The floor drops out from under me. Not tomorrow, not whenever I decided I was comfortable enough to be alone with Carter. Tonight. I swallow hard, my fingers tangling together in my lap. “Oh.”

Cassie arches a brow. “Oh?”

I shake my head quickly. “No, I mean, that’s fine. Cool, makes sense.”

She smirks like she can see right through me. “Uh-huh,” she says, standing up, stretching. “If you need a pep talk before I go, now’s your chance.”

I huff. “I don’t need a pep talk.”

Cassie grins. “You need several.”

I groan, and she cackles as she disappears into the bathroom, leaving me alone with my thoughts, the anxiety creeps back in, curling hot and restless in my chest. It’s about to be just me and Carter.

There’s a knock at the door. A short, solid three taps, nothing rushed, nothing hesitant. But it still jolts me like a gunshot, my pulse skipping into a rhythm I can’t control, my entire body going stiff as I stare at the door like it’s a live grenade.

Cassie pops her head out of the bathroom, toothbrush in her mouth, eyebrows raised. “That him?” she mumbles around the foam.

I blink. Swallow. Nod.

She grins. “Showtime.”

I don’t dignify that with a response, because I’m too busy pulling in a steadying breath, forcing my legs to move, forcing myself toward the door like this is just any other night, like I haven’t just spent the last half hour mentally short-circuiting over the fact that Cassie is leaving me here alone with Carter. I hesitate for half a second, fixing my expression, shaking out my hands, trying to make my heartbeat chill the hell out.

Then I pull the door open. Carter. Standing in the dim glow of the porch light, hands shoved into his pockets, hair a little messier than before, like he ran his fingers through it a few times on the way over. He’s dressed casually, black T-shirt, jeans, sneakers but somehow it feels like he put more effort into this than he wants me to notice.

The worst part is the second he looks at me, really looks at me, brown eyes dragging over my face like he’s taking me in all over again, I forget how to breathe.

His fingers flex at his sides, and for a second, we just stand there, neither of us speaking, neither of us knowing what the hell to do with this strange, slow-burn energy curling tight between us. Then he clears his throat, breaking the silence first. “You ready?”

No. Absolutely not. But I nod anyway.