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I stare for a half-second longer than I should, my stomach dropping. Just because my parents are facing away from him doesn’t mean this couldn’t easily blow up in my face. Maybe he isn’t more chill than I am.

He moves off toward the back, and seconds later, the buzz of a notification vibrates against my thigh.

“Excuse me,” I announce. “I need to go to the bathroom.”

Ford stands in the hallway between the restrooms, leaning against the wall with his arms folded across his chest.

His expression, as it meets mine, is livid.

“What the fuck is happening here?” he demands.

Ford isn’t chill at all.

And this isn’t the place to let him know his suspicions are somewhat correct. “He’s one of the people in charge of the trip to Bolivia.”

“So, if you go on the trip, you’ll be there with him?”

I shrug. “And a hundred other people. Tommy’s just a family friend.”

Ford’s tongue prods the inside of his cheek, and his jaw is locked. “Friend my ass. Your parents are trying to set you two up.”

I’d have laughed two days ago. Now I can only sigh. He’s right.

His eyes narrow. “So, you were aware of that fact, and it doesn’t fucking bother you?”

“You’re waiting for the real thing, remember?” I ask. My voice is rough. “No one even knows about us and you’ve never once told me what you feel, if it’s anything at all. So, you can’t fault me for thinking about what happens during the rest of my life when you don’t see yourself as involved with this part.”

I push off the wall and walk away before I start to cry, and he doesn’t bother to stop me.

I’m silent through the rest of dinner, barely able to eat a bite of the most expensive meal I’ll probably ever eat.

I just blew things up. I ruined them. Why couldn’t I keep my mouth shut and enjoy these last few months with Ford? Maybe because I’m not sure I’d have enjoyed them. He hurt me with what he said last week, and I’ve been doing my best, but I doubt I was going to stop being hurt.

My heart was going to be broken in a few months’ time, so it may as well be broken now.

My mother’s frown across the table warns that she knows something’s wrong. Maybe it just warns that I’m not playing my part here in wooing Tommy, but I don’t give a shit.

I’d rather never get married than endure what I currently feel again.

FORD

Open your window.

It’s late, and the house is quiet. I’ve been trying to muffle my sobs in my pillow for the past hour. If I was some really pulled-together girl, I’d refuse to have this conversation here. But I’m not. I love him, and even if he’s ninety-nine percent likely to be here explaining why it is the way it is, I’m holding out for the one percent chance that he’s here to tell me I’ve misunderstood.

I lock my door, then raise the window.

A moment later, one long leg swings over the sill, followed by the other. And then he stands, looming over me in my sleep shorts and tank top.

“Fuck,” he says, as he sinks onto my bed and rubs at his eyes. “I thought you’d be wearing more clothes when we had this conversation.”

My stomach drops and I climb to my feet, needing some distance. “If you’re here to tell me it’s over, you don’t need to. I figured it out on my own.”

He jumps up and marches to where I stand. “Are you shitting me? It’s not fucking over.”

His mouth covers mine. He tastes like liquor, though I don’t think he’s drunk.

The kiss is hard, and perfect, and already my body is curving into his, but I’m still hurt at the same time. I push at his chest. “Why were you drinking?”