Shit! Damn it!
Calm down, Caroline. Pretend he doesn't exist. Act nonchalant.
I grab the celery stick from my plate like it's the world's finest steak and sink my teeth in, chewing slow, deliberate. As if celery is suddenly the most delectable dish I've ever had.
Sell it, Care. You're a drama student, for God's sake. If you can't pull this off, what the hell have you even been practicing for?
The chatter at our table falters. Stops.
That's how I know he's here.
Because my friends' eyes go wide, their mouths slack open, and every gaze drags upward, away from me.
He's here. Standing right in front of us.
"Ca... Caroline?"
My entire body stiffens.
His voice. God. It's deeper. Rougher. Like time added grit to it. But it's still him. Still Zach. And the way it wraps around my name—like he's tasting it for the first time in years—it hits me low, sharp.
My grip on the celery tightens until the stalk cracks in my hand. Still, I keep chewing. Eyes down.
"It's you, right?" He clears his throat, voice uneven. "Caroline, it's really you, right?"
I don't look at him. Won't.
But I can feel him staring—burning through me.
The girls' heads swivel between us like they're watching a tennis match, expressions shifting from shock to awe to what the actual hell? The question's clear in their wide eyes:You know Zach Westbrook?
"How... I thought you were in New York." His words tumble out, disbelieving, but threaded with something else.
Relief? Gladness? Like maybe he's been waiting for me...
Yeah, right. As if!
I bite the inside of my cheek, keep chewing the celery like it's my only lifeline, and finally—finally—I let my eyes flick upward.
Straight into his.
But there's nothing soft in my gaze. No warmth, no flicker of the girl he used to know. If looks could kill, he'd already be six feet under. Because that's what he deserves.
The old Caroline—the one who lit up like a lost puppy every time she saw him—she's gone. Dead and buried with all the weight I shed and the delusions I burned.
Zach's grin falters. His brows pull in the slightest bit, a crease forming between them.
For a split second—maybe I imagined it—there's a flicker in his eyes. Something that looks like hurt. But no.No way.I'm not giving him that credit. My brain's just playing tricks.
"You two know each other?" Lucy's voice cuts in.
"No," I snap, turning to her with a flat stare, the word sharp and fast, like a door slamming shut.
"Yes," Zach says at the exact same time.
I whip back to him, eyes narrowing, daggers flying.
He has the audacity—the audacity—to arch one brow at me, like he's amused by this, like I'm some game he just stumbled back into. "Yes, we do."
