Chapter 66 – That Crazy Elopement
"Huh!?" Ethan went still. "You mean… the Mexico thing?"
"Shh, not right now." Missy cut him off. "I am not letting you kill this vibe."
Even as she said it, she migrated from the couch to the enormous bed, flopping down and wriggling into the mattress like a cat who had just discovered the world's best napping spot.
Ethan watched her melt into the sheets and couldn't help smiling.
He shrugged off his jacket, yanked his tie loose, and felt the last of the evening's tension finally leave his shoulders.
After a couple of quick Healing Spells, he grabbed the champagne and both glasses, settled onto the edge of the bed beside her.
"I have to say, Miss Cooper—you were the main event tonight."
"Wherever we went, every head turned."
He added, completely straight-faced:
"Honestly? Inviting you was the bride's biggest miscalculation."
"Miscalculation?" Missy gave a soft, unbothered snort. Warm lamplight caught the amusement on her face as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
"Oh, please. She just wanted to rub her fancy wedding in my face. Classic."
She sank deeper into the pillows, getting comfortable.
"You saw how the groom kept sneaking looks." She jabbed a finger toward the floor below, zero shame in her expression.
She lifted her champagne flute—bubbles drifting lazily upward, catching the light.
"You know what? I genuinely don't care. Let her have her little victory lap. I had a great day."
She tilted her head toward him, smile easy and real:
"Besides—I stopped needing to compete with anybody a long time ago."
They clinked glasses.
Missy sipped; the fizz caught the light across her lips, softening her whole expression.
Ethan drank slower—his eyes didn't leave her face.
She noticed.
Her smile widened, slow and knowing.
"Why are you staring?" she asked, voice quiet.
"No reason."
His answer came just as quietly: "You just… you've been glowing all night. From every angle."
Missy laughed softly, set her glass on the nightstand, and shifted closer—close enough that Ethan caught the faint warmth of her perfume.
"Ethan."
"Yeah?"
She looked at him, voice light, like it was the most casual thing in the world:
"I'm done talking."
She leaned in.
Time did what time does in a room like that.
Outside, the afternoon gold melted into dusk, and dusk gave up entirely to the New York night skyline.
The champagne bottle was nearly empty.
They sat close and quiet, the kind of comfortable silence that doesn't need filling.
Ethan leaned back into the headboard. "You know, if Sheldon ever found out about tonight, he'd write up a roommate agreement just to define what counts as 'pointless social interaction.'"
"But honestly? This meant a lot."
Missy rested her head against his shoulder, watching the city lights pulse below them. "Me too."
A beat of stillness—then a crack and burst of color lit up the sky. Fireworks, probably part of the wedding program down in the courtyard.
Missy blinked. "Oh. They started the fireworks. We missed the whole first half."
Ethan checked the time. They'd missed the first toast, the first dance, and pretty much every speech anyone's parents had agonized over writing.
He shrugged. "Worth it."
Missy smiled softly. "Happier than the bride and groom, I'd bet."
They stayed like that a few more minutes, neither one moving.
Until Missy's stomach growled. Loudly. Undeniably.
She went still—then announced with great dignity:
"…We should probably go down there, show our faces, and get me some food. Because I am starving."
Ethan laughed. "We could just order room service."
"We have to go down." She sat up, pulling her hair back. "Otherwise tomorrow she'll tell everyone we disappeared. And also—I wasn't kidding—I need actual food."
Five minutes later, clothes straightened, they strolled back into the reception like they'd never left.
The hall was still loud and packed. Nobody had noticed a thing.
They said a quick hello to the bride—mission accomplished—then made a beeline for the buffet.
Missy grabbed a steak. Ethan cut it for her without being asked.
She chewed, looked up.
"Ethan."
"Mm?"
She swallowed. "Since we're down here anyway… can we talk about it?"
"Talk about what?"
She raised an eyebrow. "What you brought up earlier. Mexico."
Ethan cleared his throat. "Oh. That."
The word landed and pulled them both back—all the way back to two chaotic, reckless fifteen-year-olds in East Texas.
The year George Cooper Sr. died.
Sudden. No warning. And just like that, the spine got yanked right out of the Cooper family.
Grief, puberty, and pure Texan stubbornness had turned Missy into something feral and untouchable. As the one person she still trusted, Ethan had been along for every bit of it.
"I really did lose my mind that whole stretch," Missy said, spoon between her teeth.
"You were a lot," Ethan agreed.
She pointed the spoon at him. "So were you. Who bought me the booze?"
"…I figured letting some random gas station clerk sell it to you was the worse option." (It had been Ethan's first real attempt at using a subtle mental nudge—something he'd picked up and barely knew how to control. The clerk had sold without a second thought.)
"Don't try to spin it," Missy said, poking his arm. "You were ridiculously sweet to me that whole time."
Ethan didn't argue. It was true.
After George Sr. died, Mary had packed up and moved herself and Missy back to Medford. Sheldon had gone off to Germany. Missy's older brother Georgie had moved in with his girlfriend. The family had scattered—and Missy had responded by blowing up every guardrail in sight.
Tattoos. Sneaking out. Rebellion as a full-time hobby.
And then came the night that changed everything—which had started, in typical fashion, with one of Missy's experiments.
When Mary found those cut-off denim shorts on the bathroom floor, the yelling that followed had shaken the windows.
"That night I went from embarrassed to furious," Missy said.
"You were really mad."
"Of course I was! She hollered at you louder than she hollered at me!"
That night Missy had shown up at Ethan's window—backpack on, eyes puffy, jaw set like she'd already made up her mind and was daring the universe to stop her.
"I'm eloping to Mexico."
Ethan had stared at her—crying, shaking, completely determined—and genuinely could not figure out how to say no.
His plan had been simple: bring only ten dollars. No money, no distance. What he hadn't counted on was Missy having raided every hidden stash she'd been saving up since she was twelve.
They'd ended up in a sad little motel just shy of the border and stayed there all day. Missy refused to leave, declaring she wanted to "experience married life."
Ethan had just… stayed with her.
While Missy threw herself into the adventure of it—the freedom, the defiance, the drama—Ethan had slipped into the bathroom and quietly called Georgie.
"I'm the one who called your brother," Ethan said.
Missy looked up slowly. Her eyes narrowed.
"I know."
"You were spiraling. I was genuinely scared you'd bolt further if I pushed back directly. I didn't know what else to do."
In the soft noise of the banquet hall, Missy looked at him for a long moment.
Then she let out a long, slow breath.
"Looking back?" she said quietly. "You did the right thing."
She turned her fork in her hand.
"But I was furious at you for three months straight."
"I know."
"I thought—" She stopped, then started again, voice lower. "I thought even you had turned on me." A pause. "But really, you went completely off the rails with me… and then quietly made sure we didn't hit the wall."
A gentle quiet settled between them—the kind that only works between two people who've known each other long enough to stop explaining everything.
She looked up, calm now, fully adult, fully herself:
"I'm just glad you made that call."
Ethan exhaled slowly. "And I'm just glad we're past it."
She reached over and stole a piece of bread off his plate.
"We're so past it." She smiled. "Now cut me more steak."
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