Page 105 of The Best Shot

Tabby: Bye. keep me posted on the rankings.

Ava: I’m about to start my own journal.

30

“WE’RE SQUARE.”

YASMINE

By the time the doorbell rang, I’d already imagined opening the door three different ways.

One where I was all lace and robe—a terrible idea for cooking, but a very good idea for Hale.

One where I kept it casual, slacks and a tank, like feeding him didn’t feel weirdly intimate.

And one where I put on the dress hanging from my closet door and let the night be what it was—a date, even if neither of us had said the word.

That was the one I chose, because I wanted him to know I’d tried.

The dress was the color of wet slate, the fabric almost liquid under the candlelight. I’d bought it months ago and never had a reason to wear it.

Tonight, I had one.

The wine had been open long enough to breathe, the steaks were salted and waiting, and every candle I owned was doing its best to make my apartment look like a woman who had her life together.

A lie, mostly.

But a pretty one.

I was in the bathroom, zipped into the dress and finishing my blush, when the bell rang.

Early. Good.

I capped the blush, took one last look at myself in the mirror, and decided Hale Henry could survive one cheek slightly less blended than the other.

Barefoot, gloss still tacky on my lips, I crossed the apartment and opened the door with my smile already waiting.

It died there.

Not Hale.

“What are you doing here?”

“I need to talk to CeeCee.”

“She’s not here.”

His mouth pulled tight, disbelief turning mean. “Right.”

“She took an Uber. She’s out.”

His gaze slid past me into the apartment, already searching. “I’ll wait.”

“No, you won’t.” I kept my hand on the door.

“Yasmine—”

“I said no. She doesn’t want to see you. When she’s ready to talk, she’ll call you.”