Daniel stared at me.
“What? Why would I—”
“Because this is it,” I said. “This is the moment.”
“The one we’ve been waiting for.”
He frowned.
“I don’t understand.”
So I told him.
I laid out the whole plan at the kitchen table.
The same table where Camille had declared war.
I told him about the box.
The cookies. The notes. The scarf.
All of it, saved, untouched, seals intact.
I told him what I wanted him to do at the party.
And how I’d arrive.
And what I’d bring.
And what I’d say.
Daniel listened.
And slowly, a smile spread across his face.
“You’ve been planning this the whole time.”
“Since the day she sat at our table.”
“Remind me never to make you angry.”
“You never have,” I said. “That’s why we’re still here.”
He laughed.
Then he got serious.
“You sure about this? In front of everyone?”
“She built the stage,” I said. “I’m just going to use it.”
The night of the party came.
It was warm.
String lights across her yard.
Music.
A caterer, even.
She’d gone all out.
Daniel got dressed to go.
Nice shirt. The blue one I like.
He kissed me at the door.
“You’ve got an hour,” I said. “Make it look good.”
“Define ‘good.'”
“Let her think she’s winning. Let her get comfortable. Let her show off in front of everyone. Then I come.”
He nodded.
“One hour. Then the gate.”
“Then the gate.”
He went.
I watched from the window as he walked into her yard.
I saw Camille light up when she saw him.
She practically ran over.
Took his arm.
Steered him through the crowd like a trophy.
Introducing him.
Laughing.
Touching him constantly.
And Daniel played his part.
He was polite.
He smiled.
He didn’t pull away, not sharply.
He let her think.
He let her believe the thing she wanted to believe.
It must have been the best hour of Camille’s summer.
She had him.
In front of everyone.
Finally, visibly, publicly — she had him.
That was the whole point.
I let her have it.
