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“And my guy couldn’t possibly be like that because it’s not a romance book?”

“I’m not saying that. I just know the type of books you read.”

“Read it.” I raise an eyebrow, pressing my lips together to stifle a grin.

“What?”

“I challenge you to read it. And if you don’t fall in love with Mr. Wilde and wish he was real, I promise to never change another one of your displays.”

Henley stares at me deadpan then bellows out a laugh. “Oh, Lily. We both know you’re never going to stop changing my displays. But also…we need to find you a man.”

“What? I don’t need a man.”

“You do. Even if it’s just for a night. I’ll read this book if you promise to try.”

“No deal. After the disastrous Halloween party, I am done with putting myself out there. If it happens, it happens. If it doesn’t, it doesn’t.”

“Uh-huh. Is that because you already have someone in mind?”

“Not at all.” A warmth creeps up my chest and I glance away, grabbing my thriller and replacing it with what looks like a hockey romance. My muscles tense as I wait for her to say more, but I’m saved by a shopper, one that beelines straight for the romance section, Henley’s specialty.

As I walk away, Henley’s eyes burn a hole in the back of my head, but I pretend not to notice, refusing to look back.

Other than the flight home from Vegas, when Henley and I caught up on our crazy night following the Halloween party, I’ve tried hard to push Beckett from my mind. I told Hen that I’d spent hours talking to her brother in a dimly lit bar, but held back the fact that he’d kissed me good night.

If she hadn’t kept the details about the club a secret, I would have felt guilty, only she did. And on top of that, she’d been keeping other secrets of her own.

Should I have mentioned it after I found out what she’d been hiding? Probably. And I would have, if I thought anything more would come of it.

But it’s Beckett Myers.

Apart from being my best friend’s older brother, he’s also dedicated his life to football. He doesn’t make time for friends, let alone dates. Holding on to our kiss and mentioning it to Henley felt like a moot point.

My stomach twists as sadness seeps in, just like it always does when I think of Beckett’s social situation. There has to be a reason he keeps to himself, and I’m dying to know what it— Dammit. I’m not supposed to be thinking about him.

So what if we shared an amazing night together, talking about life and sharing a wonderful kiss? I need to get over myself. Which is somewhat harder to do now that he’s here.

It’s Beckett’s fault entirely, though I can't blame him. It’s just…no one has ever kissed me like that. It was raw and consuming. I felt it everywhere, from my lips down to my toes. My mouth had tingled for a good twenty minutes after he walked away, and I can honestly say, no one before him has left that kind of a lasting impression.

But it was one night. One kiss. It’s not like we got married.

Unlike my beautiful friend.

I glance over at Henley, letting her predicament distract me for a moment. She’s now pacing by the shelves, pretending she’s looking for a book, our customer gone. How long was I thinking about Beckett?

It’s not the first time I’ve found her like that, and I’m certain it won’t be the last.

It turns out that my bestie was not only hooking up the night of Hunt and Olivia’s Halloween party, she was also busy tying the knot. To Atlas. The very man she’s had a crush on since she was a teenager. The man who now seems to be the bane of her existence.

I think it’s fate. She thinks it’s a huge disaster and she’s doomed for the rest of her life. We’re currently agreeing to disagree on the issue.

Making my way over, I grab her hands as they bounce around animatedly, like they always do when she’s talking to herself frustratedly. “It’s going to be fine.” I squeeze her hands with a smile. “No one knows you’re the incredible woman Atlas married in Vegas. In fact, most people assume the photo is fake. Charley included.” I gesture to our barista as she bops her head to whatever song she’s listening to. Since we all have such different tastes in music, we either wear earphones and listen to our own stuff, or fight all day over who picks the next song, usually ending in nothing being played or the selection of a random mix—which is what we’ve done today.

Henley groans out loud, drowning out the song we have playing for our visitors, and I almost laugh when it’s one of her favorites. She’d usually be bragging about her song coming on. She must be out of sorts.

“How the hell am I going to avoid Atlas all weekend? You know he’s not going to make it easy for me.”

“Why would you have to avoid him? Everyone knows you’re friends.” I raise an eyebrow in challenge, and the sigh Henley releases is unlike anything I’ve heard come out of her before.