Be her. I definitely want to be her.

“Do you need anything else?” I ask, butting into their conversation before I can stop myself.

She abruptly stops smiling and turns to me. “I’m sorry?”

I gesture toward the baked goods. “A stupendous raspberry almond bar? A delicious rose pistachio cookie?”

“Um.” Her eyes dart between me and Nick, but come to rest on him. “No thanks. I’m good.”

She smiles at him, then says, “See you,” without turning to look at me again. We both watch her walk out of the shop.

When the bell jingles, I grab Nick’s arm. “Um, whoa,” I say.

“Whoa, what?” he asks, adjusting the finicky receipt printer.

I can’t help but laugh. Of course Nick—sweet, innocent Nicholas—wouldn’t know when a beautiful woman was hitting on him. I never see him go on dates and he’s always at work; he probably can’t even recognize that she was about ready to leap over the counter and attack him.

“That girl,” I say. “She was flirting with you.”

But Nick doesn’t seem confused or horrified. Instead, he turns to me and waves a scrap of paper in the air. “Yeah. No kidding.”

I inspect the paper, a string of numbers that slowly starts to make sense. “Is that . . . her phone number?”

“It would be weird if she gave me someone else’s phone number.”

The realization dawns on me. “Did you want her to hit on you?”

Nick crosses his arms, staring at me a little too intently for my liking. “Why do you care, Chloe?”

For once, I’m speechless.

“Because you wanted to pretend that night between us didn’t happen, so I’m not sure what else you want from me. You’re hooking up with a grown man who calls himself Mikey. Do you want me to be celibate?”

Of course I do is the first thought that pops into my mind. I don’t want Nick to even notice other women. I want every other person on earth to be simply a pale imitation of me. The thought of Nick putting those strong hands on another woman, of his stubble rubbing against someone else’s neck, of his body pressing another body into the brick wall of the shop, makes me want to barf.

I’m not saying I’m proud of those thoughts, or that they’re fair, but I’m saying they’re mine. Part of me wants Nick to be here, in the shop, waiting for me as I stumble through life.

Reason #4: He’s the scruffy-bearded hunk who’s always there when you need him.

“I don’t want you to be celibate.” I close my eyes, because looking at his face is too much. “Go do whatever you want. Get phone numbers from whoever you want. Sleep with whoever you want. I don’t care.”

“Good to know,” Nick says, brushing past me.

I watch him walk into his office and shut the door. There’s a part of me—a large part of me—that wants to run after him, wants to throw open the door and kiss him until he forgets that other women even exist. The part of me that says, What if Annie’s right? What if the movie is right? What if what if what if you’re supposed to be with Nick Velez?