What in the actual fuck is going on?
I begin to pace the minute my door shuts behind me. I thought I had gotten things under control, but it appears I have not. Two almost kisses in less than twenty-four hours.
Does that mean he likes me too?
No, that’s impossible. Maybe it’s just flirting or something else. I don’t know, but I do know that it’s hot.
Shit.
Need pulses through my body, and those fucking butterflies return between my legs, so I wait until the front door closes, grab my wand, and I repeat what I did a week and a half ago because, god dammit, how else is a girl supposed to pass the time or process her feelings?
____
On my drive to work, I replay yesterday and this morning, and I don’t know what to make of any of it. When I got into the kitchen, there was another post-it note and doodle stuck to the fridge. In the doodle, the animals were wearing crowns—no doubt a nod to the movies we watched yesterday.
Glad you got some rest. See you tonight.
– T.
I must be temporarily insane because I have no idea what we’re doing—or rather what I’m doing. He’s just being himself—his flirty, goofy self—and I can feel myself crushing harder by the minute. I try to shake the thought as I walk into Dogwood Manor, but it’s no use.
I quickly move to my office, shutting the door behind me. I need to talk to someone and process what the hell is going on.
The Tortured Therapists Department
SOS! Are any of you not working yet?
Poppy:
I’m just walking in. What’s up?
I need advice. Can you come to my office?
Poppy:
On my way!
Lacey:
Advice on what?
Gray:
Yeah, everythingokay?
Tanner
Chloe:
Tanner?
Lacey:
Tanner?
Gray:
Tanner?
