Page 10 of Unwrapped

“Oh, so now it’swho cares what he thinks?” I laugh. Her words make sense, and I nod, trying to let them sink in. But there’s a part of me that can’t let go of the fear that I’ll always be that quiet girl in the background, the one who blended into the scenery while Tessa lit up every room she walked into.

“He’s a guy, what does he know?” She takes a sip from her smoothie, rolling her eyes with a casual wave of her hand dismissively. “Clearly, not as much as us; my pricing isn’t wrong.” Then she pauses, slowly placing her cup back onto the counter. “Wait a minute. Maybe he suggested our pricing was offbecause he knew it would make you worried so then you’d have to go to his party to talk to him further!”

“Okay, I think you might be watching a little too much true crime because that’s insane.” I change the subject, hoping she won’t press me further on the Asher conversation. “Anyway, did you hear back from Suzette?”

She rolls her eyes, taking the bait. “Yeah, she’s still trying to sell us on that overpriced spot on Milwaukee Avenue. I told her it’s out of our budget, but she won’t give up. I swear, it’s like she thinks we’re made of money.”

“I think they do that because there’s always room for negotiation.”

“I just get annoyed. Like inHouse Hunterswhen they tell the agent their budget is absolutely no higher than this and fifteen seconds later, they’re showing them a house that’s eighty thousand dollars over budget. Like, what the hell?”

One of the things I love most about Tess is, there’s never a question on how she feels about something. Either her facial expression or her tongue is going to tell you.

“It’s not like we can just say, ‘Oh, let me reach into my back pocket for that extra money for the down payment.’” She reaches for her laptop again and holds it up. “Anyway, let’s go over the proposal one more time.”

“Again? Forty-seventh time’s a charm?” I laugh softly, grateful for the distraction. But as I settle onto the couch next to her, my mind drifts back to the way Asher’s hand brushed mine as he handed me his business card, the way his voice softened when he said, “You’ve got potential,” like his words meant so much more than what he was actually saying.

Maybe I’m reading into it and maybe I imagined the way his eyes took me in, but I know I didn’t imagine the spark that ran between us when we touched.

It’s a memory that makes my stomach flip, no matter how hard I try to push it away.

I liein bed staring at the ceiling, listening to the distant hum of the city beyond my window. Sleep doesn’t come easily, not with my thoughts tangled up in the past. I remember the way I used to sneak glances at Asher in the hallways at school, how my heart would race whenever he walked by with that easy, confident stride of his. He was always surrounded by people—football buddies, cheerleaders, kids from every social circle who seemed to worship him.

And I was… well, invisible. Except when I was with Tessa, who had no problem dragging me into every social event she could. She was the one who’d nudge me toward Asher at parties, whispering, “Just go talk to him,” while I tried to hide my nerves behind a red plastic cup.

I never took her advice. I convinced myself that he wouldn’t care about a girl like me—someone who spent more time in the library than at pep rallies and parties, who preferred studying to cheering at football games. I kept my crush safely locked away, content to admire him from afar, where he couldn’t disappoint me.

The bell rings, echoing down the hallway, and the air fills with the sound of shuffling feet and chatter. I try to blend in, slipping my textbooks against my chest like a shield as I weave through the crowd. My pulse picks up, and my eyes scan the hallway, searching.

Then I spot him.

Asher’s walking down the hall, a lopsided grin on his face like he doesn’t have a care in the world. He’s wearing thatworn-out letterman jacket with his name stitched on the front, and his dark hair is tousled just right, like he rolled out of bed that way—effortless, perfect. There’s this energy that surrounds him, magnetic and impossible to ignore. He’s the kind of guy everyone knows, the one people naturally gravitate toward. I swear, it’s like he carries the sunlight with him, and everything else is just drawn in.

I know I shouldn’t stare. But I can’t help it.

He’s surrounded, as usual. Football buddies in their jerseys, cheerleaders with high ponytails and perfect smiles, a couple of kids from the drama club—even teachers give him nods and smiles like he’s some kind of local celebrity. And maybe he is. In a small town like ours, someone like Asher—quarterback, honor roll, friendly with just about everybody and comes from a just as good-looking and well-to-do family—feels like he’s at the center of everything.

I duck my head, pretending to be busy with my locker as he approaches. The metal is cool beneath my fingers as I twist the dial, but my hands shake a little, and I fumble the combination. I’m acutely aware of the way my heart pounds, a steady thrum in my chest that feels embarrassingly loud. I tell myself it’s stupid, that he’s just a guy—a guy who probably doesn’t even know my name. But even so, every time he walks by, I feel the same rush, the same thrill, like I’m on the edge of something big and unknown.

I sneak another glance just as he’s passing by, his laughter ringing out, clear and warm. He’s got this easy, confident stride, and I think that’s part of what draws me in. He moves like he owns the space around him, like the world is always going to bend in his favor. I wonder what that must feel like—to walk through life with that kind of confidence, to know people want to be near you just because you exist.

And then, as if he can feel my gaze, he looks up. For a second, our eyes meet, and my breath catches. His eyes are a deep, warm brown, and there’s this softness there, a hint of curiosity. It’s just a split second, barely enough time for my mind to register that yes, he’s looking at me. Me.

“Hey, Ivy.” That smile widens and my knees actually tremble like I’m about to end up in a jumble on the floor.

He does know my name.

I suck in a sharp breath, my lips parting slightly as I muster just enough courage to answer back. I’m just about to say it. But then someone claps him on the shoulder, and he’s pulled back into the throng of people.

The moment is gone, like a bubble bursting. I turn back to my locker, pretending to search for a book I don’t need. My face feels warm, and I know if anyone sees me right now, they’ll notice the flush spreading across my cheeks.

I replay the moment in my head, over and over, savoring it even though I know it’s nothing. Just a look. Just a second. But it feels like more. It feels like proof that maybe he’s noticed me, too.

I know it’s silly. I know he’s the kind of person who belongs to everyone, who lights up rooms and makes people feel special with a grin. But I can’t help the way my heart races when he’s near or the way I find myself searching for him in every crowded hallway.

And I can’t help but hope that, one day, he’ll look at me like I’m the only person in the room.

But today, standing in his office, I couldn’t shake the feeling that things were different. The way he looked at me—like he was really seeing me for the first time—it was enough to crack open those old, carefully buried feelings. And now, no matter how much I try to tell myself that it’s just nostalgia, that it’s just a sillyhigh school crush resurfacing, I can’t deny the flutter of hope in my chest.

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