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She stares at me like she wants to argue.

Like she should.

Like she’s trying to hold on to that line she drew.

Then—slowly—she picks up her fork.

Takes a bite.

And I feel the victory of it down to my tortured soul.

That’s my good girl.

I lean back in my chair, forcing distance between us before I do something reckless.

Before I forget we’re not alone.

Before I forget she’s not mine. Not yet.

Because that’s the truth I’m starting to accept.

I don’t understand what this is.

I don’t understand why her. Why now. Why it feels like something inside me locked into place the second I saw her.

But I do know this—I don’t like anyone else near her.

I don’t like distance between us.

And I sure as hell don’t like pretending this is casual.

I rattled her just now. And maybe I meant to.

But she’s not the only one who feels that way. But maybe I did it because she needs to understand something.

Even if she fights it.

Even if I fight it.

See this thing between us?

It’s not going away. And neither am I.

This time, I’m trying for something I never have before. I’m trying for a future. For her and me together.

This time, I’m trying for us.

Chapter Eighteen

Hilary

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

The rest of the night flies by in a blur.

At some point, someone—noticeably not Jake—comes in and clears the table, packs up the leftovers, wipes everything down like we didn’t just sit there pretending to be normal people.

I nod. Smile. Exist.