Cool Enough?

Chapter 1

The music thrummed through the air, pulsing in Hannah’s chest like a second heartbeat. Sweat clung to her skin, the heat of the afternoon still lingering even as the sky shifted to a bruised mix of pink and orange. The festival grounds were a kaleidoscope of colour—flashing neon wristbands, golden plastic cups catching the light, streaks of blue and green from the face paint booths. People moved like a restless tide, weaving between pop-up bars and merch stands, the air thick with the scent of fried food, coconut sunscreen, and something sweet, almost floral, that clung to the breeze.

Hannah felt alive.

She wasn’t here with anyone. Hadn’t needed to be. She slipped into the festival like she belonged, the kind of person who could start the night alone and end it with a dozen new best friends. A few hours in, and she was already deep in conversation with a group of strangers, plastic cup in hand, laughing so hard she had to clutch her stomach.

“Oh my god, no, you don’t understand,” she wheezed, shaking her head. “I genuinely thought that guy was hitting on me, and then he asked if I had a hot friend.”

The group erupted into laughter, the girl beside her nearly spilling her drink. Someone slung an arm around her shoulder, pulling her in—easy and familiar, like they’d known each other forever. It was effortless. It always was.

She was all colour—floral clips tucked into sun-warmed hair, jean shorts hugging soft curves, a cropped graphic tee knotted just above her stomach. Her skin glowed under the festival lights, rosy-cheeked from the warmth, the laughter, the way she didn’t hold back.

She danced with abandon, the bass guiding her movements, hair sticking to her damp skin. People fed off her energy, drawn in by the way she owned herself, owned the night, owned the moment.

She didn’t notice him at first.

Not until she turned, caught mid-laugh, and locked eyes with him.

Smirking. Arms crossed. Watching.

Oh. Zac...

She should have known by the swagger in his stance, the way he took up space like he expected the world to mold around him. Zac was the kind of guy who never doubted for a second that he could get whatever he wanted.

“Having fun?” he asked, tilting his head slightly, all amused detachment.

Hannah grinned. “Always.”

“You dance like you don’t care who’s watching.”

“That’s because I don’t.”

His smirk deepened, like he’d expected a different answer.

Interesting.

She wasn’t sure if he was flirting or testing her. Probably both.

And she wasn’t sure she cared.

Because the truth was, he wasn’t her type. Too polished, too aware of himself. The way he looked at her, like he was deciding something, like he was waiting for her to prove herself—ugh. Not worth the effort.

Still, she humored him.

“Do you always have to be this serious?” she teased, lifting her cup to take a sip.

His brow lifted slightly. “Do you always have to be this loud?”

She snorted. “You should try it sometime. Might be fun.”

His expression flickered. Just for a second. But she caught it.

And she laughed. Not in a cruel way. Just—genuinely amused.

“Ahh so we're going with tough nut to crack tonight, huh?” she mused, stepping back, already letting the conversation go. “That’s cool. Hope you find what you’re looking for.”

And with that, she melted back into the crowd, disappearing into the sea of moving bodies, leaving him standing there, watching.

She didn’t look back.

The night blurred in a haze of music and movement, sweat and laughter. She made friends at the bar, let someone spin her in circles until they both collapsed in breathless heaps, kissed a stranger on the cheek when he bought her a drink just because it felt like the right thing to do. The festival belonged to her, or maybe she belonged to it.

Her stomach rumbled, cutting through the haze of music and movement. Right. She hadn’t eaten in hours. She peeled herself away from the crowd, weaving through the festival grounds until the scent of cinnamon and fried dough wrapped around her like a warm hug.


The churro truck.

She stepped up to the counter, already grinning as she scanned the menu.

“One large churro with extra dulce de leche,” she said, practically tasting the caramel drizzle already.

“Sorry, we’re out of the dulce,” the worker said, barely glancing up as they handed off another order.

Hannah blinked. “Out? Of the best part?”

“Yep. Just ran out.”

She groaned dramatically, slumping against the counter. “You don’t understand. I’ve been dreaming about this.”

The worker only shrugged. “Want it without?”

She sighed, placing a hand over her heart. “Fine. I’ll survive, but just know this is tragic.”

A low chuckle sounded beside her. “Didn’t take you for the dramatic type.”

She turned, eyebrows lifting as she found herself face-to-face with him again. Festival Guy. Smirking, of course. A churro in his own hand.

She huffed. “It’s not dramatic, it’s justified disappointment. You ever had their dulce de leche?”

He took a slow bite, chewing thoughtfully. “Can’t say I have.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Then you don’t get an opinion.”

He held up his hands, conceding. “Fair enough.”

Her order arrived, and she grabbed the bag with a sigh, pulling out a churro and taking a bite. It was good—great, even—but she still muttered, “It’s missing something.”

Sam—she still didn’t know his name yet, but he looked like a Sam—watched her with amusement, then held his churro out. “Here. Mine has chocolate.”

She blinked. “You sharing food with a stranger?”

“You seem pretty torn up about it.”

Hannah considered for half a second before leaning in and taking a bite. Warm chocolate, rich and just the right amount of sweet, melted over her tongue. She let out a soft, pleased hum before stepping back, licking stray sugar from her lips.


When she glanced up, his gaze was on her mouth.

She tilted her head, smirking. “Good choice.”

His smirk widened slightly, and for the first time, she caught a glimpse of something less calculated. A little looser, a little real.

She wasn’t sure what to make of that.

Later, when the music swelled into something big and bright, she found herself dancing again, hands lifted to the sky, the weight of the night pressing warm and electric against her skin. And suddenly—he was there.

Not hovering. Not smirking.

Just there.