Mason snorts. “Besides that.”
Nothing comes to mind. My throat feels tight.Damnit.
“Exactly.” He moves a little closer. “She’s cool, man. You’re… you. Just talk to her. Like a human. With feelings.”
“I don’t—”
“Have feelings? Bullshit.” His voice is easy but sure. “I saw your face during dinner.”
“What about my face?”
“You kept looking at her when you thought nobody noticed.”
“I was being polite.”
“You were being smitten.”
I snort. “Nobody sayssmittenanymore.”
“I just did.” He heads for the stairs, casual as ever. “Text her.”
“Why would I text her?”
He glances back once. “Because you want to.”
He’s gone before I can come up with a retort.
The kitchen feels different once he’s gone—quieter, bigger somehow. The kind of quiet that presses at your ribs.
Ivy lingers, studying me over the rim of her mug. “He’s right, you know.”
“Not you too.” I drop the towel and lean on the counter.
“She’s good for you.”
“You’ve known her four days.”
“I’ve known you three years.” Her smile is soft but certain. “I’ve never seen you like this.”
“Like what?”
“Alive.”
She crosses the room, kisses my cheek, and leaves.
The scent of her tea lingers—jasmine and honey, fading fast. I stare at the sink full of dishes, at the knife I never finished drying, at my phone sitting beside it, screen dark.
Mason’s voice echoes back in my head.Because you want to.
I tell myself that I don’t.
And I almost believe it.
I clean—methodically, mindlessly.
Definitely don’t think about Poppy’s hand on my shoulder or how she smells like vanilla and chaos, or the way she saidI wanted to want itlike she understood.
My phone sits on the counter—silent, judging.
