CHAPTER 1. Carter
I’ve had a crush on Thomas Moore since seventh grade, when I was twelve years old and had braces, puberty-induced mood swings, and an alarming addiction to cinnamon sugar bagels. I’m thirty-three now. Which means this crush is old enough to legally drink, adopt a child, rent a car, and apply for a concealed carry permit in the state of Illinois.
So yeah. I’m aware of how deeply, irreversibly screwed I am.
Today is Valentine’s Day. It’s also my brother Jason’s birthday—aka the one day a year I’m forced to see Thomas Moore, like it’s some kind of emotionally devastating national holiday.
Jason and Thomas have been best friends since they were kids. They’d study at our place, play video games at Thomas’s, hang out pretty much every day like it was a full-time job. They were inseparable. And I was always there too—clinging to whatever scraps of attention I could get from Thomas, like a lovesick barnacle. Third-wheeling so hard I should’ve come with handlebars.
When Jason left for college in Bloomington and Thomas stayed behind to go to a local school, things shifted. I kind of became Jason’s stand-in. Thomas and I started hanging out—just the two of us—and for a while, we were actually good friends. Not best friends, though. That was never on the table. By then, I was already a goner, and I kept my distance on purpose because I was trying really hard not to get friendzoned.
Yeah. Nailed it.
He didn’t just friendzone me—he banished me to the deepest, most desolate corner of it. Dropped me so far in, you’d need a Search and Rescue team, a submarine, and a priest just to attempt recovery.
I knew all his girlfriends. He came to me with relationship problems, random anxieties, whatever was bothering him—because apparently, I give great advice. Years passed like that, and I just stayed in my little bubble, quietly convinced that maybe, one day, Thomas would realize he wanted to be with me. That somehow, all the friendship and support I gave him would suddenly matter enough for him to fall in love with me.
There was no proof of this. Like, zero actual evidence the guy even swung that way. He only ever dated women. And aside from the chemistry, the closeness, and the way Thomas got increasingly tactile with me over the years—there was nothing solid to suggest he wasn’t straight.
I’ve tried to move on. I’m still trying. But I’m so fucking in love with him that none of my actual boyfriends ever pass theThomas Moore Comparison Test. I date guys—sometimes for years—but deep down, I know they’re never going to take the place Thomas has had in my heart for the past twenty years.
Two years ago, though, I realized I couldn’t keep doing this to myself. So I decided to try something different. I stopped reaching out. For years, I’d been the one to text first, to call, to check in late at night just to see how he was doing. I was alwaysavailable—always there. So I pulled back. Stopped initiating. Stopped acting like his emotional support animal.
It was brutal. I missed him like hell. But for a little while, I thought it was working.
Because after I went almost completely MIA for about a month, Thomas got weirdly anxious. He started texting me every day, trying to figure out what I was doing, where I was going, who I was seeing. At one point, he even asked if I had some amazing new boyfriend taking up all my time.
He was jealous.
And I thought that was it. My win. Finally.
For the next year, he was the one initiating everything. He asked to hang out. He called. He started showing up at my café so often, Logan—my best friend and co-owner ofDrip—became fully convinced Thomas was finally on his way to discovering his sexuality.
He’d come by sometimes before work, sometimes after—grab a coffee, hang out for a bit, talk to me. Then he’d text me throughout the day, like that was just part of our routine.
It never went anywhere beyond that, though. He always hovered on the edge, never quite crossing the line.
Then, a year ago—on Jason’s birthday again—Thomas got really drunk. It was atDrip, and after Jason and the rest of his friends went home, I stayed behind to help Logan clean up. Thomas stuck around too. Once we were done, he said he wanted to talk. So we stepped into a corner, and he started stroking my hair, telling me how much I meant to him—how I was irreplaceable in his life.
And again, I thought—this has to be it. Finally.
Even Logan, who saw the whole thing from across the room, told me afterward he was pretty sure Thomas had a thing for me.
But the next day, Thomas went completely quiet. At first, I figured he was hungover and just needed space, so I didn’t push. But when he still hadn’t said anything the day after that, I couldn’t take it anymore and reached out first. I asked how he was, and he said he was fine—but the way he responded felt off. Distant. Not like him at all.
After that, he barely replied to any of my messages. And a week later, he told me about Carol—his new girlfriend.
I was pissed. Heartbroken. Mostly just disappointed in myself. I stopped texting him altogether, and he didn’t reach out either, which really threw me. I kept hoping he was just feeling weird after what happened and would eventually come around. But instead, he pulled away completely. Maybe that was the moment he finally realized I was in love with him. Or maybe he’d already known and just decided it was time to shut it down.
About a month later, we started texting again, but it wasn’t the same. The rhythm was off. He kept his distance, and I didn’t push. The conversations stayed surface-level—mostly awkward how-are-you check-ins that never really led anywhere.
And then, eventually, even those stopped. He just went quiet again—completely silent this time. I didn’t reach out after that either. I figured if he wanted space, he could have all of it.
So yeah, that’s how the last year went by. Quiet. And not in a peaceful way. Losing him like that messed with me more than I let on. Logan saw it happening and kept me grounded. If he hadn’t, I’m not sure how bad it would’ve gotten.
I think my feelings for Thomas might’ve faded with enough time—gotten duller, at least. But then, three weeks ago, he texted me out of nowhere. Like nothing had happened. Suddenly, he was warm again. Easy to talk to. Like the version of him I’d been missing had just switched back on.
He said he had an idea for Jason’s birthday—a surprise we could do together. He wanted us to decorate the restaurant Jason had booked for the party with a full-onEmperor’s New Groovetheme. You know, that chaotic Disney cartoon from forever ago? It’s Jason’s favorite—he’s seen it over four hundred times. (That’s not a joke. He can—and will—quote the entire thing from start to finish.)
