I open the door to let Ernest Hemingpaw in, and he immediately trots over to Travis, meowing imperiously and winding between his legs. Travis reaches for a treat, holding it out to the cat with two fingers. The cat takes it delicately, and the corner of Travis’s mouth twitches.
“Don’t get used to this,” he mutters, giving the cat a scratch behind the ears.
Meanwhile, I pick up my phone.
Time to have some fun.
CHAPTER EIGHT
TRAVIS
There’s something unsettling about how easy this is.
Relationships aren’t supposed to feel frictionless. There should be an adjustment period, a calibration phase. Instead, Devin has slotted into my morning like a variable that was always supposed to be in the equation.
After I’ve given Ernest Hemingpaw his treat and he’s settled in his favorite spot on my couch to clean himself, I wash my hands and start to make Devin an omelet.
Devin’s humming while he drinks his sugar-contaminated coffee, scrolling through his phone, and I’m already mentally rearranging my kitchen to make room for his preferred cereal brands. Which is insane. I don’t rearrange things for people. I once ended a three-month relationship because someone kept shelving my books out of order, and I realized I’d rather have an organized bookcase than a boyfriend who couldn’t respect alphabetization.
But the cold light of day hasn’t changed this irrational certainty that Devin and I are inevitable. That my life before last night was just the rough draft, and now I’m finally working with the final specifications.
The scientific part of my brain can’t help running diagnostics: dopamine surge, serotonin elevation, oxytocin flooding the system. It’s the whole neurochemical cocktail evolution designed to trick humans into pair bonding. Biology cosplaying as destiny.
Except knowing the science doesn’t diminish the effect. If anything, it’s more alarming because I can see exactly which neurotransmitters are compromising my judgment, and I still can’t override them.
And every second I spend with him just makes the rational part of my brain quieter, like critical thinking is being gradually taken offline by something that doesn’t respond to logic-based countermeasures. And the terrifying part is, I have no interest in rebooting the system.
“So,” Devin says, watching me crack eggs into the pan, “do you believe in love at first sight? Or do you think it’s just…chemical delusion dressed up as destiny?”
I nearly drop the spatula. That’s almost word-for-word something I wrote in the moderating chat last month.
“That’s a very specific way to phrase it,” I say carefully.
He shrugs. “Just something I read somewhere. So? What’s your verdict?”
“I’m…reconsidering my position,” I admit.
His smile is blinding. “Good to know.”
As I’m plating the omelet, I hear my phone beep with a ShareYourGlow message. And not just any beep. It’s the special beep I’ve assigned to any messages from SunshineGuy.
My stomach hollows.
I need to tone down this flirtation thing that has been building between SunshineGuy and me. All those late-night messages that went beyond ShareYourGlow business, the inside jokes, the way my day feels incomplete if we haven’t sparred about something ridiculous.
Because now that I’ve met Devin, it’s not fair to have somewhere else I go to play.
Besides, I get the feeling Devin’s going to occupy every available space in my life. And for once, that idea doesn’t feel like an invasion. Instead, it feels like completion.
“Breakfast is served,” I announce, sliding the plate in front of him.
“I think you just got a message,” Devin says, nodding at my phone.
“I can check it later,” I say.
“It’s okay. I don’t mind if you check it now,” he says.
There’s something on his face that looks almost like…expectation. His eyes are bright, and he’s watching me a little too intently.
