CHAPTER 48: SABRINA IS GOING TO KILL ME!!

"Wait, wait—’Anthony Johnson’? Like star quarterback, entrepreneur, and model Anthony Johnson?" Edward asked, eyes wide as he paused mid-step in the kitchen. His tone was half disbelief, half awe, and wholly dramatic.

The stainless steel refrigerator hummed in the background, and the faint scent of lemon-scented floor cleaner lingered in the air. A half-cut avocado on the counter sat forgotten.

Summer smirked, one eyebrow arching as she turned from the sink with a dish towel in hand. "No! The other one," she said with thick sarcasm, her voice lilting upward as she let out a short, melodic laugh. It wasn’t just any laugh—it was one of those rare, unfiltered sounds that filled a room with warmth.

Her head tilted back slightly, the light catching her cheekbones just right as the sound echoed softly off the tile. That laugh had a way of pulling reactions from people. Even Edward, arms crossed and pretending to be annoyed, couldn’t resist the tug at the corners of his mouth.

"Ha, ha," he muttered with mock annoyance, rolling his eyes for effect. Still, his grin betrayed him. He couldn’t keep up the act for long, especially not around her.

He followed her as she sauntered out of the kitchen and into the hallway, her walk casual but confident, as if she owned every space she entered.

The house they were in wasn’t traditional by any means—it was an eclectic blend of modern and artsy, cozy yet bold. Magazine covers framed in glossy black lined the walls, showing Summer in different looks and personas. A soft, beige rug muted their footsteps as they passed a minimalist glass bookshelf and a chrome floor lamp shaped like a tree.

"Okay, this is the bathroom," she announced, flinging the door open with an overly dramatic flair. Her tone mimicked a museum tour guide unveiling a Renaissance sculpture.

"Lots of thinking happens on that toilet seat. Lots of thinking."

She stood proudly in front of it like a curator presenting a masterpiece. Her hand swept out to emphasize the space—a modest bathroom made eccentric by the sheer extravagance of the decor.

Edward leaned in slightly, peering around her shoulder. His eyebrows climbed high.

"Whoa, a gold-coated shower? Extreme much!" he said with a laugh, his tone incredulous. The gleaming, metallic sheen of the shower made it look like something out of a music video.

Summer shrugged, her shoulder rising casually as if golden bathroom fixtures were just a quirky footnote in her life. "It was my boyfriend’s idea, okay," she said with exaggerated defensiveness, lips twitching into a knowing smirk.

He gave her a teasing side-eye. "Uh-huh. Sure."

Their shared laughter echoed briefly in the small space before she pulled him back into the hallway.

"Okay, final stop..." Summer announced with a theatrical pause, her hand resting on the next door handle like she was about to open a treasure vault. "The bedroom!"

She flung the door open with a flourish, and Edward stepped in behind her.

Immediately, the ambiance shifted.

The room was like stepping into a curated dream—everything was black, white, and shades of gray, accented by soft pink LED lights that lined the ceiling like a halo. It wasn’t loud or chaotic; it was sleek, calm, and artistic.

An 8-by-6-foot bed took center stage, its plush velvet headboard reaching high like a throne. Drawers sat neatly on either side of the bed like sentinels guarding a queen. A glossy dressing table stood to the right, its Hollywood-style mirror ringed with soft bulbs that reflected just enough light to give the room a glow.

"Whoa," Edward breathed, the sight stealing his words for a moment. "This is a huge bed."

"Yeah, imported from Italy," Summer said proudly, puffing her chest a bit. "Made with the best foam and fabrics, and specially crafted by—"

"Okay, okay, I get it. Stop the advert," Edward interrupted, chuckling as he waved a hand in the air like he was swatting away a commercial. He threw a mock punch in her direction, grinning.

She laughed and flopped onto the bed with a bounce, her arms spreading out beside her. The mattress dipped and rose with her motion, making it seem even softer than it looked.

"Come on, sit down, Edward."

He hesitated. "You sure?"

