Quint’s frown deepens. He watches me for a long moment, before turning toward his mom. “Maybe we should call an ambulance.”

“No,” I say. “I’m fine. Could you help me up?”

“I’m not sure you should—”

Ignoring him, I grasp Quint’s arm and use it to pull myself up. He stumbles once but we both manage to make it to our feet without crashing back to the floor.

“Prudence?” says Rosa, grasping my elbow. “You should see a doctor, especially if this is the second head injury you’ve had this summer.”

“Ugh, fine,” I say. I don’t have the strength to argue anymore. Not with anyone. Not tonight. “I’ll go tomorrow. Just … please don’t call an ambulance. This night has been weird enough.”

Rosa frowns. I can see her waffling, so to prove that I’m all right, I smile at her. “I’m okay. I promise.”

She sighs heavily. “Quint, why don’t you get her some water?”

Quint glances around. “Ezra,” he says, pointing at his friend in the crowd. “Water?”

“Gin and tonic, coming right up,” says Ezra, scurrying off to the bar.

“He’s joking.” Quint smiles sheepishly at his mom. “I think.”

Rosa takes my hands into hers. “You were very brave to come here tonight, especially after everything that happened. I’m so sorry to have put you through this. I’m sorry for the way we treated you. I’m not sure you’ll want to come back after everything that’s happened, but please know that you are always welcome at the center.”

I pretend to consider this. “Don’t suppose you’re in need of an event coordinator?”

She laughs. “I don’t think I’m in a position to be hiring full-time staff yet, but you’ll be the first person I contact if I do.”

“Prudence would probably make an exceptional office manager,” says Quint, grinning. “And I hear that position just opened up.”

Rosa groans. “I will have to replace Shauna. Forgive me if I try to find someone with a bit more experience.”

“Just as long as you Google them first,” I say. “Maybe check for a criminal record?”

She nods. “Lesson learned.”

“As for me…” I smile. “I definitely want to come back. I need to spend as much time with Lennon as I can before he goes to his new home.”

Rosa’s eyes crinkle in the corners and before I know what’s happening, she’s pulled me into an embrace. “Thank you, Prudence.” She sighs as she pulls away and looks around at the crowd watching us. She laughs. “Well. This has certainly turned into a memorable evening, hasn’t it?” Then she waves her hand at the crowd. “Everyone, please, let’s sit and enjoy our meal.”

After that, the night begins to blur from moment to moment, and I’m not sure if it’s the dull thrum in my head that’s causing it, or simply that there’s so much going on. Dinner is followed by dessert. The winners of the silent auction are announced, and I’m ecstatic to learn that the record store’s basket went for a lot more money than I expected it to. Then raffle tickets are drawn for Quint’s photos. I’m not surprised at how many tickets have been purchased, and the people who win them appear genuinely ecstatic to be taking one of the masterpieces home with them. When one woman’s ticket number is called, she literally screams with delight.

I glance at Quint. His expression is priceless. Bewildered and proud at the same time.

As dishes and chairs are cleared away, the karaoke begins—Trish and a couple of volunteers sing “Yellow Submarine” to get people in the mood, and practically the whole room joins in for the chorus.

And just like that, the ambiance of the evening changes from serious and charitable to energetic and fun. This is an event that people will be talking—and joking—about for weeks.

Not only did Quint have the brilliant idea to have Trish host karaoke, but he even thought to incorporate another fundraising portion. Guests have to pay five dollars to sing, with all proceeds, of course, going to the center. I never would have thought it would work, and I would have been wrong. People are lining up to write down their names and song choices on those little slips of paper.

I hear nearby tables coercing one another, even bribing and cajoling one another to go up on that stage. I hear debates over which songs to sing and whose voices are truly terrible. Rather than the required donation keeping people away, asking them to pay seems to have encouraged them.

As a lovely white-haired lady with a walking cane gets up to sing “Stardust,” one of my favorite old standards, I feel a twist of envy. I know, with my head still throbbing, I’m in no form to get up there and sing. I couldn’t give it my all, and without giving it my all, there’s really no point.

