I grin. There’s no way I’m staying in his loft, but the fact that he’s offering it—that he feels the pull of that string—it makes everything inside of me come to life.

Why did it have to be Jake? The meanie. The bully. The crass-mouthed, over-tatted vegan. Why did my heart choose to take up residency in his lethal hands?

Me: Thank you for the offer. I’ll be fine.

Jake: I have no doubt that you’ll be fine.

Ouch. Letting go of Jake, in spite of all the terrible words that have been exchanged, feels like ripping off a Band-Aid one tiny millimeter at a time. Is this a mistake? Will my pride win at the expense of my happiness?

Me: But …

I draw in a slow breath of courage as the midday sun shifts just enough to steal my shade.

Me: On the off chance that I’m not fine. Knowing where you hide a key would be nice.

Me: If you’re okay with that.

Jake: No key. It’s a code. You can enter from the back of the building.

Jake: 91169#

I giggle.

Me: Emergency 69?

Jake: Get your mind out of the gutter.

I giggle more.

“Daddy to the rescue.”

I turn. “What are you doing home?”

Lautner rolls his eyes as a drenched Asher hugs his leg, saturating his dress pants with pool water.

“My dear daughter messaged me.”

Ocean smirks, beached out on a floating recliner.

“Your mom is not going to be happy that you messaged your dad. I’m here.”

“It’s fine. Family first.” Lautner picks up Asher, not caring that he’s so wet.

“Always Mr. Perfect.”

“You know it.” He grins at me. “Let’s go check on Mommy.” He kisses Asher’s wet head of blond hair.

Me: Need help?

I erase it, having second thoughts. Third thoughts. Four hundred thoughts. I have so many thoughts warring in my head that I can’t make sense of my life at the moment. Jake’s leaving. That’s good. Distance is good. I’ll move on. He’ll move on. We will simply go down in history as a close-but-not-quite relationship.

Me: Need help packing?

Gah! My stupid hands do their own thing. My body has never cooperated with my common sense when it comes to Jake.

Jake: I’m basically packed. Just a few things to throw in my bag at the last minute.

His next text is a facepalm emoji, not something I’d expect from him. It makes me giggle. He’s on his game with me today.

Jake: Yes. Of course I need help packing. Please!

Me: I’ll iron your jeans while you make me dinner?

Jake: Who irons jeans?