Page 70 of The Hollywood Switch-up

“I need to call her.” The words scraped out of her throat.

“Not now,” Lily said. “Give her space. Let me try to reach her first, smooth things over. My battery’s dying anyway—I’ll call again when I know more.”

“Lily—”

But the line was already dead.

Stefan set the phone down slowly. “Twenty percent battery. We should conserve it.”

Erika stared at the dark screen. Her sister wasn’t answering.

“Hey.” Stefan’s voice was soft. He reached for her hand, and his fingers closed around hers. “We’ll figure this out. Together.”

Together. The word sat there.

She looked up at him—this man she’d kissed in a hurricane, fallen asleep trusting, woken up wrapped around him. His eyes were steady, waiting. Just offering.

She pulled her hand back, wrapping her arms around herself instead.

“Together,” she said. But the word came out uncertain.

He nodded and turned to the stove. The eggs had gone cold and congealed.

Silence filled the kitchen, just the hiss of the gas burner and the distant crash of waves. Stefan scraped the ruined eggs into the trash and cracked fresh ones into a bowl.

Erika watched him work, her mind spinning through scenarios. What would she even say? I’m sorry I ruined everything you worked for because I couldn’t keep my hands to myself?

“Stop,” Stefan said.

She blinked. “Stop what?”

“Whatever’s happening in your head right now.” He set down the whisk, leaning against the counter. “You've gone somewhere I can't follow. Talk to me.”

“I’m not spiraling.”

“You’re catastrophizing. There’s a difference.” His mouth twitched, but his eyes stayed serious. “You’re imagining every worst-case scenario, building a case against yourself before anyone else gets the chance.”

She opened her mouth to argue, then closed it. He wasn’t wrong.

“We don’t know what Anneliese is thinking,” he continued. “We don’t know what she saw, or what she’s been told, or why she’s not answering. All we know is that we’re stuck here for at least four days, with no way off this island.” He crossed his arms. “So, we can spend that time panicking about things we can’t control. Or⁠—”

“Or we can have today. Just today. No phones, no headlines, no Anneliese.” His voice softened. “Just us, figuring out what this is before the rest of the world gets a vote.”

The offer sat there. One she could choose.

“I need some air,” she said. “I need to walk and think about what this means before I do something reckless like stay in this kitchen with you all morning.”

His expression shifted, but he didn’t argue. “I’m not going to be another person who takes choices away from you.” His mouth flattened. “But I’m not going to pretend I don’t want you to stay.”

The words landed deep, in a place she didn’t know was bruised.

She stopped at the door, hand on the frame. She wanted to say something—thank you, or I’m sorry, or last night meant something. What came out was:

“Don’t let the coffee get cold.”

His smile started slow, just the corner of his mouth lifting. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

She turned away before she could cross the room and kiss him again.