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“How does my hair look, my dress?” Suddenly, I’m nervous.

“You’re perfection. Stop.”

My mind is already racing. What I’m doing seems ridiculous. Before now, it was only a crazy plan in my head, not reality. Even though I’ve thought this through a million times, I can’t remember what I want to say when I see Adam again.

Hey there . . . we had a summer fling and fell in love, banged once, but then lost track of each other . . . and now you’re famous . . . and here I am . . . but I didn’t know about the famous part, I promise.

When I don’t budge, Amelia releases an irritated huff. She grabs my hand and forces my finger onto the button.

My heartbeat seizes when it buzzes and then rings like a phone, but my hope of hearing Adam’s voice on the other side is short-lived. After the twentieth ring, it hangs up. Amelia presses it again, and we wait, only to have the machine hang up a second time.

Built-up tension seeps out of me like a leaky balloon. It’s another roadblock.

No one’s home.

The good news is, I prepared for this. From my tote, I remove an envelope with a letter. I turn it over in my hands, rethinking its message.

“We could leave it on the door somewhere?” Amelia squeezes her cheeks between the gate’s bars.

Beside her, I do the same. The house is large, but it’s an ugly kind of modern without any personality. No cars sit in the driveway. No lights are on in the house. In fact, the facade and yard need maintenance. It’s as if someone hasn’t been here in a long time, or they don’t care.

It’s more than that, though. The vibe is all wrong. It’s cold and depressing, and it doesn’t feel like the vibrant person I used to know.

“I’ll mail it, and we can come back another time.” I try to remain upbeat. This is a small step forward in my quest, regardless.

“If you want me to scale these walls, I will.” Amelia shakes the gate’s bars as if testing their sturdiness, making them rattle.

“Says the woman who’s afraid of heights.” I scan the high walls. Just the other day, she was having a meltdown on a mountaintop because of—checks notes—sheer cliffage.

“I said I’d try. I didn’t say I’d succeed,” she says with a frown.

“I appreciate the mental attempt.” I laugh.

“Just remember how amazing I am when the hotel HR calls you for my job reference. Can you make me sound like I’m a genius?” Amelia asks as we climb into the Jeep.

“How’s she’s a mermaid genius, a mistress of fins and fairytale fun sound?” I turn the key in the ignition.

“It’s a start,” Amelia says with a grin, then sobers. “Sorry about Adam.”

“It’s okay. I feel closer to him already,” I say, even though that’s not quite true. Because this place feels nothing like him, he seems even farther away.

What if Amelia’s right? What if Adam’s not the same person I remember? He really could be a serial killer. It’s possible. I grip the steering wheel tighter as I drive through the fancy subdivision.

On the way home, we stop at the post office. I stare at my letter and hesitate at the mailbox. I remind myself that if Adam remembers me the way I remember him, he’ll want to chat.

If he’s a serial killer, he’ll also want to chat.

Trying to get Amelia’s ridiculous theories out of my head, I dump the envelope in the mailbox and run.

Everything will be fine.

Back at the bungalow, Amelia and I hang out on the deck for the afternoon. Fortunately, or unfortunately, I have a front-row seat to the Giovanni Salami cooking show. The team is shooting in the kitchen again.

I do my best not to watch as Gio humps counters, cracks eggs between his thighs, pulverizes oranges between his biceps, or crushes watermelons with his bare hands. It’s nearly impossible, though. No matter how ridiculous the task, Gio makes everything look sensual.

I catch myself laughing at the raunchiest moves. I mean, who can motorboat two huge mozzarella balls with a straight face? I wouldn’t be able to, and apparently, neither can Gio. There are a lot of comedic outtakes, which they also post for fans.

Sure, Gio’s playing the hot-chef role, but it’s clear he knows it’s a little ridiculous. He’s self-deprecating, a quality the men in my life have never had, which makes me watch with interest. And don’t get me started on Gio scrubbing the kitchen clean afterward. That’s a different sort of erotica I’d pay money for.