•   •   •

When Callum answers the door, he’s stone-faced. Just like the day I met him, just like all those times we argued and bickered.

I never thought I’d see him make that face with me ever again. But how can I expect him to act any other way when I’ve been so foolish?

He shuts the door behind me. I gaze around the living room, taking in the sparse furniture. I’ve seen this space a million times before, but tonight I examine it with renewed interest. Anything to put off the inevitable. We’re about to have a very, very uncomfortable conversation about my adolescent behavior, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to stomach it.

I scan the other end of the condo, where the wooden dining table sits.

“You have a very spacious place,” I say, glancing everywhere but his face. “Have I ever mentioned that?”

Callum steps from behind me, raising an eyebrow. I have no choice but to look at him now.

“Is that why you came over? To talk about my flat?”

I shake my head and drop my purse on the tile floor. My eyes drop to the light peach hue of the tile resting under my bare feet. My nerve still evades me. “I’m sorry I blew you off today.”

“Don’t talk to the floor. Talk to me.” There’s an edge when he speaks, a hardness that hasn’t been there since we started getting along. But I’ve brought it back with a single moment of jealousy. Well done, me.

Slowly, my eyes make their way up to his. I take my time, though, indulging in a scan of his thighs, that broad chest clad in a bright blue T-shirt. The color makes his honey-kissed skin glow even at night.

I wish we could stop this uncomfortable conversation and go to his bed instead. I wish I could rip that shirt off his body and make him forget all about what a baby I was today.

“I’m sorry. I guess I just . . .” I have to take a second and swallow. It feels like I’m free-falling into those grass-green pools masquerading as his eyes.

I can’t bear to say the word. Because if I say jealousy, the jig is up. He’ll know everything. He’ll know that I’m getting attached to him; he’ll know that I’m reneging on the agreement that I came up with to keep things casual.

And admitting that out loud would be a betrayal for me too. I promised myself I wouldn’t get close to anyone. It’s not worth the feeling of loss, the soul-crushing sadness that consumes every fiber of my being knowing that I’ll never, ever have that person again.

My dad’s death was a caution. People come and go. The worst thing you can do is let yourself get close because of the pain you’ll inevitably feel when they leave. And I refuse to go through that kind of agony again.