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Their romance didn’t start with a grand gesture. It started with a step stool.

"I’m fine," she said, looking up, her neck aching just a little. "The view is actually pretty great."

The romantic tension built in the small spaces between them. It was the way Sam would lean down to whisper a joke in her ear, his breath warm against her skin because he had to travel so far to reach her. It was the way Elara would grab the hem of his oversized hoodies—which looked like floor-length gowns on her—to get his attention in the hall.

He stopped walking. The carnival lights reflected in his eyes. "Yeah?" "Yeah," she whispered.

Sam didn’t just lean down; he knelt a little, meeting her halfway. When he kissed her, Elara didn't feel small at all. She felt like the center of the universe. He tasted like salted popcorn and nerves. His hands stayed on her waist, holding her steady, while hers found purchase on his shoulders, grounding him.