She takes it and wipes her face then starts to hand it back.

“Keep it,” I say. Then, “You know, I’d control Z the past if I could.” I’m quoting her computer class—control Z erases your past actions.

She gives me an odd look.

“I wouldn’t. Then I wouldn’t be me.”

“That’d be a shame,” I agree.

She lets out a short huff of breath. “Night, Will.”

The lamplight spills around us and I don’t want to leave her.

“See you tomorrow,” I say.

She rolls her eyes. “Do we have to?”

I nod. “Obviously.”

“Maybe you should talk to some people around town. They’ll convince you that Erma’s soul mates are real. Then you can leave me alone.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Why would I want to do that?”

She snorts. Then she climbs in her car, shuts the door, and drives away.

I watch her tail lights until they disappear.

10

Jessie

“Let me get this straight,” says Veronica.

We’re all at the bakery for a morning coffee and emergency girl chat called by moi. Chloe, Veronica and Ferran sit around an outdoor table on the sidewalk. The white and blue striped table umbrella shades us from the morning sun. Tall ceramic pots full of red and purple and pink flowers surround the outdoor seating area. It’s seven in the morning and downtown Romeo is just starting to wake up.

“Okay,” I say to Veronica. I take a bite of my apple fritter. The coating of white sugar glaze cracks as I bite into it and melts on my tongue. I know donuts are terrible for your health, but this morning I don’t care.

Veronica gives the side-eye to my Romeo Public Library book bag stuffed with romance novels. “For the past few days you’ve been going gung ho after Gavin.”

“Ye-es,” I say, stretching out the word.

“And Will, the man you love to hate—”

Alarmed indignation washes over me. “I do not—”

“Has been gung ho after you.” Veronica wiggles her eyebrows at me.

I drop the apple fritter to my plate. “What are you saying?”

“She’s right,” Chloe says. “You do love to hate Will. You have for years. Every time you see him or his name is mentioned, you get all hot and bothered.”

“What? That’s not hot and bothered… it’s…” I wave my hands in the air. “It’s dislike. Mutual dislike.”

Ferran puts down her mega jug of coffee. She’s a coffee fanatic. “I’m pretty sure him making out with you against that wall”—she points to the brick wall ten feet away—“means the dislike is not mutual.”