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I was about to call her just to see if I could hear her phone ring when I heard it—a tiny rustle of movement that cut off as quickly as it’d started. If I’d shifted, or if the elevator had dinged in that moment, I wouldn’t have heard it, but I did, and it was enough to pour fresh energy into my efforts.

A third, harder knock. “Open the door, sweetheart. Please.”

I wasn’t sure if she heard me, but an eternity later, footsteps approached and the door swung open.

My heart stuttered beneath the blow of seeing Sloane again. The past week had felt like months, and I drank her in like a lost wanderer stumbling onto a desert oasis. She was bare-faced and in silk pajamas, her hair twisted into a bun, her eyes wary as she kept a hand on the doorknob.

“Hi,” I said.

“Hi.”

The seconds ticked by, tainted by the bitterness of our last conversation.

“Can I come in?” I finally asked. It’d been a long time since we were this uncomfortable around each other, and the tension cast a shadow over the entire hall.

“Now isn’t a good time,” Sloane said, avoiding my eyes. “I have a lot of work to do.”

“On the Sunday after Christmas?” Silence.

I rubbed a hand over my face, trying to piece together the right words in the right way. There were a thousand things I wanted to tell her, but in the end, I opted for simple and honest.

“Sloane, I didn’t mean what I said last week,” I said softly. “About you having no emotions. I was frustrated and upset, and I took it out on you.”

“I know.”

I faltered; I hadn’t expected that. “You do?”

“Yes,” Sloane said stiffly. She went a teeny bit pink around her ears. “I should apologize too. I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard right after the fire. That was…that wasn’t what you needed at the time.”

“You were just trying to help.” I cleared my throat, still feeling ill at ease. “And I’m sorry for not reaching out on Christmas. Honestly, I was too ashamed to just call you like nothing had happened, and I figured you wouldn’t want to discuss the fire during the holiday…” It wasn’t the best excuse, but none of my recent actions could be classified as smart.

“You weren’t the only one who didn’t reach out. It’s a two-way street.” Sloane slid her pendant along its chain.

“Maybe we can have a belated celebration,” I said. “The ice rinks are still open.”

“Maybe.” She was so quiet, I almost didn’t hear her.

I paused, trying to paint why this whole thing felt wrong. At first glance, we were on the same page. I’d apologized, she’d apologized, everything was great. So why was tension still hanging over us like a storm cloud? Why wasn’t Sloane meeting my eyes? Why did she sound so fucking sad?

The only thing I could think of was…

No. A surge of panic seized my limbs, but I covered my suspicions with a forced smile. “So we’re okay. I know we have a lot of stuff to figure out regarding the club, but you and me, we’re okay?”

I searched her face for a hint,anyhint, that she agreed.

I didn’t find it, and when she opened her mouth, a part of me already knew what she was going to say.

“Xavier…”

“Don’t.” I clenched my jaw. “It’s not time yet.”

“Our trial period ends in two days.” Sloane’s eyes finally met mine, and it was like looking at a sea of stars in the night sky. They gave the illusion they were within reach, but if I extended my hand and tried to grasp those fleeting emotions, they’d slide through my fingers like whispered taunts. “What happens then?”

“Then we end the trial and start dating for real.” I didn’t bother playing coy. “That’s what I want, Luna. Tell me that’s not what you want too.”

I didn’t know a lot of things, but I knew her. I knew she had feelings for me. I’d tasted them in her kiss, heard them in her laughs, felt them in the way she’d pressed her body to mine. They weren’t the hallucinations of a man in love; they were real, and I’d be damned if I let them slip away.

But when Sloane straightened her shoulders and her expression cooled, I had a sneaking suspicion that the feelings I’d thought would bring us closer would end up being the very things that drove her away.

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