** Paige’s POV **
The inside of the tent is nothing like the memory burned into me from our teens. Back then, the tent had been cramped and cold, the ground hard beneath the sleeping bag, and it had smelt slightly damp and mouldy. We’d been so young, both of us fumbling and overwhelmed, and afterward I’d been left with only silence when he disappeared.
This is warmth and comfort, a bed layered with pillows and blankets, lanterns hanging from the poles, flowers tucked into little jars. It smells faintly of the forest and something rich and musky that’s all Ryder.
He taps something on his phone before placing it down on a side table. Soft music I recognise starts to spill out. A song from when we were younger. He really has thought of everything to make this night perfect.
My throat tigh
