My nails were up next. I was really leaning in to this self-care thing everyone kept talking about online. Tiny flakes of sky blue were left on my fingernails, and instead of picking at them like I always do, I grabbed the acetone and cotton balls and headed to my bedroom to get a bottle of white nail polish from the basket on my dresser, along with a candle that I had “borrowed” from my stash at work. On my way to the kitchen I collected a towel from the hall closet in anticipation of my mani-pedi. A cup of tea seemed the perfect accompaniment to my spa-at-home preparations . . . but Elodie and I had finished the supply of tea packets that we’d brought home from the salon. So a cup of microwaved water with a spoonful of honey in it would have to do. I carried the steaming liquid carefully to the living room, pausing to turn on my speaker and Bluetooth, as the honey dissolved into the clear water.

My wrists were a little sore from the no-tip client who was full of demands. He barked at me every time I spoke and didn’t want to pay for a deep-tissue, even though he continuously asked me to use more and more pressure. The joints of my fingers had a dull ache, a manageable but not ignorable type of pain. I decided to paint my toenails first.

Actively not thinking about Kael caused me to think about him. It scared me how comfortable I had become with his proximity, his quiet and intense presence in my house. He had rapidly become a subtle, essential part of my life. But he was very, very clear from the start that we would never be a thing, and I went along with it, acting as if I was used to spending all my time with a guy and not calling him my boyfriend. But after last night, this turned into a more dangerous reality. I had to constantly remind myself not to read too much into that kiss. Even if it was the best kiss of my life . . . But I know exactly what happens when you expect something from people. It never ends well.