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Sage kept her voice steady, though hope fluttered wildly in her chest.
Come on, Cal… just a little more.
Cal met her gaze, laughter dancing in his eyes, and nodded.
From the corner booth she heard Michael mutter something about this being better than Episode VI. Isabelle poked him without looking.
Sage held his stare and spoke clearly.
“Sage. I know you’re eighteen.”
Cal stared at her for a long moment. The diner had gone very quiet. Bing Crosby’s “White Christmas” drifted from the jukebox, golden and unbothered.
“I’m not—”
“Repeat. After. Me.”
“Sage,” he said slowly, the voice of a man who had survived wars but wasn’t sure he’d survive this, “I know you’re eighteen.”
She grinned, all teeth.
“And you’re drop-dead gorgeous.”
Something shifted across his face—wonder, joy, something deeper. He looked at her observing her dark hair, the silver piercings catching the light, her blue eyes watching him so steadily.
“You’re drop-dead…” He stopped and shook his head. “No.”
Sage startled, suddenly scared. “No?” she asked in a small voice.
Cal’s expression stayed serious, but his eyes were bright. “No, sweetheart. ‘Drop-dead gorgeous’ is too plain for you. You’re so far beyond that… I don’t think the words have been invented yet.”
He said it simply. Plain. True.
The diner went completely silent.
No, Sage! Not now—
But it was too late. Tears spilled over. Before she knew it, Cal reached across the counter, his long arms wrapping around her as she cried quietly into his chest. He rubbed slow, soothing circles on her back from the other side of the counter.
She looked up and smacked his chest lightly. “You’re not supposed to say stuff like that! I was on a roll! I was gonna—”
Sage looked at Cal.
Cal looked at Sage.
And he smiled. “I’ll work on it.”
She wiped her eyes, voice now nasally and thoroughly undignified. “Work on what?”
“Finding the words, baby girl.”
Sage blinked, still a little dazed. “What words?”
Outside the windows, snow fell soft and steady. Bing Crosby kept singing. The Halverson sisters clutched each other’s hands. Bobby Callahan Senior had the story of the year.
“The words that haven’t been invented yet,” Cal said quietly, “to describe how beautiful you are.”
Sage looked at him for one heartbeat, then awkwardly climbed over the counter with another sob. Cal gathered her gently into his arms and carried her outside.
