I shove the card into my bag and step toward the subway entrance. “Have a good morning, Elliot.”
“I’ll see you around, Violet.” There’s a confidence in his tone I don’t like.
As I descend the stairs, I feel the weight of the card in my bag, like it’s burning a hole through the fabric.
Before my phone signal dies, it rings, Chase’s name appearing on my screen.
I let it ring a few times before I answer. Even though just seeing his name has my insides doing the samba, I don’t want to appear too keen.
“Chase,” I say, keeping my tone even.
“Hey, baby.” His voice—silky smooth and just a little rough from travel—wraps around me, stirring something warm in my chest. It’s a reminder of how much I’ve missed him.
“How was Tokyo?”
“Fine. But jetlag is a bitch.”
“No better way to get rid of jetlag than spending an afternoon at a trampoline park with a four- and five-year-old,” I smile down the phone, the pathetic giddiness I’ve tried to avoid knotting through my veins.
He groans. “I really didn’t think it through.” There’s a pause, then his voice dips, edged with something teasing. “But you know how you can make it better?”
I already know where this is going, but anticipation still hums through me.
“Stay at mine tonight,” he confirms.
Gracie is staying at Gabi’s, so I don’t have an excuse. Not a real one. I’m not sure why I’ve been avoiding it—perhaps because it makes things seem too real, like I’m giving up the last scraps of control I have.
“Okay,” I agree, humor curling in my tone. “As long as you promise not to lock me in.”
“Don’t give me ideas,” his voice deepens, and my pulse picks up. My mind scrambles with something to say, but a subway delay announcement cuts through the silence instead.
“Where are you?” Chase asks.
“Oh, I met Millie for coffee, but I’m heading home now.” I leave out the part about Elliot. Chase would be livid if he thought Elliot was bothering me, and I don’t want anything ruining the afternoon. There’s a pause, like something in my tone has given me away.
“Is everything okay?” he says.
Guilt prickles at my skin. “Yeah. Just tired.” The lie sits heavy on my tongue.
He doesn’t push, but something lingers between us, unspoken.
“I should go,” I say. “My train will be here soon.”
“All right.” A beat. Then, softer, “I’m glad you’re staying.”
The words settle inside me, stirring something I can’t ignore like he sees what I’ve been trying to avoid—that I’m already in too deep.
I swallow. “Me too.”
As the line disconnects, the truth presses in.
I’ve already fallen, and there’s not a damn thing I can do to stop it.
Chapter twenty-three
Violet
“What’s your favorite flavor of ice cream?” Two big blue eyes blink up at me, ice cream smeared across her mouth like war paint. Her expression is so serious, you’d think she just asked me one of life’s most profound questions.
