“Cross your fingers she doesn’t see you and throw herself at you in front of Teagan’s family.”

I groan. That hadn’t even occurred to me.

Teagan

I grin when I see the door to my suite cracked. Carter.

I haven’t gotten to spend time alone with him all day. The henna party spilled over into the afternoon—well worth it for the beautiful work Pari did, and the joy on Saanvi’s face when she looked at the final product—and then Saanvi wanted all of us to go with her to the Jackson Brews Banquet Center to check on how the room was coming along for the reception. Now it’s after two, and I’m already dead on my feet. We didn’t sleep enough last night, and I need a nap, but if I have to choose between a little sleep and being ravished by my fake boyfriend, I already know which I’ll choose.

Carter gives me butterflies, and I can’t wait to be back in his arms. I need to figure out where we stand—where I stand. I guess he’s made it clear what he wants. He wants more. He wants the real thing. And I think I do too.

I’ve never talked to anyone about what happened with Rich after Heath died. Never. I was always so convinced I’d sound insane—Rich convinced me of that. But once I started telling Carter, it all spilled out of me. Carter didn’t make me feel crazy or try to convince me I was overreacting. He listened and made me feel safe. Understood. I didn’t realize how much I needed that. So now I need to decide if what’s happening between us might actually become something real. Or if maybe it is already.

I push into the room and shut the door behind me.

“Carter?” The lights are off, but candlelight flickers ahead, the flames seeming to dance to Dave Matthews’ “The Space Between” from the bedside stereo. The song brings back memories, but I shove them away. Carter’s trying to be sweet. He has no way of knowing that I associate this song with Rich, or that Rich would always make sure it played any time we were at a bar or party together after Heath died—a little reminder that was like a razor blade running across the open wound of my grief.

“Carter?” I call again. Did he set the stage for seduction and leave? He’s a firefighter—would he really walk away from burning candles?

When I step farther into the room, my phone buzzes, and I wonder if it’s Carter explaining that he had to run out. Instead, I have a text from the same number that sent me that awful picture. Rich.

Unknown Number: You always made me jump through such hoops for your attention, but I know this night’s been on your mind as much as it’s been on mine.

My stomach free-falls before surging violently back up into my throat. Candles flicker all around the bed, and on the center of the mattress there’s a single red rose and a bottle of Swagger from Paradise Springs winery. The bourbon-barrel-aged wine used to be my favorite, but there’s only one person alive who’d know that or know that it and this song would all bring back memories of a night better left forgotten.