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... like lazy comets, and a soft pitter-patter of drizzle tapped against the roof. No open sunroof this time, which only made the silence more awkward. Alice wanted to die for real. She wouldn’t have much regrets since she’d met her idol already.

The tension sat between them like a third passenger—heavy, oppressive, and smelling faintly of unspoken drama and melted ice cream.

Alice sat rigidly in her seat, hands folded tightly in her lap. Her puffy eyes had calmed somewhat, though he ...

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