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I smile.

Me: Alive.

Three dots appear immediately.

Avery: That's suspiciously little information.

Avery: And the dress???

I glance toward the hallway. Then back at my phone.

Me: It's still on his floor.

Avery: HIS floor? Please clarify because technically it’s his penthouse and all the floors are his.

Me: I'll tell you later.

Avery: Oh, you absolutely will!

I set the phone down before she can ask anything else.

Darcy jumps onto my bed, circles twice, and settles on top of one of my pink composition notebooks.

“Of course,” I mutter.

He closes his eyes. I sit beside him and run a hand over his fur. I should be happy. And I am.

Last night was everything I hoped it would be. More, actually.

Bishop was patient. Attentive. Careful with me in ways I hadn't expected.

This morning, he held me.

He kissed me.

He made me breakfast.

And when I asked whether he regretted anything, he looked me straight in the eye and told me he didn't.

So why does it feel like I'm waiting for something to go wrong? Maybe because I've spent so many years loving Bishop from a safe distance that I don't know what to do now that he's close enough to hurt me.

Really hurt me.

Not with an offhand comment at a college formal.

Not with a kiss he refuses to give me.

But with the possibility of having him.

And losing him.

I reach for the pink notebook beneath Darcy's paws.

He makes a disgruntled noise but allows me to slide it free.

I open to a blank page.

For a long moment, I stare at it. Then I write a single sentence.