Reese: Yes. Talking to your barstool would be a good tool to scare them off too. Barstools can have the best conversations.

Reese: Want food? I’ll bring Mediterranean on the way back.

I was laughing, but I flicked something annoying away from my eye too. Rational thought had returned, and there was an ache in my chest. The hole Damian had put there still remained, and I had a feeling some Reese was filtering in there too.

He was being kind. My God, he was so nice, and I was being what? Dramatic? Overreactive? I was the annoying girl people rolled their eyes at—but they didn’t get it. I was just now starting to stand. If I kept falling, sinking more and more into the Reese tsunami, he would spit me out broken in pieces. When did self-preservation kick in?

I had no answer, because I knew he’d come back. He’d have food with him. That smile would cause my heart to do flip-flops. He’d look at me, smile at me, say my name, and my body would ignite in a happy flame. All the buzzing my phone did from him, that’s what he did to me.

He made me buzz. My heart. My mind. My soul—my inner comedian was gagging at the cheesiness, but it was true. I was a goner, and I was slipping further away each moment Reese was in my world.

My phone went off again.

Grant: You never answered last night. Everything okay? You’re not doing a disappearing act, are you?

I took a deep breath, feeling an instant kick start of nerves, and I forced myself to take the first steps. It was now or I didn’t think I’d ever do it, but I really had no choice.

Me: Things are good. It’s fun, and I’ll take the job.

My phone rang right away. Grant.

I accepted his call, taking the coffee out to Reese’s patio—where, dear Lord, the view was amazing. My knees almost buckled in shock. The waves rolled in and out from the shore.

“Hey.” My voice had gone hoarse for a beat.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Hi.”

He was silent a second. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” I sat down on a patio lounger, coffee on the table in front of me, and I snuggled down, getting comfortable.

“Are you sure about the job? Ball Wonder okay with it?”

I grinned at the nickname. “Ball Wonder doesn’t really have a say. We’re friends—”

“Oh my God, shut the fuck up with that!”

I laughed. “Yeah, yeah. You know what I mean.”

“No. I don’t, actually. Listen, tell me to stay in my lane, but he seemed to have reservations about you taking the job. And he’s not messing around. He cares about you. You sure about saying yes?”

“Don’t you want me there?”