"At least she unblocked your number," James offers drily.
"Yeah, great. Now she can actively ignore my texts instead of just avoiding me in person. Such an upgrade."
James sets down his controller. "You already apologized, right?"
"Yeah. Doesn't mean she forgave me."
"Then show her you've changed," he says, like it's the simplest thing in the world. "Break whatever this pattern is you've created."
"I'm trying." My voice cracks. "But I can't just show up at her place with takeout and bad movies anymore. Can't text her at two a.m. because I saw something that made me think of her. Those were our old patterns and look where that got us. Things are different now."
"Good." Brodie leans forward, elbows on his knees. "Because this isn't about winning back your best friend. The one you leaned on like an emotional girlfriend without giving her the commitment she deserved. You're trying to prove to the woman you love that you finally understand what she means to you."
He's right. Whenever I close my eyes, I'm back at that tree farm, lost in those impossible blues that made the winter sky feel dull. I can still picture the freckles scattered across her nose. Iknowshe wanted that kiss as much as I did.
"So what's she doing tonight that's got her so busy?"
"Hot yoga at Brookside College."
Brodie and James share a look that makes my stomach drop.
"No." I shake my head. "Whatever you're thinking—no."
"Why not?" James's grin turns wicked. "You've got nothing else going on. Plus, you've spent years making jokes about everything she cares about. Time to suffer for your sins."
"Besides," Brodie adds, pretending to be serious, "she might be into flexible guys now. Hope you like to sweat and stretch, lover boy."
"Fine." I drop my head back with a groan. "If I die of heatstroke, it's on your conscience."
"That's assuming you survive the embarrassment first," James says.
"Hey,how's that apartment hunt going?" I ask, desperate to think about anything other than what I'm about to subject myself to.
"Got a few places lined up," he says, wadding up a napkin and tossing it at the pizza box. "Hard to sneak away without Daphne noticing though."
"I'll take her out for lunch or something so you can scout," Brodie offers. "Consider it your early Christmas present."
"You two are so domestic it's giving me hives." I smirk at James. "Though you seem pretty happy for a guy living in relationship purgatory with his parents down the hall."
"Jealous?" James grins, but there's real happiness there. "We make it work."
Brodie snorts. "Translation—they've gotten creative with when and where they fuck."
"Don't you have a class to teach in an hour or something?"
A faint blush creeps up Brodie's neck. "Yeah. College gig. Teaching Art and Design class. The foundation stuff I learned before going into tattooing—color theory, composition, different styles. Figured it might help some other artists find their path."
"And it definitely isn't about a particular redheaded apprentice who practically begged you to step in when Professor Stevens bailed?" James teases.
"Mia just mentioned they needed someone who actually understood how art translates to skin. Plus, I did my degree there. Makes sense they'd ask me."
"And shejust happensto be in that class?" I can't help pushing, watching his fingers fidget with the silver band on his thumb. "Sure, bro."
"Exactly." Brodie's blush deepens, spreading down his neck. "We work together. She's in my class. That's it."
"Sure, sure. Whatever you say, man."
"Speaking of your impending doom," Brodie checks his phone, standing up with suspicious speed, "shouldn't you be getting ready? I checked the schedule for you, and class starts in forty-five minutes."