"Come on!" she insisted, grabbing his wrist and giving a playful tug.

He lost his balance and landed beside her with a soft thud, laughing as he fell. The bed dipped again under their combined weight. For a moment, they sat close, shoulders brushing. The silence was comfortable, like they were syncing into the same rhythm.

"So," Edward said, turning slightly to face her, "what’s the worst movie you’ve ever starred in?"

Summer blinked, caught off guard by the abrupt question. Then, she smirked. "Whoa, straight out of the gate, huh?"

"You did say I should ask questions," Edward countered, still grinning.

She leaned back further, propping herself up on her elbows. The LED lights above painted her face in faint pink and lavender hues.

"Alright. I’d say Vanguard."

Edward’s jaw dropped. "What?! That’s my favorite one you’ve done!"

She rolled her eyes. "Superhero movies are a pain," she said with a theatrical groan. "The makeup takes hours, the costumes feel like they’re made of shrink-wrap, and the scripts go on forever. It’s exhausting. Vanguard was the last superhero film I did for a reason."

Edward smirked, folding his arms. "Yeah, but it made a billion dollars at the box office."

Summer grabbed a pillow and tossed it at him. "The only good thing about superhero movies? They pay really well."

They both laughed again, the mood softening from playful to quietly intimate as the conversation flowed. They talked about her chaotic auditions, his taste in old black-and-white films, her most awkward red carpet moment, and a fan who once asked her to autograph their forehead.

It was easy—too easy.

"So wait," Summer said, furrowing her brow mid-story, "let me get this straight. By next August, you’ll be in college?"

Edward nodded. "Yeah. Why do you sound so surprised?"

"’Cause college is a scam," she said bluntly, then laughed. "Well, maybe not a scam—I might just be bitter ’cause I dropped out."

Edward chuckled, but the look on her face told him there was more to it.

"You don’t sound too broken up about it."

Summer looked at the ceiling, the LED lights casting shifting shadows across her face. Her voice softened.

"Maybe I should be. Or maybe... I made the right choice."

He didn’t press further. He could feel the heaviness beneath her words, but he also knew that sometimes silence was the better response.

Then his eyes drifted to his wristwatch.

"6:30?! Shit," he blurted, bolting upright. His heartbeat spiked. "I completely lost track of time!"

He scrambled to pull on his shoes, nearly stumbling as he tried to wedge his foot in while hopping on one leg.

"What’s the issue?" Summer asked, confused, sitting upright.

"I was supposed to meet a friend at four," he said, practically jogging toward the hallway.

Summer followed him, amusement dancing in her eyes. "Well, you’re definitely late."

"Thanks for the reminder, Summer," he said with a sarcastic smile.

"Call me later!" she shouted as he reached the front door.

"Here I was thinking we could order takeout," she mumbled to herself, collapsing dramatically back onto the massive bed. Her arms flopped to the sides like she was melting into the mattress.

Meanwhile, Edward was already sprinting down the quiet street, the late afternoon air cool against his face. The golden light of early evening bathed the neighborhood in soft, warm tones, casting long shadows that stretched across lawns and sidewalks. Each footfall pounded against the pavement with urgency.

His heart raced—not just from the running, but from the guilt gnawing at his insides. The longer he waited, the worse it would be.

"Sabrina’s gonna kill me," he muttered under his breath, turning the final corner onto her street.

When he reached her house, his breath was shallow and fast. There she was—Sabrina, standing alone on her porch.

Her arms were crossed, her posture stiff. But her expression... it wasn’t angry. It was worse. It was a quiet blend of concern and hurt.

Edward slowed to a stop, standing at the bottom step. The golden light caught her hair, turning the strands into threads of fire. The world felt oddly still.

"Where’ve you been?" she asked, her voice low. Barely a whisper.

He swallowed hard, guilt tightening like a noose around his ribs. "I got caught up... I’m sorry," he said, words tumbling out in a rush.

Sabrina looked at him for a long moment. Her eyes searched his, then flicked away.

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