i love you, i'm sorry

SENIOR YEAR, NOVEMBER 2022

"PRESENTING OUR OUR 2022 HOMECOMING KING AND QUEEN— GAVIN MAXWELL AND JULIA WOODS!"

Mr. Robertson ushered us up the stairs as the crowd roared with applause. I heard the distinct sounds of whooping from our classmates, and I beamed at my best friend, Hannah, when I spotted her. She was cheering almost as loud as my mother.

My heel caught on the side of the podium, and I cursed, only loud enough for Gavin to hear, of course. Oh, how I hated heels. My feet were already begging for release, and I'd barely been wearing them twenty minutes.

"That was not very queenly language, Jules," he whispered, eyes crackling with that very particular brand of Gavin mischief I loved so much and knew so well. I stuck my tongue out at him. "Making faces ," he clucked sadly, thumbing my chin, "and here I thought you were a lady."

"You're an idiot," I informed him, leaning against his chest.

Gavin grinned, lacing his fingers through mine, "Yes, but I'm your idiot."

"Oh, lucky me."

"Yeah, lucky you," he brought my hand up to his mouth and kissed my knuckles, smile dancing on his lips. I heard a wolf whistle somewhere in the stands and groaned.

"Do you think that was my mom or yours?" I muttered, as Robertson began droning on about tradition and community. The previous year's court couldn't get here soon enough. My feet were killing.

Gavin rolled his eyes, "It was definitely both of them."

"Definitely," I agreed, sighing resignedly. No one shipped Gavin and Julia like Pip and Lou. I suspected they'd make t-shirts with our faces if they didn't think we'd break up just to spite them for it. His arm slipped around me and I sank into the warmth of his hand on my waist. Gavin could never bear to stop touching me for less than a minute or two, and I hated to admit how much I liked it.

I shifted my weight from foot to foot, wiggling my toes around to prevent them from going completely numb.

"I told you not to wear the heels," Gavin sang quietly.

"You try saying no to Piper Gordon," I hissed back. She was so excited and happy. And how could I deny the woman who had sacrificed everything for me and raised me on her own, her happiness? The answer was simple; I couldn't. No one could, to be fair. Gavin adored my mother. He'd throw me under the bus more than once in an attempt to keep on her good side.

So when I saw the four inch, closed toe silver pumps on my bed this morning, I'd put them on. Though not without sending Gavin several text messages about the "medieval torture devices" in question.

Gavin played absentmindedly with the ends of my hair. "I love your curls," he said, tugging gently on a red strand before tucking it behind my ear. He gazed down at me, brown eyes tripping over my face like he was trying to count my freckles. Maybe he was.

"What?" I ducked my head, trying not to blush. I failed. Miserably.

"What?" he replied innocently.

"The staring."

"I can't help it," he said, his dimples emerging in full force. "I like your face, Woods. And your freckles. And your mouth," his voice was low, and I watched his eyes travel down to my lips as he said it, heat flooding my body. "And your dress..."

"Stop looking at me like that!" I shot him a look. He better like the dress. It was awesome. It was black and tight in all the right places and exposed enough of my back that my mother had raised an eyebrow when I'd come home with it.