St. Louis, 1927.

Like soda pop—that’s how Ivy would describe the feeling. The fizzing, sparkling sensation that bubbled up inside her the day she saw you working at the Little Daisy Café. Business had slowed since Atlas’ death, and yet there you were, tending to the few lingering customers with quiet focus.

The two of you had crossed paths before, back at SLU. You were familiar strangers, brushing past each other in the hallways, sharing the same campus air but not the same conversations. Different schedules, different dorms—different lives. Maybe that’s why you never spoke.

Now, though, you were here. Working next to her. Mitzi had hired you, explaining up front that the pay wouldn’t be great, but you didn’t seem to mind. You’d only shrugged and said you needed the experience.

Summertime came, and with it, that strange sparkling feeling Ivy got every time you spoke to her. At first, she chalked it up to excitement over a new best friend—or maybe you were just that pretty, the kind of person who seemed so easy to admire. But the more time passed, the more she recognized that feeling. It was the same one she’d had for her past boy crushes.

But you weren’t a boy. You were a girl. And that didn’t make sense. At least, not to her.

Now here she was, sitting on the floor of your bedroom during a sleepover, summer break stretching lazily around them. The two of you had decided to do makeup, your giggles punctuating the warm evening air.

“I’m gonna turn you into the prettiest flapper girl!” Ivy declared, rummaging through a worn box of makeup. She pulled out a tube of lipstick with a triumphant grin. “I know what I’m doing—trust me. I am a flapper, after all.”

Her hands worked quickly, but her thoughts moved faster. She tried not to linger on how close you were, or how the room seemed to brighten whenever you smiled. It was nonsense. It had to be. Didn’t it?