My jaw aches from clenching. I rub at it, forcing myself to relax. This is ridiculous. Why am I torturing myself? I should be happy that Emmett might get laid. Isn’t that what I was helping him with? Wasn’t that the whole point?
I stand up, pacing the length of the living room. I’m acting like a crazy person, and I know it, but I can’t stop.
What happened last night flashes through my mind. After Emmett fell asleep against me watching anime, I’d held him for a while, his steady breathing warm against my chest. Eventually, I’d shifted him onto the pillow and covered him with a blanket. I did my best to stick to the opposite side of the bed. In the morning, he was gone before I woke up.
I pull at my lip ring, playing with it with my tongue. My brain supplies another image: Emmett popping that champagne he asked me to buy this morning. The expensive stuff he sent me out for because he wanted everything to be perfect.
Wait. The champagne.
I stop pacing, a sudden realization hitting me. In all the awkwardness of the day—Emmett avoiding eye contact, me pretending last night never happened—I forgot to give him the champagne.
“Shit.”
I head to the kitchen and open the fridge. There it is, perfectly chilled, nestled between the orange juice and Dad’s kombucha.
I pull it out, weighing the cold bottle in my hand. This is the ideal excuse to check what’s happening. To make sure everything’s…fine.
But should I? If they’re in the middle of something, I’d be the world’s biggest asshole. On the other hand, Emmett specifically asked for this. He’d be disappointed if it wasn’t part of his perfect plan.
I pace another lap around the kitchen island, bottle in hand. Lulu watches from her bed, amused by my indecision.
“This is a legitimate reason to go over there,” I tell her, as if seeking her approval. “I’m being helpful. A good wingman.”
Lulu yawns, unimpressed with my rationalization.
Fuck it. I’m going. He asked for the champagne, and that’s what he’s getting. If I interrupt something, well…they can pause and resume after I leave.
I grab my hoodie from the back of a kitchen chair and slip it on. “Stay,” I tell Lulu, who looks like she might follow. “I’ll be back soon.”
The night air is cool against my face as I cross the garden toward the guest house. Through the windows, I can see the soft glow of what must be the candles and string lights. My stomach tightens as I near the door, champagne clutched in a white-knuckled grip.
I slow my pace. What if they’re…in the middle of something? My pulse hammers in my throat. But I’ve come this far. Might as well follow through.
I knock three times, loudly enough to be heard over any…activity.
“Emmett?” I call out. “Got something for you.”
No response. I knock again, harder this time.
“Emmett? You there?”
Silence. Maybe they’re in the bedroom and can’t hear me. Or maybe they’re choosing to ignore me.
I try the door handle. It’s unlocked, turning under my palm. I push it open, bracing myself for what I might see.
“Hello?” My voice sounds strained. “Just bringing the champagne you asked for.”
The living room is empty, though signs of the date are everywhere. The candles still flicker, casting dancing shadows on the walls. Half-eaten plates of food sit abandoned on the table, alongside two glasses of red wine, one with a lipstick print on the rim. Rose petals are scattered across the floor, leading toward the hallway.
My playlist plays from the speakers—a slow, sensual beat that makes the empty room feel like a still life of intimacy interrupted. The romantic scene I helped create yesterday is both beautiful and painful to see in use.
“Emmett?” I call again, louder.
A muffled sound comes from down the hall. His bedroom. My heart sinks and soars. I shouldn’t go back there. I really shouldn’t.
Emmett’s voice comes through more clearly the second time: “Kade? Is that you? Thank god. Need help!”
My pulse spikes. He sounds distressed. Without further hesitation, I push open his bedroom door.
