*Lucas*

The woven fibers of Lauren's doormat were cool beneath my feet as I shifted from foot to foot, my heart hammering a rhythm that seemed too loud in the quiet of the morning. The picnic basket felt like an anchor in my hand, laden with more than just breakfast—it carried my hopes, a tangible offering of the feelings I harbored for her.

The sun wasn’t even up yet. She had made her feelings quite clear, and I had hurt her with the sting of my own rejection. Was I crazy? ...