She’d checked the address three times even though she’d been here a hundred before.

The Scobell house looked the same as always—warm lights, cars already lining the street, music faint through the walls—but her stomach still twisted like this was the first time. Probably because today wasn’t just another casual hangout. It was his birthday. Seventeen. And for some reason, that felt bigger than it should’ve.

She balanced the cake box carefully as Heather opened the door, instantly lighting up. “You’re early!” she said, pulling her into a hug before she could even answer. “Thank God—you’re my lifesaver.”

The kitchen was already half chaos. Decorations on the counter, Leena standing on a chair trying to tape something crooked to the wall, Tanner arguing about balloons. It felt familiar. Comfortable. Like family. Which somehow made the nerves worse.

She set the cake down gently, lifting the lid just to make sure it had survived the drive. Chocolate, simple frosting, nothing flashy—Walker had once said he hated “extra” birthday cakes, said they felt like too much pressure. She’d remembered that. Of course she had.

Leena leaned over her shoulder. “This is so him,” she said approvingly. “He’s gonna pretend he’s not excited, but he is.”

She smiled, small and quiet, and focused on helping instead of thinking. Thinking led to spiraling. Spiraling led to stupid thoughts—about how people online talked, about how his name trended for reasons that had nothing to do with her, about how everyone seemed to have an opinion on who he should be with.

She didn’t even know Leah. And neither did them. And yet somehow, that didn’t stop strangers from pairing his name with hers like it was fact.

By the time people started arriving—friends from school, a few cast members she’d only met in passing—her chest felt tight. She stayed busy, holding doors, refilling drinks, laughing when spoken to, hoping no one noticed how carefully she kept her distance from the center of it all.

Walker showed up last.

No big entrance. No announcement. Just him pushing the door open, jacket slung over one shoulder, hair still damp like he’d rushed. He froze for half a second when he saw the decorations, the people, the cake.

“Dude,” he muttered, half-laughing. “You guys are insane.”

His eyes flicked around the room—and then landed on her.

Something in his expression changed. Softened. Like the noise dulled for him too.

“You made it,” he said, walking over like it was automatic, like this was where he was supposed to end up. “I thought you might’ve bailed.”

She rolled her eyes, trying to sound normal. “It’s your birthday. I’m not a monster. Happy birthday, Walk.”

He smiled at that. That familiar, crooked one. The one that always made her look away a second too late.

“Did you—” He glanced toward the kitchen. “Is that… cake?”

She nodded. “Yeah. I, uh. With your mom.”

For a second, he didn’t say anything. Then, quieter: “That’s really cool of you.”

There was so much he didn’t say. And so much she didn’t either.

The party went on around them—laughter, music, someone yelling for Walker to come take photos—but the moment lingered. Him standing there, seventeen now, pretending this was just another night. Her standing there too, holding onto a gift she still hadn’t given him, wondering when things had started feeling like this.

Not a confession. Not a promise.

Just something hovering. Waiting.

And neither of them brave enough to name it yet.