Hypothetical Heart (Farewell Fairwood #2)

Chapter 23

23

MAY

T he morning of the gala goes entirely different from how I had expected.

In all honesty, when I fell asleep last night I could vividly imagine Madame Bacri showing up at my front door bright and early, ready to make us practice from sunup to the time we had to start getting ready.

Shockingly enough, I woke up on my own and moseyed down the stairs like I had nowhere to be. The only thing on my mind when I walk toward the kitchen is a nice cold glass of orange juice, but that all changes when I enter the kitchen and I see the familiar, beautiful head of blonde hair sitting at the kitchen island.

“Good morning!” Winnie says with a cheery smile.

“Hey, Win.” I can’t help but smile looking at her. “What are you doing here?”

“I invited her,” my mom says as she walks from the living room into the kitchen. “We’re all going to breakfast.” Of course I would never be one to turn down a meal from Taylor’s Diner.

When we get back from breakfast, Winnie and I head down to the basement of my house to practice our routine a few more times, all because I’m nervous about messing up. By the time we’ve run through it at least a dozen times, Winnie stops me.

“Logan, we’re going to be fine.” For once, she’s the one assuring me and not the other way around.

I try to loosen my shoulders as she gives my hands a tight squeeze. “Okay, okay.”

“I need to go get ready, but I’ll see you later, okay?”

I nod.

It’s going to take Winnie a hell of a lot longer to get ready for this fancy gala than it will take me, and she’s already stayed long enough, trying to ease my worries.

For the next few hours, I do anything and everything to keep my mind off the fact I’m going to be ballroom dancing in front of hundreds of people. And to make matters worse, it’s for charity, so I really can’t fuck up.

Once it gets a bit closer to the time Winnie told me she’d be back at my house, I head back up to my room to start getting myself ready. The tux Madame Bacri picked out for me is hanging from the top of my closet door.

I hold up two different bow ties, inspecting each one, desperately waiting for one to match like it’s supposed to. Neither of them do. I sigh, throwing my head back and looking toward the ceiling as if I’m waiting for a new bowtie to fall from above.

When I look back down at my bed, where I had thrown the bow ties out of frustration without even realizing, I catch a flash of movement outside the window. More specifically, in the house next to mine.

I step in front of my window, hoping to catch her attention, and just like some magnetic pull that has had a hold on us our entire lives, she looks toward me in an instant.

Her hair is curled in big round waves, and I can tell her makeup is done more than normal. She furrows her eyebrows like she’s examining the panicked expression covering my face. I see her reach for her desk and then hold a pad of paper up to the window.

WHAT’S WRONG? She’s written on the paper in all caps.

I grab my own pen and paper, writing back like that one Taylor Swift music video—Winnie would know it. WHICH BOWTIE DO YOU LIKE BETTER? I hold up a finger, telling her to wait while I grab the options. When I hold them up, she shakes her head.

NEITHER she writes in big, bold letters, underlining it.

THAT’S NOT AN OPTION I write. This is a formal event. I need a tie.

SAYS WHO? She writes, ripping the paper off quickly so she can add on, IF YOU DON’T WANT TO WEAR A TIE THEN DON’T.

I set my pad of paper down, replacing it with my phone, sick of not being able to hear her voice. I call her and watch her face light up when she hears her phone ring.

“Don’t wear a tie,” is the first thing she says to me.

“Madame Barci would put my head on a stick,” I reply.

“You hate wearing ties. Just unbutton the first few buttons. That will make it look more ballroom dance attire anyway.”

I pace back and forth in front of the window, trying to decide whether I want to put myself through the torture or not.

“Logan,” Winnie says sternly, trying to grab my attention. “You hate ties.”

“I know, but this isn’t about me.” I run a hand through my hair roughly, tugging at the ends.

“Of course it is.” Winnie’s expression falls as she understands my distress. “You’re allowed to do what you want to do, Logan.”

Everyone in my life understands how big of a people pleaser I’ve always been and how difficult it has been for me to pretend other’s opinions don’t bother me when, in reality, my brain is a prison made up of other people’s expectations. Only an altruist can understand the weight of that.

“So, no tie?” I ask.

“No tie,” she confirms.

“Thanks, Win.”

