“Everyone’s scared of third floors. It’s a logical place to go.” He adjusts his cuffs until the buttons are exactly halfway across the underside of his wrists. “And Sula—I think it was? Blue hair?—might have mentioned the third floor would be a good option.”

I grit my teeth. It’s got my friends written all over it. They’ve been pushing and nudging us the whole night, since Jules forced our introduction, then Jean-Claude and Christopher hightailed it with her, leaving us alone. Then Margo sent me to the back room on that errand with champagne. Jules put me on Jamie-babysitting duty before her toast. Now Sula’s got him following me after she must have seen me sneaking upstairs. “Those meddling meddlers.”

“Beg your pardon?”

“Nothing,” I tell him. “I’ll go hide somewhere else.” Standing, I reach past Jamie and feel for the small groove in the door that will give me leverage to open it. Except when I try to pry it open, nothing happens.

I try the door again, tugging harder.

And suddenly a wave of warmth, the scent of something much better than furniture polish and potpourri, washes over me. I shut my eyes for just a moment. Damn him. Why does Jamie have to smell like . . . like walking through a dense forest on a cool, foggy morning? Like sage and cedarwood and rain-drenched earth.

Swallowing, I glance back at him. He’s standing close behind me, frowning at the door.

“What is it?” he says quietly. His breath whispers along my neck. Orange zest and bourbon, the cocktail he had.

I swallow again, feeling the room grow smaller by the second. “It’s stuck.”

“It’s stuck?”

“Yes,” I mutter sourly. “Thanks to you.”

“How? All I did was shut it behind me.”

I spin and face him, which is a mistake. It places our fronts flush against each other, and in this tiny space, there’s nowhere to go. Jamie’s sudden inhale makes his ribs expand, his chest brush against mine. I grip the wall as unwelcome heat floods my veins.

“If you shut it too hard,” I tell him, not bothering to hide the accusation in my voice and trying really hard not to notice how my heart’s now pounding even harder, “it jams sometimes.”

“How was I supposed to know that?”

“You weren’t! You weren’t supposed to be here.” I grit my teeth, battling frustrated tears. I just needed to be alone. Instead, I’m stuck in a closet with this condescending, pretentious, irritatingly attractive tight-ass whom I’ve embarrassingly spilled booze on not once but twice in the same night that my sister got herself engaged out of nowhere to someone I still don’t feel sure I can trust.

And now I’m going to cry in front of him because I honestly can’t take it.

“Are you all right?” Jamie asks softly.