Page 95 of Prime Time Romance

Oh god.

I desperately hope that I’m interpreting all of this wrong and that what is about to happen isn’t about to happen.

Then a Beyoncé-like voice comes in, and I know without any doubt that I am Carson’s Cove’s latest victim.

It’s a flash mob.

They come out of every nook and cranny. Out from behind flowerpots, parked cars, and even a sewer grate. Doc Martin, Lois, even elderly Pop. They’re gyrating. They’re port de bras-ing as what sounds like a knockoff, watered-down, censored-for-prime-time-television version of Queen Bey’s “Crazy in Love” is blasted from speakers that seem to be all over town.

Then the tubas come. A low buh-bum that shakes me all the way to the core.

Then the trumpets.

The drums.

It’s the entire Carson’s Cove High marching band.

And leading them—blond hair shining in the sun—is the former man of my dreams.

He’s a great dancer.

They’re all great dancers, actually.

There are lifts.

There are splits.

Everyone looks like they’ve spent years training on Broadway.

I’m still trapped. I can’t go. I can’t leave. All I can do is watch as Spencer dances his way toward me.

“Hey, Sloan.” Spencer walks perfectly in time to the music. “I’ve been trying to find a way to tell you that I’m crazy about you. Ever since we shared that magical kiss the other night, I can’t get you out of my head. And I have an important question to ask you.”

My heart stops completely.

Tiny black specks linger at the corners of my vision. They start to close in as he drops to one knee.

Oh. My. God.

I am certain that I’m seconds away from fainting. Or throwing up. It’s fifty-fifty at this point.

But he doesn’t pull out a little black box.

Someone tosses him a brown paper bag.

The little black specks clear away enough that I can watch him pull out a sweater.

No, it’s a jacket.

Maroon and gold with a #18 stitched onto the leather sleeve. His basketball jacket from high school.

“I was hoping I could give you this. I should have done it years ago, and I’m sorry, but I’m hoping you’ll accept it now.”

My icy heart melts just enough to see the sweetness in his gesture. He clearly went to a lot of trouble here.

His hopeful eyes look up at me. They match the ocean perfectly, and as I hesitate, they flick from me to the crowd surrounding us.

They’re frozen in their final pose. One hand on their hip, the other raised triumphantly above their heads, punching the sky.