“I’m not going anywhere until I’m sure you’re packed,” he says. “I got the equipment we need. We’ll leave at first light, and no one should notice anything is missing until midday, but hopefully we’ll be long gone by then.”

“Fine, if you insist. But you have to stay here.” I grab him by the waist and physically force him to sit down on the couch. “You are not coming into my room.”

For once I’m relieved my room is such a mess. The possible embarrassment of Rafe seeing my mayhem has a much louder voice than the one whispering dark ideas to me about what might happen if he did come in.

“Don’t overpack. Your bag needs to stay lightweight,” he whisper-yells at my back as I firmly close the door.

Oh, what a mess. Where do I even start? I’d tried to clean up. I really had. But then life got in the way. And there is nothing I loathe more than cleaning my room. Except packing. Packing is worse. Packing involves finding all the things buried in the piles.

“This is ridiculous,” Rafe calls to me. “I’m coming in.”

He is so gravdamn impatient! “Please don’t.”

I hear the doorknob turning.

Oh no. Rafe’s about to get a glimpse of my crazy. As if he didn’t already have enough scorn for me. I mean, I’ve seen his room, and it would not be an exaggeration to call him fastidious.

But when he opens the door and takes in the view, it’s not disdain I see on his face, but amusement.

“You,” he says pointedly, “keep packing.” And then he does what is positively the most mortifying thing he could possibly do.

He starts to clean up.

Within a relatively short amount of time, he’s introduced a brand-new organizational system to the room, and he’s methodically putting everything away.

I’m interrupted from my folding—okay, fine, my stuffing of unfolded things into my backpack—by the sound of Rafe clearing his throat. I look up, and he is standing by the bed, eyebrow raised, my bright pink bra dangling from his index finger.

The mortification that burns through me is so hot that it may actually melt my bones. I’m pretty sure my face is currently turning the same color as the traitorous item. I’ve been looking for that gravdamn thing, forgetting that I’d kicked it under the bed the last time a boy was in this room. Why the hell is Rafe cleaning under my bed? Doesn’t he know that’s where secrets go to stay buried?

I may never recover from this moment.

“Did you want to borrow it?” I joke, hoping to relieve the tension.

“No, thank you, but I was hoping you might pack it for our trip. It really is a lovely color.” He tosses it with perfect accuracy into my bag.