And just like that, the bubble bursts. Whatever lightness I had left over from last night slips through my fingers. Because tonight isn’t about me and Theo or stolen kisses in a quiet kitchen. It’s about a larger threat, something more dangerous. And as much as I want to let myself get lost in the happiness of last night, I know better.

I have to be ready for whatever comes next.

After breakfast, I dive into cleaning the house, my mind drifting back to last night more often than I’d like to admit. I’m scrubbing the counters when the memory of Theo’s voice—low and teasing—sends a shiver down my spine. The way he looked at me like I was the only thing that mattered, is burned into my brain.

And then there was the kiss.

I pause, the sponge in my hand forgotten as I replay it in my mind. The way he grabbed the back of my neck, his touch firm but gentle. The way he kissed me, hard and fast, only to soften it, like he couldn’t help but savor the moment. My lips still tingle when I think about it, and my heart does this stupid little flutter that makes me groan in frustration.

“You’re doing it again,” Celeste calls from the living room, where she’s lounging on the couch, doom scrolling through her phone.

“Doing what?” I ask, resuming my scrubbing with unnecessary vigor.

“Thinking about him,” she sing-songs. “You’ve got that dreamy look on your face. Admit it—you’re hooked.”

“No, I’m not,” I say, a little too quickly, a little too forcefully. My hands pause for half a second before I scrub harder as if sheer determination can erase the warmth creeping up my neck.

“Sure, you’re not,” she teases, but she doesn’t push further, for which I’m grateful.

Instead, she stretches, tossing her phone aside as she saunters into the kitchen as I start prepping a charcuterie board for tonight.

Is it unnecessary?

Absolutely.

Am I going to do it anyway?

Of course.

She grabs a carrot from the cutting board and bites into it, watching me with that knowing expression that makes me nervous.

“So,” she starts casually, too casually. “Are you staying?”

I blink at her. “Staying?”

“In town,” she clarifies, waving a hand. “You know, since there’s a whole serial killer situation happening? Are you sticking it out, or are you considering heading back home? Or…” She gives me a slow, wicked grin. “Do you want me to recommend a new town entirely? I’ve been to some fantastic places. You could start fresh.”

The question lingers in the air between us, heavier than I expected. I keep chopping vegetables, my grip tightening on the knife as I mull it over.