With a slow inhale, he pushes the door open and steps out, unfolding himself from the driver’s seat like the universe just forced him into one hell of a do-or-die situation.

Holy. Shit. My brain short-circuits. Completely blanks, because whatever I thought I was prepared for? This is not it.

Maybe I was expecting soft around the edges. Something closer to the voice I’ve heard through my headset a hundred times warm, low, a little self-deprecating. The kind of guy who wears hoodies with worn-out elbows and smiles like he doesn’t know what to do with compliments.

Carter is none of those things.

He’s tall—tall—and lean in that broad-shouldered way that doesn’t register until he’s standing in front of you, and suddenly the air feels thinner. His black T-shirt clings just enough to hint at the muscle underneath, sleeves stretched slightly around biceps I was absolutely not prepared for. His jeans are worn in, low on his hips. His dirty blonde hair is messy, like he’s been running his fingers through it all morning.

Brown eyes find mine with this soft, almost stunned expression. For a moment, I forget how to stand. Forget everything except the fact that I’ve spent months imagining this guy and somehow he still manages to knock the breath right out of me.

The part that unravels me in an entirely different way, it that he looks nervous. Like he’s the one wondering if this is going to live up to everything we built between keyboard clicks and late-night messages.

Before I can stop myself the words are already out of my mouth. “Wait. Why the hell have you never sent me a picture?”

Carter blinks. Visibly startles. “Uh—what?”

I gesture toward him, eyes sweeping helplessly down and back up again. “You look like that, and you let me go months thinking you were… what? Some cozy, hoodie-wearing, maybe-a-little-soft around the edges guy who probably smells like coffee and responsibility?”

He stares at me. Stuck somewhere between deer-in-headlights and trying very hard not to smile.

“I mean, you do still probably smell like coffee,” I add, already spiraling. “But this? This should’ve come with a warning label. A goddamn waiver.”

Carter opens his mouth. Shuts it. Rubs a hand over the back of his neck like he’s suddenly forgotten how to exist. “I—uh—I didn’t think it mattered?”

“Mattered?” I repeat with disbelief. “You’ve been catfishing me with kindness while looking like this?”

He laughs. Actually laughs. It’s soft and a little raspy, like he doesn’t quite believe any of this is real. “I didn’t want to make it weird,” he says, eyes crinkling just slightly at the corners.

“Oh,” I shoot back, still reeling. “Right. Because this is super normal for me. Meeting the guy I’ve been flirting with and finding out he’s secretly the walking definition of off-limits hot.”