GWEN SPENDS THE REST OF THE DAY AT THE STUDIO TEACHING. Which is fine, because I spend the rest of the day rushing around planning a birthday party for her.

One that doesn’t end with her getting a fucking treadmill.

I stop in at the Bighorn Bistro and beg Tabitha to make a cake or cupcakes or anything that Gwen might like.

I call West and tell him to invite everyone to my place tomorrow evening.

Then I grab a bunch of groceries and head home, marveling over the fact that Gwen’s yoga class really did make me feel a bit better. A little less stiff. A little less stressed. A little more open.

When I get home, Clyde is sitting on the front porch, tucked into a shady corner. Thank fuck all of his clothes are on because I need to talk to him. I stride out the patio doors and fold myself down into the chair next to him.

“Back for more of Maya’s medicine?” he asks, staring out over the water with a grin on his face.

I can’t help but chuckle. “Not today.”

He grumbles like I’ve disappointed him.

“Did you know that Gwen’s birthday is tomorrow?”

Clyde nods. “Yeah.” He’s so casual about it. Like I’m an idiot for just now realizing it.

“How did you know?”

“She told me. We talk and don’t just make googly eyes at each other from across the room.”

I slouch back, already regretting bringing this up with him.

“Or make out on the back deck.”

“What the fuck, Clyde?” I throw a hand over my eyes, wanting to hide from this conversation. “Were you watching us?”

He giggles a raspy little giggle, getting way too much enjoyment out of this. “No, I got up to check what was going on because you were barking at her like a police dog who’d found a stash of drugs. Did you forget I live on the main floor? My sliding doors lead out onto this deck. If you guys kept your trysts to the upstairs balcony, I wouldn’t have to be subjected to—”

I groan and tip my head back, pressing the heels of my palms into my eye sockets. “Please tell me you were not just hanging out watching us.”

He scoffs now. “I’m weird, not a creep.” I peek at him from the corner of my eye and his head tilts like he’s considering what to say next. “I won’t lie. I was pretty pleased with that development. You two are perfect for each other. Remind me of myself and Maya when we were younger.”

I keep my face impassive because as much as I love Clyde, I do not want to be like him. The world can only handle one Clyde.

“But.” He sighs the word heavily, shifting in his chair. “It seems as though in your mission to be Mr. Good-Guy Hero Man, you’ve plunked yourself squarely into the friend zone.”

“I have not. We’re just… We’re being mature. It’s complicated.”

Clyde scoffs. “It’s not complicated. You look at her like she hung the moon, and she’s the only woman in the world who finds your shitty attitude to be endearing.”

“I don’t have a shitty attitude.”

He turns in his chair to face me. “Kid, you are one big shitty attitude. When I close my eyes and try to envision you, I see a frown floating in the abyss. Except when you’re around Gwen. So stop pretending this has to do with that prissy little goofball you made when you were too stupid to use a condom.”

He reaches forward, one gnarled finger poking me in the bicep. “Because it’s about you. You’re scared.”

My mind reels with his assessment. It seems insane that Clyde, one of the least rational people I know, should be the one to see this all so clearly, while I’m stumbling around in the fog.

“I’m not scared,” I retort, but it sounds weak even to my own ears.

Clyde responds by fitting his thumbs into his armpits and clucking at me like a chicken.

“Ugh,” I reply dramatically, pushing to stand. “Forget it.”

“I can’t! It’s burned into my mind! You’ve scarred me.”

Shaking my head, I move toward the door, wishing to escape this conversation as quickly as humanly possible.

“I’ve been playing matchmaker for months with you two. Don’t squander it! And don’t be a chump and forget to buy her a present!”

His words strike a chord as I enter the house. Months? Has he been playing the long game with this shit? Meddling and playing innocent?

I decide that’s too wild to fixate on. Instead, my brain fixates on a present for Gwen. Or rather something for Gwen. Because I understand Gwen well enough to know that simply buying her a present won’t cut it. She’s not hung up on material items or expensive gifts.

No, Gwen lives for new experiences. And I know which one I’m going to give her.

I wake up early, hoping to get a head start on Gwen. I may not be great at talking about my feelings, but I am great at showing them.

With the kitchen to myself, I get to work prepping an over-the-top breakfast—one that says what I can’t. I don’t know specifically what she likes, so I make everything. I want her to have it all, everything and anything she likes. Hell, I even picked up some more lavender from the florist and added a couple of pots to the space. Partly because I know Gwen likes them, and partly because I do too.

They remind me of her.

The counter slowly fills with dishes, each one covered in foil to keep it warm.

Bacon, ham, and sausage.

Waffles, toast, and hash browns.

Eggs—Benedict and scrambled.

Fruit salad and fresh-squeezed orange juice.

Overkill? Absolutely. Do I care? Not in the slightest.

I care even less the second she pads into the kitchen. She’s wearing a matching pajama set—shorts and a long-sleeved, collared shirt. Her face is scrubbed clean, and her hair is piled in a loose, messy tumble on top of her head. She still has imprinted lines on her cheek from where it was clearly pressed into the pillow.

