Sometimes, the real meet cutes are the friends we make along the way, or something corny like that.

“Well, at least you can find someone else now,” Devin says, and I can’t help but smile because I’m already moving on pretty fast. Then e says, “A long-distance relationship would’ve been hard anyway. At least this way you can find someone in California.”

If this were a romance novel, this would be the part where I shout I don’t want anyone in California! I want you! But all I can bring myself to do is keep sweeping the floor with a mumbled, “Yeah.”

I try to let myself forget about Drew. Or, well, I let myself stop worrying that he’s going to show up on my front porch to confess his love for me. I feel pretty confident that it’s over.

It’s liberating to move on from the dying embers of our relationship, but it also leaves me a little on edge because it means the only thing stopping me from confessing my feelings to Devin is me.

And the fact that e even said a long-distance relationship probably won’t work, and we have less than a month together before I move. And it’s pretty unlikely that e has feelings for me like that. But still, it mostly comes back to me.

When I get to work on Friday, Devin passes me a flyer with the headline Christmas in July!

“Every year, the staff does a little Christmas celebration and Secret Santa and stuff to celebrate the end of camp.”

And here I thought putting Christmas decorations up before Halloween was ludicrous.

Devin hands me a little green envelope and says, “Don’t tell me who you get. It’s Secret Santa for a reason.”

I roll my eyes and open the envelope, slipping a little sheet of paper out of it. Of course. It’s Devin. There’s a little scrawled list of gift options: a Starbucks gift card, which is pretty predictable, any colorful washi tape, which is less predictable, and the last one just says cookies, which I can understand. Then, at the bottom of the list, there’s a little asterisk that reads: If we know each other, I’d love if you surprise me with something personal. Ugh, great. More work.

“You should write up a little list for yourself—keep everything under fifteen dollars—and I’ll give it to the person who pulled your name,” Devin says.

“Shouldn’t I get to actually pull a name?” I ask, tucking the little envelope into my pocket. The truth is, I’m kind of glad I got Devin. Hell, if this were a real romance novel, e’d have gotten me too, and when we exchange gifts, we’d also exchange feelings.

I’m so over my feelings.

“You were the last person, so you got the last envelope. Sorry.”