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She laughed. “What do you mean you didn’t buy them? You two just happen to like the same drinks?” She looked over her shoulder, smiling until she noted my face, and then her mouth dropped even wider than it had when she saw his apartment. “Wait a minute…”

“Holy shit.” She yelled, jumping up and gripping my shoulders. “He stocked the fridge with all of your favorite drinks? How does he even know which ones you like? I mean, he even got the Topo Chico in the⁠—”

“Glass bottles,” I finished for her, biting the inside of my cheek, eyes still glued on the drink fridge.

It wasn’t that I didn’t think he was paying attention to me when he’d asked all of those questions, but I’d never imagined that he was asking them because he would go out and buy them for me. My eyes caught on an orange sticky note on the top of the counter.

The exact spot he’d set me on the night I was here.

Before my cousin noticed it, I snatched it up, eager to read the words on there.

The height of luxury is a well-stocked drink fridge. Leave a spicy water for me. P.S. Check the pantry.

My body was on autopilot, moving toward the door tucked away beside the fridge—a lump formed in my throat when I pulled it open. Ten bottles of Tapatío were lined up. I pressed a hand to my mouth to stifle the surge of emotion. “Gracie, when do we start our period?”

“Huh?” She stood behind me, trying to peek at the note, but I held it close.

“I’m hoping that the fact that I feel like crying over this is because I’m PMSing,” I answered, dabbing the corner of my eyes. “Because who the hell cries over drinks and hot sauce?”

She moved to stand directly in front of me, her eyes softening. “It’s not the drinks, babe. It’s the fact that someone took the time to see you.”

I groaned as she wrapped me in a hug, squeezing tight. “Don’t start,” I mumbled into her shoulder, though a part of me clung to the comfort.

“Oh my gosh, a boy likes you, Ari,” she sang teasingly, pulling back to beam at me. “And you like a boy.”

“Of course, I like him. As a friend.”

“Mmmhmmm. I also let my friends eat me out at work.” I went to hit her, but she spun away laughing.

“Graciella, I told you that in confidence.”

“You know, now that I think about it, I totally would let my friends eat me out at work.” She wagged her eyebrows, grabbing a Red Bull. “I’m going to go snoop,” she said, skipping off, leaving me to work through the pile of emotions sitting on my chest.

What the hell was I doing here? Ari from three weeks ago would never have agreed to this. But when Gracie had told me that movers showed up at the apartment to get my stuff and take it to Dalton’s, my heart had sped up, not in anger, but in excitement. The control I had over the situation between us felt as if it was slipping through my fingers, and now I stood here wondering if I should be worried about the fact that I wasn’t worried.

Fuck my head hurts. This is why I avoid relationships and emotions…

Gracie burst back into the kitchen, her face pale and panicked, looking like she’d seen a ghost.

“Code fucking red, Ari,” she blurted out, pacing with her arms over her head, breathing like she’d just sprinted a mile. “Or maybe worse. What’s worse than red? Whatever it is, that’s what we’re dealing with.”

I moved toward her, gripping her shoulders so I could talk her off the ledge. She had a tendency of being dramatic, so I was sure that whatever she had to say wasn’t all that big of a deal.

“Slow down, what’s the problem? Did you spill? Break something? I’m sure Dalton wil⁠—”

She cut me off, her eyes wild. “Your brother is coming to town tonight, and I accidentally told him you moved out,” she said, biting on her knuckles.

“What?” I nearly yelled. Now I was the one pacing the oak floors. “Start from the beginning. You just walked out of here, and everything was fine. Now you come in and tell me that Ricky’s on his way here? And he knows I’m not at your place?”

“I didn’t mean to.” Her hands flew up in the air. “I posted a pic to my story when I got here that said, “My prima’s new spot,” forgetting that the dumbass follows my blogger account, too. Then he messaged me asking what the hell you were doing somewhere else besides my place, and I panicked.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose, willing my lungs to start working properly because I was currently swallowing mouthfuls of air and on the verge of hyperventilating.

“Don’t worry, though. I didn’t tell him you were living with a man,” she said.

Saliva pooled in my mouth, followed by the urge to throw up because that sentence was the opposite of making me feel like I didn’t need to worry.

“I told him the team owned the apartment and put up their new staff here until they find a place.”