Page 136 of The Boyfriend Goal

I settle into a corner fifty or so feet from the street, moving behind a pack of revelers wearing ugly sweaters and nipping sips from silver flasks. I’m wearing jeans and a sweatshirt since I changed after work. Didn’t want to draw too much attention in full-on work interview garb.

Here goes.

With the park lit up at night, I turn on the song in my AirPods. This isn’t what I planned with Wes. But after I dance alone, I can fight for him.

I can tell him he’s wrong. That life is more than work. That he shouldn’t focus on just hockey. That he should focus on how to be happy.

Ideally, with me.

So I shimmy my hips. I shake my booty. And I mouth the words to the song I’ve known by heart my whole, entire life. As I move to the familiar beat, a memory flashes before me. Days when I’d dance like this with Greta, carefree and joyful. She danced like she had no stress, and I learned to groove like that from her. The scarf she wore would blow in the breeze, the music would drum in our hearts, and the day would be lovely.

Now, as I sway, it doesn’t just feel like I’m dancing in the park. It feels like I’m living with no regrets.

I get into the groove, blending in with the crowds until…

I jump.

My lungs explode with worry since someone has curled a hand around my shoulder.

I spin around, ready to slam a fist into their nose since that’s what you do…when I’m standing in front of Wes.

He holds up his hands. “I come in peace,” he says. At least, those are the words I read on his lips. I hit stop on the song then yank out my AirPods, my pulse rocketing to the stars in the night sky.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” I say, my heart still sprinting.

“I came here to find you.”

That’s clear, but still, I say, “You did?”

“I went to the library to pick you up. You were gone. I went home. You weren’t there. I called Maeve, and she told me you were here. I can’t let you do this alone.”

My skin is tingling, and hope bursts in every cell as he reaches into a pocket and hands me an old iPod. With a set of corded earphones, just like I told him Greta and I used once upon a time.

They’re so old school and so right.

My heart swells. And I’m not even sure what to say except: “Let me start it over.”

“Yeah. I’d like that, Josie.”

When the song is cued up on the old iPod, I put one earbud in my ear then offer him the other. He takes it and then curls his hands around my hips, a white wire connecting us as he brings me close and we slow dance in the park.

He lifts a hand to my neck, threads fingers through my hair, looks me in the eyes, and smiles—that warm, generous grin that hooked me the night I met him.

That’s like an arrow through me all over again.

We dance on a chilly December night as the park lights up, and the city celebrates around us.

I don’t know what it means that he’s here, but I try to live in the moment. And I love this moment.

We dance till the song ends. We remove our headphones, and he says, “I wrote a letter for you.”

“You did?”

“As soon as you left. I wanted to give it to you when you got back from your interview but didn’t want to ruin your day.”

A prick of worry races down my spine. “Will it ruin it?”

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