She’s really here, and all I can do is stand in my kitchen completely losing my mind. I brace my hands on the counter, staring into my rapidly cooling cup of coffee like it has the answers. It doesn’t.

Tate is also zero help. He’s sprawled on the couch, one leg kicked up on the coffee table, completely unbothered, sipping his own coffee like we’re not in a full-blown crisis.

I exhale slowly, willing my heart rate to chill the hell out. “She’s in town.”

Tate doesn’t even glance up from his phone. “Yeah.”

“As in, right now.”

“Yep.” he popped his ‘p’ to be as aggravating as possible.

I glare at him. “You could at least try to pretend this is a big deal.”

He finally looks up, clearly bored as hell. “It’s your big deal Carter.”

I rub my face, dragging my hands down hard in frustration. “This is a nightmare.”

Tate snorts. “You invited her.”

Yeah, I did. Because I thought I was ready for this. Thought it would be simple, easy, exciting. But now that she’s actually here, reality is kicking my ass. She’s not just a voice in my headset. Not just a flirt in my chat. I have no idea what happens next.

Tate sips his coffee like he’s watching a live episode of my personal downfall. Asshole.

I narrow my eyes at him. “I know you’re planning something.”

His smirk barely curves, but it’s there the stupid subtle kind that says you’ll find out when I want you to.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says smoothly.

Bullshit, Tate doesn’t always need a plan. He just needs a crack in the surface. One pause, one flinch, one breath too long,and he’ll take it. He doesn’t start fires for fun. Not usually. But if there’s already a little smoke? He won’t hesitate to fan it into something bigger. He says he hates drama, but I’ve seen the way he thrives in it. Controls it. Wields it like a second language. He’s not reckless. He’s strategic but only when he cares, that’s what worries me

I need to get it together. I push off the counter and head upstairs to my room, determined to not look like a disaster when I see her.

Tate, of course, follows. Not physically, he doesn’t need to. His voice is right there, trailing after me like a ghost I can’t exorcise.

“You gonna put on cologne too?” he calls lazily. “Maybe some of that boyfriend-smelling shit girls love?”

I flip him off over my shoulder. “Shut up.”

“I’m just saying.” He sips his coffee, now leaning against the doorframe. “Big moment. You should probably go all out.”