“You’re going to pass the practical tomorrow,” he said. Not a wish. A diagnosis.

She grinned, tired but fierce. “That’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said.”

He turned to walk away, but she caught his sleeve. On impulse, she rose on her toes and pressed a quick, playful kiss to his cheek—the kind that left a faint lipstick mark he’d pretend to hate.

“Because you’re an Irie now.” He paused. “And Irie women don’t fail. They just annoy everyone until they succeed.”

She wanted to argue. But then she noticed the small, rare curve at the corner of his lips—the one he only ever showed her. In Season 1, that smile would have made her heart stop. In Season 2, it made her heart run .

Season 2 wasn’t about falling in love anymore. It was about choosing to stay there—chart by chart, kiss by playful kiss.

He took her coffee, set it down, and gently straightened her cap. His fingers lingered a moment too long.

“I’m helping.”