I pull my knees up to my chest, phone balanced against my thigh, eyes darting toward the clock for what has to be the fiftieth time in the last ten minutes.

He should be here by now. Maybe he’s outside, hesitating, second-guessing, running through all the same overanalyzed scenarios that I am, all the potential outcomes stacked against each other like some unwinnable bet. Maybe he’s parked down the street, mentally preparing, wondering if this will be a letdown, if I’ll be different in person, if the chemistry we’ve built through nothing but messages and voice chats will actually translate into something real.

I gnaw at my bottom lip, debating whether to wait him out or—nope. Screw this. I grab my phone and tap out a quick text before I can talk myself out of it.

Me: Are you here?

I hit send and immediately regret it. I can’t just sit here in limbo now, waiting for him to make a move. Now, the ball is in his court, and there’s no taking it back, no pretending that I’m anything other than ridiculously, annoyingly nervous about this whole thing.

I stare at the screen, watching for the three little dots, my breath held tight in my chest like it’s waiting for permission to let go.

Seconds stretch into something that sits just below my ribs, pressing inward with too much force. My phone lights up.

Carter: Yeah

That’s it. One word. Simple. Direct. But somehow, it makes my pulse jump. I exhale slowly, fingers hovering over the keyboard, trying to decide how to respond, but before I can type anything, another message pops up.

Carter: I’m outside.

My stomach flips. I push off the couch, smoothing my hands down my thighs, shaking out the nervous energy curling in my fingers before I walk toward the door. I can feel my heartbeat picking up pace, an unsteady rhythm knocking against my ribs, but I swallow it down and reach for the doorknob. Here we go.

The second I open the door, the night air rushes against my skin, crisp and cool, carrying the faint scent of rain and the lingering warmth of pavement that’s been holding onto the last bit of daylight.

Then I see him. His car is parked just a few feet away, engine off, headlights dimmed, but he’s still sitting there, fingers curled around the steering wheel, shoulders tense, looking like a man staring down something much bigger.

I hesitate for half a second before stepping onto the porch, my weight shifting just enough to make the wood creak loudly underfoot. His head snaps up at the sound, and I swear I can see the exact moment the panic sets in.

His eyes locked on me like I’m a final boss fight he’s woefully underprepared for. For some reason, that makes me feel a little better.