She tugs at her shirt, pulling it down, then back up when it reveals more of her chest. “I’ll work on the application tonight and send it to you before I submit it.” She grabs a rag and rubs at a spot on the stainless steel counter.

“Great.” I plaster a smile on my face. The stoves are off but I’m on fire. I’d even consider standing in the walk-in, velociraptor fears be damned. “Do you...” I take a deep breath. My mouth is dry. “Want me to clean up?”

She shakes her head. “I’ve got it,” she says and without another word, slips into the walk-in.

She stole my hideout. “Okay. Bye.”

I turn on my heel, my heart pounding partly from excitement but mostly from confusion. The back hallway blurs in my vision as I rush out the door. I throw myself in the car. “What the fuck was that?” I say to the dark alley outside my windshield.

I need to get a hold of this silly crush, or it’ll be the only thing the cameras will pick up when we get our chance on the show.

Chapter Four

Sophie

Once I get a seat in the coffee shop near Paul’s office, I peel my layers off. He’s perpetually late but I arrived early enough to give myself the perception of having some control over this situation. I shove my hat and mittens into the sleeve of my coat and unwind my infinity scarf from around my neck, but that is not enough to combat the intense humidity in this corner of the shop. Even the window beside me has fogged up.

I snap a quick photo of the steam curling out of my hot drink and slap it up on social media, with some emojis instead of words for a caption. I pull my sweater over my head and when my hair and I emerge in a cloud of frizz from the green fleece, Paul stands there, across the table from me.

“Hi, Soph,” he says, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a steaming mug.

“You’re early,” I say dumbly.

He arches one eyebrow. “You said ten.”

“Yeah. It’s ten. That’s early for you.”

He laughs quietly at my familiar ribbing, sitting in the empty chair. As he too divests himself of layers, I study him for more changes to add to the ones I clocked in his photos on social media since last week. But he moves the same way he always did, fluid, confident. Despite everything we’ve said to each other, he’s familiar, a warm blanket, my favorite green fleece sweater.

Paul takes a small sip of his drink and nods at my own mug. “I would have bought you a cup of coffee.”

“I know.” I wrap my hands around the mug. Every part of me sweats except for my fingers, which are ice cold. “I asked you here. Technically, I should buy you the coffee.”

“Why did you ask me here?” He always gets straight to the point and I was prepared for that until right now. Why did I ask him here?