I survey Fitz’s face, looking for clues, searching for everything I might’ve missed that could tell me this is more to him than it is to me.

“We’re telling the same story, Parker.”

“The same fake story.”

I watch the swell of his neck. “Yes,” he says.

“The one where we end. Not where we end up together.” I have to work hard to expel all the air from my lungs. “We’re friends, right?”

And there it is, not in his face, but in his body—a soft, gentle flinch. Fitz’s chest expands and relaxes with a deep breath. “Where is this coming from?”

“From two flights up and down the hall. I shouldn’t have kissed you like that,” I tell him. “I was being playful. I got caught up in the moment and it’s been a while…”

It might have been a while since I felt the weight of a man against me. But it’s been since never that anyone ever looked at me like Fitz is now—like I’m everything he says I am—and maybe that’s the most terrifying part.

“I’m sure you’d love it if we could keep things casual⁠—”

Fitz shakes his head so intensely I lose my train of thought. “I don’t want anything casual with you, Parker.”

There he goes again.

“Except your friendship.”

I’m struck with relief, but I need Fitz’s certainty to let myself drown in it.

“Friends,” I say, “they don’t do that kind of thing.”

“They don’t marry each other under false pretenses either,” Fitz quips before sighing. “I guess I’m a really good friend.”

“The best, Fitzy. And that’s why I’d hate to mess this up.” I pause, stopping myself from reminding him that we’re not endgame, that we’re abiding by an end date. “I’d hate to lose you after I lose you.”

* * *

I’d love to splash my face with the cold water I have running from the sink, but considering this party still has at least another hour to go. Instead, I hold my hands beneath the stream, hoping it will cool my entire body off.

I reach for one of the carefully folded towels and stop, staring at the ring on my finger that’s gotten serious attention tonight.

As it should. It’s unique and stunning.

It’s more than Fitz ever should’ve given me.

Friends, friends, friends, I chant to myself. Good friends. Really good friends. The kind who support each other no matter what.

I keep those words on replay in my mind as I open my small evening bag, reaching for my lipstick to reapply before leaving the bathroom.

“I’m sorry.”

Mr. Foller’s words hit me before he even does, and he reaches out to steady me by the shoulder even though I’m fine on my own.

I don’t like it one bit.