There’s a beep. I open my mouth, then promptly freeze. “Hi, um . . . this is . . . um, well.” I clear my throat. “This is, um, Nikki. Hi . . . I . . . well, I . . .”

I’m covering my face with my free hand, leaning my neck back, and trying my hardest to stifle a groan through gritted teeth. This is hands down the most disastrous voice mail message ever recorded.

It’s a few more “um”s and “uh”s until I give up and end the call.

My brain and mouth have failed me. But of course they would. Because how in the world could I sum up my feelings about our relationship in a single voice mail message?

It’s not even close to possible.

Again I flop on the bed, my head spinning. The ringtone of my phone blares. It’s Callum. I answer the phone, but I’m too scared to say anything.

“Um, Nikki?” Callum says after a second.

“Um, y-yeah?”

Callum is on the phone. With me. We’re finally speaking. And I have no idea what to say.

We share a strained silence as I work up the nerve to say something, anything to get a conversation rolling between us.

“How’s Lemon?” It’s the only neutral topic I can think of.

He clears his throat. “That’s actually why I’m calling. Can you come over? There’s something you need to see.”

•   •   •

I’m on autopilot the whole drive to Callum’s, speeding past the slow-moving traffic. I didn’t think to ask him what was wrong with Lemon, and he apparently didn’t think to tell me. I park at his place in Wailea and run all the way to the door. I take a second to catch my breath before knocking. The door opens before I can even raise my arm. And just like that, with one look at his face, I’m breathless yet again.

His blank expression turns into a frown when he sees me. “Come on in.”

Inside, I’m one giant stress knot. Now that I’m actually here with him, I’m on the spot. I don’t know what the right thing to do or say is. So I just quietly follow him.

He, too, seems to be taking the silent route as he leads me to the bathroom down the hall. When he steps aside to let me look through the doorway, I’m speechless, but for an entirely different reason.

Next to the wall lies a cardboard box with a fluffy blanket stuffed in it. Lemon sits curled in a ball, three tiny fuzzballs pressed up against her stomach.

“She had her kittens?” I practically squeal.

I dart over to her, careful to kneel down slowly to avoid spooking her. She looks up at me with sleepy eyes, blinking every few seconds. When I scratch under her chin, she purrs instantly.

“Last night while we were asleep,” Callum says behind me.