“Of course.” I see her smile grow through the window. The same smile that has grown up alongside me like one of the trees that sits outside our windows, showcasing the beauty of changing seasons.

“I’ll see you soon, okay?” I stare at my clock above the window. I officially have an hour left to get ready.

“Right, I’ll see you soon.” She ends the call before disappearing out of view through the window. Without her in my line of vision, I can finally focus on what I really need to be doing.

M y mom harps on me for not wearing one of the bowties she picked out the entire time I wait for Winnie in the entryway. Yet, once she sees Winnie on the front porch, she lets it go.

“Oh my goodness,” she gasps, opening the door. “Don’t you just look amazing!”

Winnie smiles. “Thank you, Wren.”

I’m stunned into silence. Even though this is a similar situation to prom, the feeling is completely different because instead of Winnie being dressed in her element of hot pink and light makeup, her look today is sultry. Her deep, red dress clings to every one of her curves, and the smokey eye coating her eyelids blows me back.

“I know, I know, I probably look crazy,” she says anxiously when she notices my silence.

“N-No,” I choke, clearing my throat. “You look amazing, Win, as always.”

Her dark red lips raise in a smile. “Thanks.”

“Alright,” Mom claps, making us both jump back. “It’s five-thirty, time to go.”

We get in my car, and I’m struck with the realization that I’m going to be kissing those pretty red lips. Ones belonging to Winnie.

“I think I need to tell you again how stunning you are,” I say once we’re on the road.

The silence has overtaken the car for the first bit of the drive, but it's comfortable in one another’s presence.

“And you look too handsome for your own good,” she replies.

“ You are the one who will be kissing me later tonight.”

She pretends to grimace but breaks into a smile. “Don’t remind me.”

“You know who we sound like right now?”

“Jameson and Genevieve?” she counters, and we both laugh.

Right then is when we pull up to the venue, and both of our mouths drop wide open.

“Holy shit,” I sigh, pulling my car toward the valet parking booth. “This is insane.”

We both have to crane our heads almost all the way up just to see the top of the building. The entire place is covered in stone, and about fifteen castle turrets surround the exterior.

“This place belongs in medieval times,” Winnie giggles as we approach the front door.

“I’m worried the security is going to be dressed in shining armor.” We’re both laughing as we make it into the ballroom, only for both our spines to straighten when we catch the glare of Madame Bacri. “Shit,” I whisper to Winnie. We both know we’re going to catch smoke for acting like idiots.

“Be professional,” Madame Bacri hisses as we approach, smacking me in the back of the head.

“Now, that wasn’t very professional, was it?” I smirk, but when her face stays stoic, I quickly rub my hand over my face to cover my smugness.

“You guys are performing in an hour, don’t stress. All you have to do in the meantime is mingle and make good graces with the rich people who will be donating to the ballet company tonight.”

Of course, this is the type of event where only the highest-class socialites are invited, all because the organizations who host these galas want to raise as much money as possible. They put on a show with drinks and fancy hors d’oeuvres. In the movies, these places would have trapeze artists spinning from the ceilings with spears of fire in their mouths.

Instead, tonight’s entertainment is Winnie and I, along with the other couples who are performing.

We’re putting on a show so that these people will hopefully give Madame Bacri lots of money so that she can keep teaching–so that Winnie can keep learning ballet.

On top of that, all of our pictures are on posters in a separate room from the ballroom. Guests are allowed to bid on who they think will dance the best. I can’t lie and say it isn’t a fuck ton of pressure.

So, Winnie and I have to make good face. Which means prancing around the gala, and making small talk with people who have even more money than my parents. All in hopes that they will bid on someone in the competition, even if it’s not us.

And by the time we get called onto the dance floor, we’re both shaking with anxiety.

“It’s all going to be fine,” I say, squeezing Winnie’s hand.

The next five minutes of us on the dance floor goes by in a blur. I grab her hand, she grabs mine, and they stay interlocked the entire time we’re dancing. She moves one way, and I follow. We do our best to stay as synchronized as possible.

Every time I almost slip up, I hear Winnie’s voice in my head: Slow your mind down. Think about the step before you make it.

And every time we get some type of applause from the audience, both our expressions grow. This is way more exhilarating than I’d ever thought it’d be.

