Page 145 of The Thought of You

Owen Conrad loves me, and I love him. If that’s not proof of magic and miracles, then I don’t know what is.

“I want to take you home—now.” He growls against my neck, but a burst of cheers from inside makes me jump back.

“There’s one thing we have to do first.” I shake my head, but the haze of bliss remains. “Well, two things,” I correct myself.

“Name them.”

“First—you need to put on your costume. Did you bring it?”

He slowly nods, clearly confused.

“Second—we need to go inside.”

“We do?” He doesn’t hide disappointment well.

“It’ll be worth it, I promise.” I give him another slow, sensual kiss to shamelessly entice him.

And it works.

“I just need two minutes,” he rasps, then races to his truck as I make my way to the front door.

He wasn’t kidding about the two minutes, although it seems he gets dressed in less.

“Ready?” he asks, his orange costume with the big S down the middle matching my red one.

“Almost.” I slide my hand into his and grin. “Now I’m ready.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.” I punctuate the simple word with a jerk of the door, and we walk in together.

I’m not sure what I expected. Part of me thought the room might freeze, with the music screeching to a halt. Maybe I thought everyone’s head would turn in sync to gawk at us in disbelief.

But none of that happens. Everyone simply carries on laughing with friends, dancing with loved ones, and chatting with new faces. Candy wrappers litter many of the tables around us, adding splashes of bright colors to the browns and neutrals of this rustic bar. The music is loud, and the energy is buzzing as people in masks and clown makeup mill about for drinks and appetizers.

I’m almost disappointed that my relationship with Owen isn’t more of a grand announcement. I’ve been troubled for weeks—a dramatic display of reactions would’ve been more satisfying.

As if she reads my mind, Gemma from the school stops short of us, gapes, and points at my hand in Owen’s. “Wait. Are you two…” She glances between us, curiosity coloring her eyes.

“We are together,” I say at an unnecessarily loud volume, and it’s not just because of the music.

Squealing, she pulls us in for a hug, and I accidentally knock off her princess crown.

“Sorry!” My hand flies to my mouth.

“Don’t even worry about it.” Gemma scoots the crown back into position. “My toddler helped me pick this out, and oh my gosh—I need to call my mother to see how they’re doing.”

Once she bolts outside, Scarlett fills her spot, followed by her friend Matilda. They’re dressed in tame costumes, donning only black midi dresses and cat ears.

“I figured you two would’ve shown up in something shinier than Taylor’s Eras Tour outfits put together.” I point to their bland getups.

“This is what Kenny approved.” Matilda rolls her eyes.

“Forget Kenny.” Scarlett waves her off, then points at us. “You two are together, and I freaking knew it! Where’s Maren? I need to tell her it’s out in the open now, and I’m no longer sworn to secrecy.”

“You knew, and you didn’t tell me?” Matilda smacks her friend’s shoulder. “I tell you everything, including the dream I had the other night where I was a cartoon tiger with a crush on a flower.”

Scarlett pats her arm and forces a smile. “You should really keep some things to yourself.”

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