“I’ll be here.”

I close the door and instantly sink against it, feeling pliant all over again. I’m shocked I’m even standing after the past twenty-four hours.

The sound of the water running has me moving into the kitchen and rounding the corner. “Aman—” I’m pinned to the fridge before I can scream. A hand is clamped over my mouth and my best friend leans in so close our noses are practically touching. Whispering, she asks, “Why do you have Harbor Westcott in your bed?”

My words are muffled because yeah, her hand is still blocking everything I say. She gets the hint and removes it, and I slide free. “How do you know Harbor?”

She looks at me like I’ve suddenly grown a third eye. “Everyone knows Harbor, Lark.”

“Guess I’m out of the loop because I didn’t know him until recently.”

She punctuates her dramatic eye roll with an exasperated sigh. “See? If you went out more, you’d know these things.”

“Apparently, going out doesn’t matter because I met him anyway.”

“And how exactly did you meet him?”

We’ve been whisper-yelling out of panic. I just wish I knew why we’re freaking out. I grab a paper towel to wipe my brow during the interrogation. “At TJ’s, but how do you know him?” I ask, dabbing my forehead.

“Parties.”

My stomach drops. “Have you hooked up with him?”

“No.” She flips her hair over her shoulder and then crosses her arms over her chest. “But thanks for assuming I have sex with every guy I meet.”

“I didn’t mean it like that. It just sounded like you knew him better than someone at a party.”

She laughs and reaches over my shoulder to get a glass from the cupboard. “I’m just giving you a hard time. Anywho—”

“Sorry to interrupt.” Harbor’s deep voice flows between us, and we turn toward the hall with a gasp to our breath. He’s leaning from around the corner, looking at me. “It’s coming up on noon. Do you think we’ll be staying in bed, Lark, or should I get dressed?”

“Don’t get dressed.” I throw my hand over my mouth and clench my eyes closed. Oh my God! I did not just say that. Unfortunately, I did. When I peek one eye open and then the other, I’m met with a stupidly handsome lopsided smirk. He’s trying to do me in one grin at a time.

I glance at Amanda, whose mouth is currently hanging open as she stares at him. “Oh, by the way, this is my roommate, Amanda.”

“And best friend,” she adds, raising her hand and then sticks it toward him. “Hi, I’m Amanda.”

“Hi, Amanda,” he says, his voice smooth like chocolate syrup. Delicious. Coming from around the corner, he’s in jeans that didn’t manage to get snapped at the top and still shirtless. I bite my bottom lip. Good lord, he’s amazing. “I’m Harbor Westcott,” he adds as they shake hands. A stolen glance at me has him smiling as if we have a shared secret.