A chill runs down my spine. I know that voice.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” Jamie says, “I was—”

“West, hi!” Jules says. “No explanation needed. Come on up!”

Heat rushes through me as my memory flies back to the closet. The almost kiss. His hands on me. The horrible embarrassment of him running off afterward. “Why is he coming up here?”

Jules shrugs. “I don’t know. That’s why I invited him up to fill us in.”

“He coulda filled us in on the other side of that intercom downstairs.”

She rolls her eyes. “I’m not making him stand outside like he’s some suspect stranger. He’s our friend.”

“Your friend.”

Unlocking the front door, she opens it a crack and grins at me. “You’re blushing.”

“Juliet.” I fish out another ranch-soaked carrot, turn, and lob it at her.

Except it hits Jamie in the face right as he crosses the threshold. The carrot drops with a sad little thud to the floor, and a Rorschach splatter of ranch marks his forehead.

“Oh my God, Bea!” Jules lunges for a tissue, then hands it to Jamie.

Humiliation burns my cheeks. Standing, I sweep up the carrot and toss it in the garbage. “Sorry,” I mutter.

“Quite all right,” Jamie says, wiping his forehead clean. “I should have expected it. Seems like your signature greeting.”

I whip around. “As signature as your terse condescension.”

“Oh boy.” Jules laughs nervously. “Be nice, you two. It was a little misunderstanding. That carrot was meant for me, not you, West. Bea’s sorry.”

Jamie and I stare at each other. How did I nearly plaster my mouth to his in a closet? That moment seems lifetimes away. He stands, mouth tight, eyes narrowed, everything so exact in his appearance that I want to tug his shirt until it wrinkles, ruffle his immaculate hair, and knock his glasses sideways on that perfect fucking nose.

Turning, he faces my sister. “I’m sorry for intruding. I seem to have misplaced my keys, probably left them back at the office. I’m locked out of my apartment, and I assumed Jean-Claude was here, since he didn’t answer the buzzer.”

“He got tied up at work,” Jules says. “You can have my key for now. Let me go grab it from my purse.”

She pinches my side, whispering, “Be nice.” And then she walks down the hall to her room.

Leaving Jamie and me alone. Again.

Dipping my massacred dino nugget in ketchup, which frankly looks gruesome, I spin on my stool and face him. He looks around the room at anything but me, his jaw tight.

“You have some ranch on your glasses,” I tell him.

He freezes, then slowly turns to meet my eyes. “I imagine I do,” he says icily.

“You’re not going to clean them? You just don’t seem like a guy who wants buttermilk ranch rusting his hinges.”