We make it to the end of the dance without either of us royally fucking up, and right as I wrap my arm around her—ready to go in for the big dip—Winnie whispers in my ear, “We did it.”

And right as we hit our ending pose, the one where all of her weight is hanging in my arms as I keep her from hitting the floor, our lips seal together for the sake of the crowd’s pleasure, and all I can do is smile.

Smile against her lips, for all the times we slaved over this dance—for every ounce of ourselves we put into this. I smile because I know this won’t be the last time I hold my girl like this.

The crowd erupts, and I hear a familiar hollering from the corner of the room. Winnie and I stand straight, laughing under our breath at the same time because we both know exactly who it is.

No clue how the four of them got into this event, but I’m happy they are here nonetheless.

Winnie squeals as she runs toward her best friends, the grasp of my hand tugging her back. I didn’t even realize I was still holding onto her, so I let go, knowing that Genevieve and Eloise are there to catch her.

“That was beautiful, man.” Jameson smacks me on the shoulder.

“Yeah, a real tear-jerker,” Luke says, smiling.

I punch each of them in the arm. “You’re both full of shit.”

“Hey, we might be fucking with you, but I think your mom shed a few tears.” Jameson smiles.

My brow furrows. “My mom’s here?”

Luke points across the room toward one of the high-top tables near the bar, where both of my parents sit. The surrounding tables also house Luke’s parents, Winnie’s dad, and Eloise’s mom.

“It’s weird seeing all of our parents dressed up like this, isn’t it?” I look toward Luke, and he nods in agreement. The only time I can remember them looking this fancy were on the nights when all of us got left with a babysitter at one of our houses. They don’t do that much anymore.

“Boys!” Genevieve calls, her boyfriend’s head snapping toward her faster than Luke’s or mine.

“Whipped,” Luke whistles under his breath, which makes me laugh.

Even though we make fun of Jameson for being in love, we follow him over to the girls .

“Logan, that was impressive!” Eloise smiles.

I shake my head, waving her off as I pretend to be embarrassed.

Winnie leans into me. “Do you know when they are announcing the scores?” she whispers.

My arm automatically finds its way around her waist without me even having to think about it. “I’m not sure. Madame Bacri knows if you want to ask her.”

Winnie shakes her head. “No, no, that’s okay. It doesn’t even matter if we win. People have already donated.” She’s more worried about spending time with our friends since our job here at the gala is done.

“You’re right,” I confirm, my thumb mindlessly rubbing circles on her hip. “But it would be nice to win.”

She smiles, her head leaning back to land on my shoulder. Right now, I feel like I’m in some type of alternate universe, one that’s starting to feel real. Less than ten minutes ago, Winnie and I kissed on the dance floor, and now she’s resting her head against my shoulder like it’s something more.

My heart races, caught between disbelief and hope. Her closeness is intoxicating, a silent promise that this moment is more than just a fleeting connection. I breathe in the faint scent of her perfume, grounding me in the reality of our shared space. I gently brush a strand of hair away from her face, my touch lingering.

“Does this mean anything to you?” I whisper, my lips brushing the shell of her ear. The warmth of her breath against my skin sends a shiver down my spine, the kind that ignites both desire and vulnerability.

She lifts her gaze to meet mine, her eyes soft yet resolute. “It means everything to me,” she says just as softly, her words wrapping around me like a delicate promise. In that instant, the world outside fades, leaving only the two of us in this fragile, perfect bubble.

This is real, I think, my pulse quickening as I try to grasp the magnitude of what’s unfolding. Her words are a soothing balm but ignite a whirlwind of emotions. What if this is the chance I’ve been waiting for? I find myself daring to dream of a future where we are more than just two people in a moment. What if this is where everything changes?

Our friends are now sitting at the table while we stand nearby. Jameson’s finger runs up and down Genevieve’s shoulder, sliding beneath the spaghetti strap of her dress. Honestly, I never expected Genevieve to be big on physical touch, but the way she is with Jameson completely contradicts everything I’ve ever pictured her to be like as a girlfriend.

Dinner is served a bit later, and we end up at a table with all our parents, something that doesn’t happen very often anymore. My dad and Winnie’s dad give each other looks throughout dinner, and my guess is it has something to do with the fact they saw us kiss on the dance floor.

