Was it real? Was it fake? Was I losing my mind?
I leaned forward and paused the TV on Kieren’s face. That moment after the kiss, when he looked at me like I was more than some reporter shoved into his world.
I traced his expression with my eyes. The softness there. The quiet awe.
I hated that I still felt it, days later.
Worse, I hated how much I wanted it to be real.
At that moment, someone knocked.
I froze, mid-pace, pulse catching somewhere between my throat and chest. For a split second, I seriously debated pretending I wasn’t home. I wasn’t in the mood for people, questions, or another unsolicited “are you and Kieren official?” comment from my very chatty neighbor.
Then came the voice. Muffled, but unmistakable.
“Daphne! I know you’re in there. Don’t make me pick this lock again.”
I sighed, defeated. “You picked it once.”
“And I will again,” Nora called through the door, chipper. “Your security system is pathetic.”
Rolling my eyes, I crossed the room and yanked open the door—only for her to breeze past me like she owned the place, arms full of snacks and something dangerously close to a bottle of wine.
“Hope you didn’t have plans tonight,” she said brightly. “Because we’re about to unpack every repressed emotion you’ve got.”
And just like that, my apartment wasn’t mine anymore.
She sprawled across my living room rug like she owned the place—half her body tangled in a blanket, one leg propped up, lazily waving a freshly painted toenail in the air while scrolling Twitter with the other hand.
“You’re falling for him,” she said casually, like she was announcing the weather.
I stopped mid-pace and glared at her. “I kissed him so he wouldn’t throw a reporter into oncoming traffic.”
“Exactly,” she replied, deadpan. “That’s love.”
I groaned and resumed pacing, arms crossed, heart thumping far louder than it had any right to. “It was a heat-of-the-moment thing. I was frustrated. He was cornered. The press was being vultures. I panicked.”
Nora snorted and blew on her toes. “You kissed him like you were auditioning for the role of ‘Unhinged Soulmate #1’ in a Nicholas Sparks adaptation. Don’t play me.”
I flopped onto the arm of the couch and covered my face with both hands. “It wasn’t like that.”
“It was exactly like that.”
She pulled up her phone and started scrolling again, smug. “Want me to read the comments? Because I will. Twitter’s already shipping you so hard they’re naming kids after you. Look at this one—‘Walker looked at her like she hung the damn stars. My god. Protect this man’s heart.’” She paused. “That one has 42,000 likes.”
I peeked through my fingers. “Stop.”
“Oh, wait, wait—this one’s better. ‘I’m ready to believe in love again.’ Six million views, Daph. On that clip alone.”
I grabbed the nearest pillow and lobbed it at her. She ducked with a grin.
“You’re the worst.”
“And you’re in denial.” She smirked, unfazed, holding her phone up like it was gospel. “My grandmother saw it. Grandma, Daph. She texted me this morning: ‘Daphne is glowing.’ Like you’re the damn moon or something.”
I groaned again, this time dragging a blanket over my head. “Tell your grandma to stop watching sports recap shows.”
“You think she doesn’t have ESPN? Please. She lives for this. Honestly, you should be honored. It takes a lot for her to text anything other than chain prayers and recipes.”
