It all starts with a text.
At 6:03 AM.
Which, for the record, is a criminal time to be awake if you're not a doctor, firefighter, or being chased by a bear.
But my phone buzzes once. Then again. And again. Until it sounds like a fly trapped in a soda can.
I groan, grope around blindly, and finally grab it off the nightstand. Eyes squinting, I read the sender.
Olivia.
Nope. Absolutely not. I roll over and chuck the phone across the bed like it might bite me.
But curiosity is a mean little demon, and it doesn't let go. After a full minute of dramatic sighing, I drag myself back to the phone and look.
She sent a photo.
Of Eli.
At dinner.
With her.
From last night.
Caption:
"Some things never change."
Oh, I am going to murder him. Slowly. With glitter and passive-aggressive post-it notes.
Except… wait.
He was with me last night. I remember his hand on my waist, remember him saying this thing between us was real. So what the hell is this?
I zoom in.
Enhance. CSI-style.
A date stamp from three months ago.
I nearly throw my phone again, but this time it's because I'm mad at myself for almost believing her for even one second. Of course she's playing games. Of course she's trying to wedge herself back into Eli's life like some overly glamorized barnacle.
But still.
It stings.
Because underneath all the snark and sarcasm, I do like him. Way more than I want to. And somewhere deep in my very confused brain, I think he might actually like me too. Which makes this whole mess that much harder to shrug off.
I text Eli.
> Me:
Explain why your evil ex just sent me a throwback Thursday with extra lies?
Three dots appear immediately. Then vanish. Then reappear.
He's typing a whole thesis.
> Eli:
I swear I haven't seen her outside of last night. That photo is from a fundraiser we both attended months ago. She's trying to mess with your head.
> Me:
She succeeded. My head is now soup.
> Eli:
Don't let her win. Please. Can I come over?
I stare at that last text.
Can he?
Ugh. Probably.
Ten minutes later, there's a knock at my door. I open it, and there he is—messy hair, coffee in hand, holding it out like a peace offering.
Smart boy.
"Is it poisoned?" I ask, eyeing the cup.
"Only with extra caramel."
I take it. Sip. Glare. "You realize your ex has the emotional range of a Bond villain, right?"
"I do now," he mutters.
I raise an eyebrow. "You dated her for two years."
"I have poor judgment."
"At least we agree on something."
He gives me a look that's half amused, half desperate. "Avery. I'm serious. I don't want her. I want—"
"Coffee," I interrupt. "You want coffee. Because it's early and my mascara hasn't even bonded with my soul yet."
He smirks. "I want you."
Silence.
Then I dramatically pretend to choke on my drink. "Wow. Bold. At 6:30 in the morning. Is this what we're doing now?"
He leans closer. "Depends. Are you going to kiss me or throw your coffee at me?"
I don't move. "50/50 chance."
He grins, clearly ready to gamble.
And that's when the fire alarm goes off.
Yes.
The actual fire alarm.
I drop the coffee, he swears, and we both run to the kitchen—only to find the toaster smoking like it's auditioning for a role in an action movie.
Eli waves a towel around dramatically, I open a window, and for five solid minutes, it's total chaos.
When the smoke finally clears, I'm laughing so hard I can't breathe.
Eli looks at me, face flushed, hair wild, and grins. "Well, breakfast is ruined."
"Your romantic timing is terrible," I wheeze, wiping tears from my eyes.
"Maybe," he says, stepping closer again, "but at least I know how to put out fires."
"Oh please," I snort. "You are the fire."
He leans in again.
And this time, I don't stop him.
Our lips meet in the middle of a smoky kitchen, and it's soft and chaotic and way too good for two idiots who almost burned down my apartment.
When we finally pull back, I whisper, "If you ever lie to me, I'm putting glitter in your shampoo."
He grins. "Fair."
Then my phone buzzes again.
Unknown Number.
One message.
> "You don't know the full story. Ask him about Italy."
I freeze.
Eli notices.
"What is it?"
I show him.
And watch his entire expression change.
What happened in Italy, Eli? And why do you look like you just saw a ghost?