And once everyone is done eating, Madame Bacri comes up to Winnie and me, telling us that if we wanted to leave, we could. It was all we needed to not feel guilty about leaving at the same time as all our friends.

I handed my dad the keys to my car so he can drive it home since Genevieve is driving us all back to her house in her Range Rover.

“Winnie, can you sit on Logan’s lap?” Eloise asks, climbing in the backseat.

“Um…” She pauses, looking toward me for approval.

I shrug. “I don’t mind.” In fact, Winnie sitting in my lap is ideal .

“Okay,” she says, still seeming nervous when I step in front of her to take the seat next to Eloise.

“Hop on in, sweetheart,” I tease as I hold my arm open for her.

She steps up into the car, turning so she can drop down on my lap while I hold her arm to keep her steady. For the first few minutes of the ride, Winnie’s the only one who stays silent. She’s also stiff as a board while being perched on the very edge of my knees.

I lean in, resting my head on her shoulder so I can whisper in her ear, “You okay?”

She nods, her throat bobbing as she swallows down her words.

“Just a couple weeks ago, I had your back pressed against my bedroom door while I kissed you senseless, so I’m a bit confused as to why this is embarrassing for you.” She blushes at my words, and all I can hope is that none of our friends heard what I said.

Like normal, Genevieve and Jameson are bickering in the front seat, and Eloise and Luke have joined their argument from where they sit next to Winnie and I.

“I’m not embarrassed,” she says quietly. “I just don’t want to invade your personal space.”

“What if I want you to?” I wrap my arm around her waist, pulling her backward and making it so her body is completely flush with mine.

She gasps under her breath, but it’s obvious she doesn’t want to seem awkward in front of our friends, so she leans further into me.

“What are you doing?” She hisses through her teeth.

“You looked uncomfortable,” I tell her honestly.

I’m not going to sit here looking pretty while she’s clearly tense and uneasy. It doesn’t work like that with me .

It takes a bit more time before she completely relaxes and is able to join in on the conversations, but I keep my arm wrapped around her waist and pull her closer when Genevieve refuses to avoid potholes.

We’re almost back to Gen’s house when the seatbelt around the both of us locks because of a sharp turn. Winnie starts moving back and forth, fiddling with it and trying to get it unlocked. I hold her hip tighter than I probably should, gritting my teeth to keep me from losing my cool.

“Winnie,” I whisper in warning, hoping she’ll take the hint.

Of course, that beautiful, innocent brain of hers doesn’t. “Sorry,” she says harshly. “I’m just trying to get this unlocked.”

For a few moments, I let her continue pulling at the contraption, praying she can get it free and end this torture, but when she continues rocking back and forth with every tug of the strap. I can barely contain myself. “Winnie,” I say again, much closer to her ear and with a lot more desperation. “Please stop, I’m begging you.”

“Why?” She settles herself back down on my lap, a small gasp leaving her when she feels exactly why. “Oh…”

“Yeah,” My voice strains as my body recognizes every inch of her skin that is pressing against me, making my pants grow tighter. “Just stay still for a minute.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, her hand resting on the back of my neck. “I didn’t?—“

“It’s not your fault, just a bodily reaction.”

As soon as I say it, her face falls and I realize my mistake.

“That’s not what I meant!” I do my best to reassure her, but I know her brain is already moving a million miles a minute.

“I think you meant what you said.” She shrugs like it’s no big deal.

“Well, I really didn’t want to sit here in a car with all our friends and tell you you’re the only girl who gets my dick rock hard in seconds, but I guess you’ve forced my hand.”

She nearly chokes on her own spit, coughing quickly, but her shock is immediately replaced with a cocky grin, something a bit abnormal for her. “I’m also the one forcing your dick to be stabbing me in the back, apparently.”

This type of confidence isn’t something I see much of, especially when it comes to intimate topics like this, but I can’t say I mind it. “I think we already confirmed that, didn’t we, sweetheart?”

Her hand covers my mouth to keep me from saying anything more that could turn her cheeks the same pretty shade of rose they are now, which reminds me that our friends are still in the car. All but Genevieve, who has her eyes on the road are looking toward Winnie and me.

“What?” I ask, smirking.

They don’t have to say anything because I’m well aware that while they may not have heard our conversation, they know exactly “what”.