Pulling the Nokia out of my pocket, I turned it over in my hands, then waved it in the air. “By the way,” I said, “I’m gonna rack up so many charges on this thing.”

Blake blinked once, twice, then ran a hand over his face. “Beverly, I swear⁠—”

I grinned and started typing.

Blake’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He sighed, pulled it out, read the message, then looked at me like he was debating throwing into traffic.

His fingers moved.

My phone buzzed in my hand.

I chuckled, typing again.

“You are a nightmare, B.”

I smiled to myself as I typed again.

I looked up.

Blake was staring at me.

Not glaring. Not smirking. Not looking irritated.

Just…staring.

I swallowed hard, tightening my grip on my phone.

I had meant it as a joke. I had typed it without thinking.

But now, as Blake’s gaze lingered on me, as if he was on the verge of saying something but couldn’t, regret gnawed at me.

I dropped my gaze and started typing again. Something stupid. Something to lighten the mood.

But before I could send it, my phone buzzed.

I snorted.

And then—because I was a coward—I deleted the message I was about to send and replaced it with something easy.

Blake huffed, shaking his head.

I smiled. “C’mon, McHayes. Get your wallet out.”

Blake gave me a long, exaggerated look that told me he wasn’t thrilled about the sudden detour to the nearest McDonald’s. But like always, he started the engine without another word.

Because of course he did.

Because, despite all my flaws, he would always do whatever it took to make me smile.

Don’t think I didn’t know that Blake was right.

I was a nightmare.

I was childish, petty, impossible.

But it was the only way I knew how to handle this—him, us, the growing mess that we never acknowledged but danced around like it wasn’t swallowing us whole. Pushing him was the only thing that gave me any sense of control.