I look at her when she says that, my eyes wide, but she’s still looking at the beast across from us. His shoulders drop a little, not like he’s disappointed, but as if he just completely relaxed. “Really?” he asks, tipping his head down while he looks at her. I expected something else, alpha male anger maybe, but instead, he looks kind of happy?

“Yeah,” she says, giving my hand a gentle squeeze. “And I’d like it very much if you didn’t scare him off.”

“He couldn’t,” I say quietly, so only she can hear it, but the way Frankie laughs says otherwise.

“See?” Frankie says, raising his hands. “No harm done.”

Peak rests her head on my shoulder. “Good.”

“How do you two know each other?” I ask. I’m missing something. He’s not a romantic rival, clearly, but he also seems like more than just a friendly neighborhood barista.

“My mom and her stepmom are best friends,” Frankie says. “When Vera married JuJu’s mom, she and I effectively became family.”

“He’s the big brother I never wanted and can’t seem to get rid of.” Peak laughs, and Frankie pretends to whack her on the head. I still feel that pang of jealousy, but now it’s for a different reason. I’m homesick for a life I never had, where I had best friends and a loving family and bonds that don’t break.

Peak seems to sense the shift in my mood and squeezes my hand again. “Ridley, Frankie just got back. He’s in the navy.”

“I was underway for a while,” he says proudly, and I feel like I should know what that means. “How did you guys . . . ?” he trails off, gesturing between us.

“Ridley started hanging around Verona,” she says, and I hate that she’s covering for me. I just want to tell the truth, no more lies.

Frankie plants his hand over his forehead and pretends to swoon. “Love across the comic racks.”

“We actually met—” I start to say, but then stop. Maybe Peak doesn’t want people to know about our night at the con. Maybe she’s not protecting me; maybe she’s ashamed.

“At a prom at one of the cons we were at,” she says, and I look up in confusion. “He had a Batman mask; I was dressed like a peacock.”

“A peacock?”

“From Fighting Flock.”

“It was a very intense outfit,” I say before I catch myself. Peak blushes and Frankie shakes his head.

“Frankie?” a voice calls through the kitchen doors.

“I better get back there before my mom flips. But remember,” he says, jabbing Peak in the chest, “don’t do anything I would do.”

I scrunch my forehead. “Isn’t it ‘wouldn’t do’?”

“Trust me,” Peak says. “He definitely means ‘would.’”