“Uh…” No way out of this one, Sawyer. “Yeah.”
“And if you were on your way somewhere, doesn’t that mean you should go there?”
I swallow. She’s onto me. “I mean,” I say, scrambling, “I was on my way to drop off hoodies.”
“Which is here.”
“Yes.”
“So you weren’t actually on your way anywhere else.”
“Not…really.”
We stare at each other until the corners of her lips begin curving upward. Theo tugs my arm. “I feel like you’re having a face-off, but I need to decide where to hang my hoodie.”
Theo tugs me down the hallway, still narrating at top speed about optimal hoodie placement and whether the signed one should be hung, framed, or guarded by lasers. I let him pull me along, but my feet lag just enough that I steal one last look back.
Juliette stands in the living room, arms crossed again, but it’s not defensive—it’s more like she’s holding herself together.There’s a smile tugging at her mouth that she’s absolutely failing to hide, and her eyes flick to mine.
My heart stutters as I lift my brows just slightly. A silentyou okay?There’s a second that passes before her lips press together, then curve. She gives me a look that saysdon’t get cockyandyou’re not wrongall at the same time. Which is new.
Theo tugs harder, dragging me into his room, talking about hanger spacing and why navy goes with literally everything. I realize my chest feels too full for how casual this was supposed to be.
Because that look? That was not polite. That was not just gratitude for hoodies and detangled hair.
That was chemistry. That was awareness.
And suddenly, the idea of showing up again doesn’t feel brave or complicated or scary. It feels obvious.
I glance back down the hallway once more, to see if she’s still there. She isn’t, so I quickly pull out my phone and text the only person I can think of right now. The one guy who, if he was here, would be giving me an earful of advice right now.
I think I’m in trouble, Dad, but it’s the good kind…
CHAPTER 16
JULIETTE
The Potomac looks expensive tonight.
All moonlight and glittering reflections, this is the kind of view that makes you feel underdressed no matter what you’re wearing. The restaurant Vivian picked sits right on the water, all white tablecloths and soft candlelight, the low murmur of conversations blending with clinking glasses and the distant hum of the city across the river.
“Well, someone had a date last night,” I tease. “How was it?”
“Great. On his insistence, I went to his place. He presented things as if he wanted to order takeout for us and hang in his gardens.”
“Oh, he has gardens…plural?”
“Apparently. So I get there, we had cocktails on his patio. Things are great. We're getting along. He’s funny. The food arrives, we leave it in the kitchen so he can give me a tour of said gardens before we eat, and before it’s too dark.”
“This all sounds good so far…”
She holds up a finger. “While we’re out walking around his property, an alarm goes off. I think it’s his phone, or mine. But then I realize the sound is coming from his ankle.”
“Huh?”
“My date. He was on house arrest.” She throws her hands in the air. “So, my date was great until his ankle monitor went off for a check-in. They thought he left the property.”
We dissolve into laughter, the kind you can only share with a best friend. I’m still wiping tears from my eyes when Vivian lifts her wine glass.
