"I say we take a detour," Wyatt announces. We've been driving for 20 minutes or so, headed home. We just finished dinner at the resort restaurant before all splitting up in our separate vehicles to head home. We all agreed to watch a movie when we got home, excluding Harper and Charlie, who are headed to some party.

"Wow," I shake my head, "you really don't wanna have family movie night, huh?"

"Or, maybe I just wanna spend more time with you," Wyatt corrects me, poking my arm with his finger. We were a lot less awkward than this morning. Everything felt natural between us, despite my feelings which were only growing stronger by the minute.

It didn't help that he kept saying things like this. It was like he was asking for me to fall for him.

"Okay, fine," I roll my eyes, biting my lower lip to repress my grin, "where are we going?"

"That is for me to know and you to find out," Wyatt informs me, typing something into his phone. Soon, the GPS is speaking to me, guiding me on where to go.

We're in the middle of nowhere, it seems. It was dark, and all I could see for miles ahead was just trees, "where are you taking me?" I ask him, my brows furrowing in confusion, "this looks like the kind of place people get murdered."

"Aw, shoot," Wyatt snaps his fingers, sighing, "you figured it out."

"Hilarious," I glare at him out of the corner of my eye. I don't stop asking questions about where we're going as the GPS leads us to our destination, and Wyatt doesn't stop answering with sarcasm. Not revealing where he's taking us.

It isn't until I see a bright marquee in the distance that I know what's happening. I completely forgot this place existed. The sign looks like it hasn't been updated in years. Some of the letters don't light up. Others flickered. Sprinkles ice cream, our parents used to take us here all the time whenever we had something to celebrate. Wyatt got a role in the school play, we came to Sprinkles. I got all A's on my report card, Sprinkles. Lizzie graduated High School, Sprinkles.

We haven't been here in years. This place had been another reminder of the Olivers. We stopped coming here shortly after that first Christmas without them.

"Oh my god," I shake my head, pulling into the parking lot. The roof was painted pink with white stripes, the rest of the building painted a pale pastel pink. "I completely forgot this was nearby."

"I did too," He admits, "mom reminded me at dinner. I figured we might as well come for old time's sake."

We both step out of the car, heading into the shop. The inside was exactly how I remember. Against the wall are booths. They're a mint green colour. In the center of the restaurant, there are a few tables for two, and finally, there was the cash. Where dozens of flavour options sat.

It smelt faintly of freshly made waffle cones, a scent I hadn't realized I was nostalgic for until this very second, "I'll order the usual, you save the booth?" Wyatt offers.

It's not very busy. There's an older couple sitting at one of the tables and a family sitting at the booth closest to the doors. I nod anyway, though, moving towards the booth in the center. Our booth.

The leather of the seat is worn slightly, wrinkling in certain areas. I sit, sliding over, so I'm next to the window, watching Wyatt as he orders, admiring him while he can't notice. The lady taking his order is old, meaning he doesn't have to duck his head to order or worry about her freaking out. He looks comfortable and relaxed, which made me feel the same.

A little bit later, when he turns around with our ice cream, I turn my attention towards my phone, pretending like I hadn't been watching him, "Alright, one banana split, two spoons." He announces. I look over at him. Our usual looks much smaller than I remember, but maybe it was because I'm much older.

"Thank you," I smile. Wyatt slides into the spot beside me, leaving the seat across from us empty. As kids, we always sat beside one another while our parents or my siblings sat across. I take the pink plastic spoon from him.

"Cheers," He scoops a little bit of vanilla ice cream onto his spoon, holding it up to me.

I scoop up a little bit of strawberry, "what are we celebrating?" I ask him, tilting my head to the side.

"Us," He states it so confidently, without an ounce of hesitation, "to second chances."

I smile. This time, I don't bite my lip to repress it, "To second chances." I tap my spoon against his before biting into the ice cream. It's as rich and creamy as I remember, the perfect amount of strawberry flavour.

We talk here and there while we eat, our arms brushing against one another's as we do. Just like when we were kids, I eat all of the strawberry while Wyatt eats all of the vanilla. We split the banana and chocolate. Our conversation flows easily. We talk about everything and nothing all at once.

We leave the shop a little bit later, getting back on the road to head home. Unlike the ride to the resort, which was filled with childlike road trip games, we spend the ride home listening to music, my phone plugged into the Aux cord. Wyatt scrolls through my music, playfully judging my taste in music.

