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Ken: Laters Baby!

Then Alaska.

Somewhere between the two, careful disappears.

Texts become pictures. Phone calls become FaceTime.

Hotel rooms—airport coffee.

Darcy occupying Bishop’s side of the couch. I send him one of Darcy stretched across his pillow while I’m sitting beside him.

Ken: Why are you in my bed?

Me: That’s your takeaway?

Ken: Move your leg.

I glance at the picture.

My bare thigh is visible at the bottom.

Interesting.

Me: Why?

The bubbles appear immediately.

Ken: You know why.

A smile spreads across my face.

Maybe I do.

That’s the problem.

Or maybe it isn’t anymore.

Halloween wasn’t how I wanted our first kiss to happen either, but the rejection still stings. And who even knows if there will be a first kiss.

I really hope there’s a first kiss.

I’m catching every 11:11 I possibly can.

But somewhere between Winnipeg and Alaska, embarrassment gives way to something considerably more dangerous.

Curiosity.

Because I know what Bishop does to me. For the first time in five years, I know I do something to him too. And I’m getting tired of making it easy for him to pretend otherwise.

At Midnight Press, Avery catches me writing again instead of apartment hunting. My little writing sessions have become a regular thing here. And Avery was right, she did figure it out eventually. Now she gives me feedback and unsolicited advice like only a best friend can.

She leans over my shoulder reading my latest chapter. “So he is a hockey player?”

I slam my notebook closed. “No, he’s not.”

“He has skates, Laney. Skates.”

“It’s metaphorical.”