I scan the crowd, again, as I have every few minutes. It’s like I have a radar attuned to Quint, and I keep hoping that maybe he’ll seek me out. Despite having done what I came here to do, the evening feels unfinished. Anticlimactic. I know there’s a lot left unsaid between me and Quint, but every time I see him, he’s busy talking to someone new, grinning and gesturing at one of his photos. He’s in his element, and I want to be happy for him, but … I also can’t help but wonder whether he’s avoiding me.

Despite how much he hurt me, in all my fantasies over the past few weeks, one thing has stayed constant. Yes, I want his apology. Yes, I want him to plead for forgiveness. Yes, I want to hear him say how wrong he was not to trust me.

But more than any of that, I want him to still like me.

As much as I still like him.

But what if that isn’t the case? What if in these last weeks he’s realized he never wanted me to begin with. That it was all a huge mistake—just like he said.

I need to get out of here.

I stand up. I’ll slip out while no one is watching. I won’t have to say goodbye to Morgan or Rosa or anyone. As I make my way to the exit, I don’t look back at Quint, just in case he notices me trying to leave. Because I couldn’t stand it if he saw and didn’t try to stop me.

I’ll have to face him eventually. If I’m going to continue volunteering at the center, I’ll have to confront the way he hurt me. And school is starting again soon, and there’s a good chance we’ll have some classes together. I’ll have to accept that whatever happened between us is really and truly over.

As I pass the now-empty auction table, something catches my eye.

I nearly trip over my feet. There’s something glinting up at me, tucked just behind one of the table legs, almost hidden by the tablecloth.

I crouch and pick it up.

It’s a vintage diamond earring hooked onto a chain necklace. The clasp must have broken when Shauna and I fell.

The diamond winks at me.

I chuckle to myself. “Nice one, Universe.”

I turn and spot Maya sitting at the same table where I noticed her before, staring at her phone. I could go give it to her, but I don’t really want the credit for finding this earring any more than I want the blame for it first having been lost.

“Excuse me?” I say to a passing volunteer. “Could you give this to that girl over there? I think she lost it.”

“Oh, sure.” The volunteer takes the earring with some uncertainty, but doesn’t ask any questions.

I stick around just long enough to see the earring delivered. To see Maya’s shock, her disbelief—her utter joy. She actually starts crying as she clutches it to her heart, then stands up and gives the stunned volunteer a tight hug.

Too bad that isn’t Jude, I think. Then I would have just made two people’s nights.

Onstage, the sweet old lady finishes her song, and I clap with as much enthusiasm as I can—but my heart isn’t in it. The theater might be overflowing with good vibes, good music, and more generosity than I could have imagined, but my heart is still broken.

I start to turn away.

“Next up,” Trish says into the microphone, “one of the rescue center’s most beloved and longtime volunteers. Please welcome to the stage … Quint Erickson!”

I spin around so fast I nearly lose my balance.

Surely she didn’t just say …

And there he is, walking up onto the stage. He smiles nervously at Trish as he takes the microphone from her. He looks positively terrified.

He clears his throat, nodding gratefully at the applause that’s followed him to the platform. “Sorry,” he says, giving an awkward wave to the audience. “You all don’t deserve the torture I’m about to put you through, but … it’s for a good cause, right? So … here goes.”

There’s some mild laughter. Some encouraging whoops.

The music begins.

My stomach drops.

“Dear Prudence … won’t you come out to play?”

I hear a few gasps and feel people searching me out and, when they find me, pointing and whispering.

Quint, too, is scanning the room. But once he finds me, his eyes stay locked on mine.

My mouth goes dry as I listen, and a small part of me thinks I should be mortified by the attention, but I’m not.

I’m awestruck.

I’m delirious.

I’m … a little worried that this might not mean what I want it to mean.

“The sun is up, the sky is blue. It’s beautiful, and so are you, dear Prudence…”

My heart is beating so hard it might pound right out of my chest.

His singing voice is … not great, I’ll admit. But the way he’s looking at me, and the way he’s blushing, and how he goofs up on the second verse and has to check the lyrics on the monitor and how he looks so flustered and so scared, how he still somehow manages to find me in the crowd again …

I. Am. Mesmerized.

The song ends, and I dare to breathe. It might be the first breath I’ve taken since he went up there.

Quint clears his throat and puts the mic on the stand. He backs up like he can’t get away from it fast enough.