"What? you don't like Taylor Swift?" I ask as one of her songs comes on. Wyatt had lowered the music so we could barely hear it. I glanced over at him out of the corner of my eye. He was looking ahead. Mentally preparing himself to say something, "What's on your mind, Wy?" I question, using his old nickname.

"I uh, just wanted to say thanks," He admits, looking over at me, "for listening to me last night. I haven't been able to open up to someone like that in years."

"Of course," I nod, smiling, "I feel the same way. It's nice being honest for a change."

"Right?" He asks. He swivels his body in his seat slightly, so he's fully facing me, "I mean, maybe I was a little too honest. Sorry if that whole crush thing weirded you out."

"No," I shake my head, awkwardly chuckling. It hadn't weirded me out. It made me realize I wish his crush was still a thing. Which I obviously cannot admit out loud, "it wasn't weird, seriously."

"Okay," Wyatt nods. He sounds unsure. I hate that I can't look over at him and try reading his expression.

Silence lulls over us, one that Wyatt doesn't try to fix. The music remains lowered. I can tell he wants to say more, but he doesn't, so I do. "So, what about me did you find irresistible?" I ask him, my tone dripping in sarcasm. If there's one thing I've learned from Harper, it's that humour can make anything less awkward, "was it the way my hair got frizzy when I wore it natural, or the way I had a slight lisp when I had braces?" Before Wyatt can respond, I continue, "Oh, oh, I know, it has to be the bangs I got during junior year, right?"

Wyatt doesn't laugh. I can hear him move in his seat, so his body is no longer facing mine. I pull off of the highway as he says, "it was your eyes, actually." He informs me, matter of factly.

"My eyes?" I ask him, chuckling. My eyes are boring, not like either of my sisters who have piercing blue eyes. Mine are plain and uninteresting. "They're just brown."

"At first," Wyatt agrees, "but then, when the sun hits them just right, they kind of start glowing. The word brown no longer describes them. They're golden... there," He pauses trying to find the right word, "there brilliant."

I'd never thought of my brown eyes like that. Whenever I look at them, my first thought is to compare them to Lizzie and Harper's beautiful blue ones.

"And your smile," He continues once I don't respond, he's slowly begun to turn to face me again, "even with the braces, when you smiled, your nose and eyes scrunched up a little. Your lips turning up in the corner as if you have a secret."

My heart hammers in my chest so rapidly I fear Wyatt can hear it. I finally look over at him entirely as I pull up to a red light, scanning his face to see if he's joking or not. He's watching me with a genuine expression, his eyes full of sincerity. He means every single word.

"You still do," He mutters, reaching his hand up to tuck a piece of my hair behind my ear. His eyes drift between my eyes and my lips, his face inching closer. This time, I don't plan on pulling away.

That is until the car behind us honks, breaking us both apart. I take my gaze off of Wyatt, looking at the light. I'd been so focused on Wyatt I forgot about it entirely. It was green. I drive forward, not daring to look over at him.

We drive in silence for a bit. I don't know what to say to him. I fear that I'll break and say how I really feel at any minute. Wyatt doesn't say anything until we're a couple blocks away from the house, clearing his throat nervously before he does, "um, I was wondering if you wanted to go out tomorrow night?" He asks, "We could get dinner?"

"Yeah," I nod, my voice quiet, "that sounds good. I could ask Liz, Harper and James if they want to join?"

"I was actually thinking it could be just us two," He admits. He sounds nervous, like a high schooler who's shy about asking their crush out.

"Like a date?" I ask him, biting my lip. Please don't say no.

"Yeah," He sounds relieved, "I mean if that's okay with you."

"Yeah, that'd be cool," I'm proud of how chill I sound. Because on the inside, my heart is hammering, my stomach a mess of cartwheels. My smile is wide, though I can't conceal it, "I'd like that a lot."

I dare to peek over at Wyatt. He's smiling too. Nodding to himself proudly. We arrive home seconds later. There are two cars in the driveway, Mom's, and one it that I didn't recognize. Parked in my spot.

"Do you know who that is?" Wyatt asked, nodding towards the car.

I park behind Mom's, taking the keys out of the ignition, "No, idea," I shake my head, "guess we'll find out."

We walk in side by side, our hands brushing against one another's as we walk towards the door. "So, uh, tomorrow night," Wyatt starts, as I stick the key in the door, turning it to unlock it, "I was thinking we could-"

He's cut off as soon as I open the door by the sound of a girl squealing. A flash of blonde hair rushes over, throwing herself into Wyatt's arms. I recognize her immediately from the article Harper showed us a few days ago.

It's London St. James.