Tom's POV
A week went by, and somehow everything settled into this… rhythm. Not perfect, not clean, but comfortable enough that I stopped overthinking every second of it.
Conversations came easier. The awkward silences faded out, replaced by actual laughter, real back-and-forth. It wasn't forced anymore. It just… flowed.
Cassie and I—fuck—it was like slipping back into something familiar. Like muscle memory. We clicked the same way we used to, finishing each other's sentences sometimes, falling into old habits without even realizing it. It was easy with her. Too easy.
We started hanging out more. After school, weekends, whenever we had time. Mostly at the park near our houses, the same one we used to go to back then. Sitting on the grass, talking shit, sometimes just sitting there in silence that didn't feel heavy.
Luke got along with her too. Of course he did. The guy gets along with everyone. And Imogen—yeah, she and Cassie got along as well. It was weird at first, but then it just… worked. Somehow.
It was… good.
Really fucking good.
Too good.
Because Tyler was still there.
Always there.
Like a shadow I couldn't shake.
At random times, he'd show up out of nowhere, slam me against a locker or a wall, get in my face like he was trying to prove something. No real reason. No follow-up. Just enough to remind me he could.
That he was watching.
That he hadn't forgotten.
But beyond that… nothing.
Which almost made it worse.
And then there was the other thing.
I'd catch him staring at Cassie.
Not just a glance—staring. Like he was trying to place her. Like something about her was familiar but just out of reach.
I don't know if he realized it or not.
But he used to bully her too.
Back in middle school, he made our lives hell. Me, her—didn't matter. We were easy targets back then.
Now?
I don't know if he recognizes her.
Or if he's just starting to.
But either way…
Something about it didn't sit right.
Not at all.
Imogen's POV
"Dad, I'm home."
I stepped into the kitchen, tossing my bag onto one of the stools by the island. The smell of coffee filled the room, and I immediately spotted my father sitting at the counter, reading through what looked like a stack of reports.
"Welcome home, sweetheart," he said without looking up.
I smiled softly and poured myself a glass of water.
"How was school?"
"Fine."
He finally looked up from his papers and immediately narrowed his eyes. I froze.
"What?" I asked cautiously. That smile appeared, the one that always meant trouble.
"Nothing," he said innocently.
"Dad."
"How's Tom?"
I nearly choked on my water.
"There it is," he said triumphantly, pointing at me. "That reaction right there."
"I don't know what you're talking about," I said quickly.
"Uh huh."
I rolled my eyes dramatically and moved to sit opposite him. "He's fine."
"Just fine?"
"Yes."
"Not handsome? Not funny? Not charming?"
"Dad!"
His laughter filled the kitchen as my cheeks immediately heated up.
"You're impossible."
"And you're blushing."
"I am not."
"Yes you are."
I groaned and buried my face in my hands.
Why was he being like this?
"You know," he continued, taking another sip of coffee, "when you talk about everyone else, it's always 'they're fine' or 'school was good.'"
I already didn't like where this conversation was heading.
"But when you talk about Tom, suddenly I get detailed reports. What he said. What he wore. What he ate. What his favorite frozen yogurt flavor is."
I stared at him.
Horrified.
"Dad."
"What."
"Stop talking."
His grin only widened. "You like him."
"I do not."
"You do."
"I don't."
"You definitely do."
I crossed my arms stubbornly.
"I don't."
"Then why are you smiling right now?"
My smile immediately disappeared making my father laugh.
I groaned dramatically and dropped my forehead onto the counter.
"This is why I don't tell you things."
"No," he said warmly. "This is exactly why you tell me things."
I lifted my head again.
"I was actually thinking about asking him something."
His eyebrows immediately rose. "Oh?"
And there was the smile again.
I instantly regretted opening my mouth.
"It's nothing."
"Sweetheart."
I sighed.
"I was thinking of asking if he wanted to go to the movies this weekend."
His smile became absolutely unbearable.
"The movies."
"Yes."
"A date."
"Dad!"
"What?"
"It is not a date."
"Mhm."
"It isn't!"
"Sweetheart, you're asking a boy you like to go watch a movie alone with you."
I opened my mouth.
Then closed it.
Then opened it again.
"Okay maybe I like him a little."
"A little?"
"Dad."
"A lot?"
I covered my face with both hands.
His laughter echoed through the kitchen.
"Oh my God."
"You finally admitted it."
"Please stop talking."
"I've waited weeks for this."
I couldn't stop smiling despite myself.
Which made everything worse.
My father noticed immediately.
"There it is."
"Dad."
"You really like him."
I sighed.
"Yeah."
The admission felt strange. Exciting, terrifying and wonderful.
"Yeah," I repeated softly.
For a moment his teasing expression faded into something more serious.
"Then ask him."
I blinked. "Really?"
"Of course."
A smile spread across my face. Then his expression shifted again.
"On one condition."
There it was. I narrowed my eyes suspiciously. "What condition?"
"You take security."
"Dad."
"One."
"but dad."
"One security officer."
I groaned.
"He doesn't have to hover around you. He can stay far enough away that neither of you notice him."
"Dad—"
"Imogen."
The tone instantly ended the argument. I sighed dramatically.
"Fine."
"Just to make sure you're safe."
I knew why he was asking and I hated it. But I also knew he wasn't being unreasonable.
"Okay," I said softly.
His expression immediately softened.
"Thank you, sweetheart."
I nodded.
And for the rest of the evening, despite my father's relentless teasing, one thought kept circling in my head.
Would Tom say yes?