SCOTT POV.
The world wasn't quiet—not when it came to Penelope and Veronica. And somehow, I'd found myself caught in the gravity of both.
But it was Veronica I couldn't stop thinking about tonight.
I leaned against my car just outside the Rivers estate, city lights flickering like forgotten stars behind the trees. The night air was cool, but not enough to chase away the fire building behind my ribs. I'd dropped Penelope and Marc off after the double date—they were still talking when I left, like they existed on some other wavelength I couldn't quite reach. But Veronica…
Veronica had been silent.
Not the fiery silence she wore when angry, or the dramatic huffs when pretending she didn't care. This one was still, heavy. And I'd felt it in my bones.
I looked at my phone again. No texts.
I hadn't meant to say what I said at the restaurant. But she'd looked at me—like she always does—with that perfect blend of skepticism and soft wonder. And I'd cracked.
> "Every boy you liked ended up with Penelope," she'd said, laughing that not-laugh, the kind meant to hide a bruise.
And I told her the truth.
> "Well... except one."
That shut her up, but I could see the war behind her eyes. Like she wanted to believe it. Like she couldn't.
And now, I was pacing my car like a love-sick idiot outside her house.
---
Veronica's front porch – twenty minutes later
The lights were off except for a single warm glow in the upstairs window—her room.
I shouldn't have come. I should've texted her and waited like a normal person. But Veronica never played by the rules, and neither did I.
So I climbed the porch steps, raised my hand to knock... and then paused.
"Scott?"
Her voice startled me from behind. I turned and saw her coming from the side of the house, her dark hair falling loosely over her shoulders, a hoodie too big draped over her dress from earlier.
"You're—what are you doing here?" she asked.
"I… I didn't like how we left things."
She raised a brow. "We left things just fine. You dropped me off. I said thanks."
"That's not what I meant, Veronica." I sighed. "You were quiet. I know you. Quiet means something's wrong."
She walked past me, unlocked the door, and pushed it open.
"Come in, before the neighbors start gossiping."
---
Veronica's kitchen
The smell of cinnamon and something citrus filled the air. Her mom must've left a candle burning.
She didn't speak as she pulled two mugs from the cabinet and poured hot water over some tea bags like she'd done this a hundred times. And maybe she had. Veronica didn't get awkward—she made everyone else awkward instead.
"So what is it?" she finally asked, handing me a mug. "Why are you really here?"
I took a breath. I could lie. Say I was checking in as a friend. Say I was being polite. But something about tonight, about the curve of her cheekbone when she laughed even while faking it—it broke me.
"You matter to me," I said.
She didn't flinch, but her lips parted slightly, breath catching.
"You always talk about how the guys you like end up with Penelope. And yeah, she's... she's like gravity. But so are you, Veronica. You pull people in and act like you don't even notice. Like you're not standing there at the center of the storm."
She chuckled dryly, "Sounds like you're trying to win a poetry slam, Rivers."
"I'm trying to tell you I like you."
Now she looked up—really looked. Eyes searching mine for cracks or insincerity.
"Why now?"
"Because I couldn't stand watching you think you're second place in your own story."
A silence lingered.
Then, she laughed. A real laugh. Low, rich, and stunned.
"You realize," she said, stepping toward me, "you're going to break something inside me if this isn't real."
"I'd rather break myself than do that."
Her hands curled into my shirt collar, eyes burning into mine. "And what if I say I've been waiting for you to say that? What if I say I like the way you get defensive when someone calls me shallow, or the way you always bring two coffees just in case I show up? What if I say I'm tired of pretending I don't care?"
My heart was a drum, each beat slamming against my ribs.
"Then I'd say stop pretending," I whispered.
And then she kissed me.
Not soft. Not hesitant. It was a kiss meant to reclaim something stolen from her. A kiss that tasted like grief and hope at war. She was trembling, but her mouth was fierce.
When we pulled apart, her forehead rested on mine.
"I'm scared," she whispered.
"So am I," I admitted. "But I'm right here."
---
Later that night – Scott's apartment
I didn't fall asleep.
Instead, I stared at the ceiling, heart still racing, replaying every second of the kiss, every flicker in her eyes.
We weren't perfect. And there were things she hadn't said yet. I saw it behind her gaze.
But for once, I wasn't thinking about Penelope or Marc or the missing pieces of the past.
I was thinking about Veronica.
The girl with the sharp tongue and guarded heart, who finally—finally—let me in.
And somehow, that mattered more than anything else.