She’s fucking breathtaking. And the fact that she didn’t roll out of my bed is downright criminal.

“What is all this?” Her voice is still thick with sleep, and it makes me wish I had been there to wake up next to her. It makes me wish I had told her I wanted her in my bed again. I’d been bold enough to ask her that night when I first came back and too shit-scared to say more ever since.

What I should have been brave enough to tell her is that I didn’t want that to be a one-night thing.

I wanted it to be an every-night thing.

“It’s a birthday breakfast. Happy birthday.”

She clasps her hands at her chest, and I watch her cheeks flush a light pink as she takes in the spread. “It’s too much.”

I scoff. “Nah. I enjoyed making it. You eat whatever you want. If there’s leftovers, then whatever.”

She blinks a couple of times. “No, I meant that you didn’t need to do this.”

I’m pouring her a cup of coffee when I stop, look up at her, and say simply, “But I wanted to.”

She swallows, looking more moved by an over-the-top breakfast than I expected. “Thank you.”

I nod and round the island toward her, coffee cup outstretched in her direction. “You’re welcome. Take a seat. Tell me what you want, and I’ll serve it up.”

With a soft smile, she wraps her palms around the coffee cup and makes her way to one of the stools at the island’s counter, gazing over the options.

“Honestly, I kind of want some of everything? It looks amazing.” She sounds bashful admitting she wants it all, whereas I’m just thrilled she doesn’t hate what I made.

“Coming right up. What my girl wants, she gets.”

The term slips so easily from my tongue that I don’t even have the time to prevent it. My eyes flit to hers, to see if there’s any negative reaction there. Instead, I find her watching me curiously, head slightly tilted as though I’m a puzzle she can’t figure out.

And who could blame her? I haven’t exactly been straightforward.

I decide not to explain the my girl thing away and just carry on plating her food. When I set it down in front of her, she beams. And I can’t help but feel like I’d make her breakfast every damn morning to see that look on her face.

I hand her cutlery. “I have a surprise for you after you’re finished.”

Her lips press together, but I can tell by the way her cheeks bulge that she’s pleased—if a little overwhelmed. She then takes a bite of the syrup-drizzled waffle, moaning softly like it’s the best thing she’s eaten in her life. I puff up a bit, getting off on how satisfied she seems.

I’m standing there making “googly eyes” at her, as Clyde had called it, when he appears in the doorway. He takes one look at the food laid out and then pulls up a seat beside Gwen. “I wish Bash were in love with me. Then maybe he’d make me nice breakfasts too.”

I spray my mouthful of coffee into my hand right as Gwen barks out a shocked laugh and thumps a flattened palm on her chest.

At the sink, I shake my hand off, looking down over my plain gray T-shirt and noting the splatter of coffee droplets. I’m about to give Clyde a piece of my mind for being such a meddlesome shit-disturber when the doorbell rings.

All three of us freeze. We’ve lived together for long enough to know that sound doesn’t go off much. And last time it did, it brought along an unexpected visitor.

Both Gwen and Clyde stare at me with wide eyes.

“You guys, eat—I’ll go get that.”

I head toward the door with a growing sense of dread pooling in my gut. Now and then, a fire starts, and everything just feels different. It’s like this sense inside me, one that knows when things are about to go bad.

And I feel that now.

Dread creeps up my throat as I flick the dead bolt and pull the door open.

Then I come face-to-face with Tripp.

He’s dressed to the nines, hair neatly gelled. In one hand, he’s carrying a massive bouquet of red roses and, in the other, a small gift.

I should say something, but I stare at him, dumbfounded. How the hell does he keep showing up just when it feels like Gwen and I are making some progress?

Deep down, I know our situation is not sustainable. Holding out. Hiding it. Keeping everyone happy. But this is the first time I’ve faced that fact head-on staring at the son I barely know.

“Hey. Sorry to drop in unannounced again.” His lips twitch into a sheepish smile.

I clear my throat, searching for words that aren’t what the fuck do you think you’re doing here?

“No, it’s fine. You just caught me by surprise. You still got my number?”

“I know, I know. But I’m actually not here to see you.”

My jaw pops as he carries on. “Remember how you told me I’d be willing to grovel when I knew it was right? Well, I’ve been thinking about it a bunch, and I think that it might be right with Gwen.”

My stomach bottoms out. “Is that so?”

“Yeah, she…” He looks over my property with a disbelieving laugh. “She wouldn’t even give me the time of day last time. And I want to give her a chance to see how good we could be.”

I try not to grimace. This fool doesn’t want Gwen. He just can’t handle her rejection. But I don’t tell him that, and he takes my silence as an opportunity to welcome himself into my house.

“Is she awake? I wanted to make sure I spoiled her first thing.”

“Yeah.” If cuffing him upside the head didn’t make me an asshole, I would do it.

