“You’re a menace. I’m just saying,” Easton said. “You’re just saying that because I’m better at making sparkly proposal posters.” He eyed the sign. “It’s objectively horrifying.” “I went through three glue sticks.” “Of course you did.” We stared at each other. “Hi,” I whispered. My voice cracked like a middle school trumpet. His smile softened. “Hey, Nat.” He said it like it was only ever going to be me.
