a stream of dancers pours onto the sidewalk from the parking lots and between the stores. Recognition hits me and as I gape.
It’s tango music, like the songs we danced to for the lesson Brooke arranged. And the figures up and down the sidewalk—more and more darting in and taking up their positions—are tangoing away to it, hands clasped and eyes locked. Moving with much more skill and grace than I’d imagine any of us wedding guests managed.
But what’s really remarkable is not their dancing, but the fact that all of them are wearing . . . Star Trek uniforms. The red, gold, and blue of all the divisions, insignia flashing on their shoulders.
What the hell is going on?
People are stopping to stare. A bunch have already pulled out their phones to record the spectacle. And it is a spectacle. There’s got to be at least a hundred couples dancing now, showing off that spandex to full effect. One of the men whips his partner around in a dizzying spin. A woman arches back so low her hair grazes the pavement.
Someone taps on my shoulder. I turn in a daze—and find myself staring into Will’s handsome face, far more vividly real than the photos I was musing over less than an hour ago. My heart flips.
“May I have this dance?” he says, as smooth as ever, and offers his hand.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
My jaw has gone slack. Will’s gray-green eyes hold mine intently. I snap my mouth shut, and immediately open it again. “I, um, what—?” I seem to have misplaced the vast majority of my vocabulary.
Will nods toward the dancers. “What do you think? They’re pretty good.”
And finally, it clicks. Him being here and the bizarre display playing out in front of us are connected.
“You set this up?” I ask, stunned. “You . . .” I suppress a giggle. “You got me a flash mob?”
“I figured I had a lot to prove,” he says, with a shy smile. “So I’m hoping this is one of those rare times it’s a good idea. It’s at least a very Ruby flash mob, isn’t it?”
I glance at the tangoing Star Trek officers and back at him. “Yeah, I guess it is.” I gulp, suddenly nervous. This doesn’t feel real, but I desperately want it to be. “Can I ask why?”
Will takes a breath. “A very smart person told me recently that the best way to get past a problem is to top it with something bigger and better. So . . . let’s just say this is my attempt to write over that last day at the resort.” He pauses. “Is it working?”
For the first time, I catch the slight hesitation in his voice. His gaze searches mine, and my heart skips a beat. “I think it’s a good start.”
He smiles, and all at once, I don’t care how many people are around us. The only person in the world that matters is the one whose fingers are clasped around mine.
“I’m sorry,” Will says. “For shutting you out. I don’t think I realized how much I wanted you to see me as someone you could have a future with. Maybe it brought back too much of that feeling when you ghosted me before, thinking I didn’t matter to you as much as I hoped . . .”
I feel a lump in my throat. “You’ve always mattered to me, Will,” I tell him urgently. “That’s why it broke my heart so much when I thought you were mocking me back then. A memory like that is hard to let go of, even when you find out it isn’t true. I get it.”
“Yeah. I thought about that, afterward.” He gives me a rueful smile. “Of course you felt even more awful than I did. Of course that made you nervous about opening up again. I just needed time to see the bigger picture.”
I catch my breath. “So what does that picture look like now?”
Will raises his hand to cup my cheek. “I love you, Ruby Walters.” He says firmly. “If there’s such a thing as The One, then you’re it for me. You probably always were, I was just too dense to notice back in college. But I know it now. I want to make this work, crazy schedules and past misunderstandings and all. If you still want that.”
He looks at me, like he’s still not sure what I’ll say. But I am.
“I love you too.” I grasp the collar of his shirt and tug him to close those last few inches between his mouth and mine. I kiss him hard, trying to show him everything I feel.