That’s my plan. Back off.

But I don’t stop him. How can I?

Sorry, Tripp. I’m obsessed with your ex, and I have been since I first laid eyes on her. And now you need to leave because you’re ruining my shot with her.

I can’t think of a single way to phrase this that doesn’t sound fucking awful. So I watch in dismay as he toes off his shoes and heads straight for the kitchen, where Gwen’s and Clyde’s voices drift out.

His hulking form disappears around the corner, and I inhale a few of the deep breaths Gwen taught us in yoga. I could use a quick Zen moment if I’m about to walk in there and deal with this shit.

When I finally brave the kitchen, my eyes go straight to the small gift bag and the impressive vase of roses sitting smugly on the countertop next to the lavender I chose. My flowers look scraggly in comparison, and an unwelcome pang of inadequacy twists in my chest.

I shake it off, opting to focus on Gwen.

Gwen, who looks downright uncomfortable. And Clyde, who looks one second away from beating Tripp to death with the cast-iron skillet still sitting on the stove.

“I just can’t stop thinking about you,” Tripp says, facing Gwen with his back to me. “I just think we could give this a go, and you’d see everything you’ve been missing out on.”

I cringe. I want to like the kid, but goddamn, he is just so young and clueless. And so entitled. Talking to her like she’s stupid for passing him up.

Gwen’s gaze flashes over his shoulder to meet mine. I hold it, letting her see that even though he’s here, I’m not leaving this time.

I can’t. Walking away almost killed me before. Now, I feel more desperate than ever for her to see me.

It’s true—I don’t want to get hurt. But nothing would hurt more than missing my chance with Gwen.

“Tripp,” she says, finally moving her gaze back to him. “Thank you for your honesty. But these gifts are not necessary. I’m not sure how much clearer I can be when I tell you I’ve moved on.”

He scoffs, a bitter edge creeping into his voice. “What? You’re dating someone else?”

“Not exactly.” Her eyes shift to me, then back to him. “Not yet.”

“But you want to?” Ire tinges his voice now, like her interest in anyone else is a personal slight to him.

“Tripp,” she says, calm but firm, “we were very casual for a very short time. We haven’t spoken in a year. So you have to forgive me for feeling like this newfound dedication is out of left field.”

“Yeah, well, when it’s right, you just know.” He tips his chin and crosses his arms. “Open the present. Tell me if this other guy can top that.”

She grimaces but reaches for the bag. From behind her Clyde mouths, I hate him.

My lips flatten to keep from mouthing Same. Because right now, I do too. For putting her on the spot like this and taking advantage of her kind nature, forcing her to open a gift that she’s been clear about not wanting.

And for making me watch it all go down.

Her fingers tear away the paper, revealing a square, black velvet box. She hesitates, glancing at each of us in turn. There’s a flicker of nerves in her eyes, and a part of me wants to swoop in and put a stop to this. The other part of me doesn’t want to overstep and blow everything up on her birthday.

When she clicks it open, her eyes bug out for a minute, and then they shutter.

“I can’t accept this, Tripp.”

When she holds the box out, I catch sight of a diamond tennis bracelet, the light in the house making it almost blinding to look at.

“Sure you can. It’s perfect for you.”

She closes the box and pushes it across the island as far as her arm will stretch. “Tripp, that’s not perfect for me. That right there is proof that you don’t know me at all. You telling me to keep my shoes on at your party is proof that you don’t know me at all. You thinking there could be anything between us at all now that I know your stories about your dad being a deadbeat are not true is proof that you don’t know me at all.”

Tripp freezes, all the color draining from his skin as his expression morphs before my eyes. He looks genuinely shaken, and alarm bells sound in my head. “Gwen, you don’t know—”

She gives him her palm as she stands. “No, don’t tell me how to think, feel, or behave. It pisses me off.”

I can’t see Tripp’s expression, but based on his rigid shoulders, I’m going to guess it’s a blend of shocked and furious.

“Nice of you to do this in front of everyone.”

Gwen barks out a dry, disbelieving laugh as she steps away from him. “You’re the one who keeps showing up unannounced, putting me on the spot, and forcing the issue with other people around. Please, for both our sakes, just stop.”

“And you won’t even give me a fucking chance to—”

“You know what?” I cut him off. “That’s enough. Tripp, take a walk. Cool off. Go put your feet in the sand or something. We have somewhere to be, and the clock is ticking.”

“We?” he asks incredulously.

I hold my shoulders tight, not backing down, not letting him make this awkward. Because I’m too pissed off to pat his back right now. “Yup. It’s her birthday. Pick a different day to do this. Or better yet, don’t. Want me to walk you out?”

Gwen turns to me now. Her wide eyes and slightly parted full lips suggest she can’t believe I just kicked him out of my house.

Tripp snatches up the flowers and the bracelet, spins on his heel, and stalks out of the room, muttering, “Un-fucking-believable. Both of you.”

His departure leaves a deafening silence in the kitchen.