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“Oh, Dawn,” Spencer sighed with a sly grin. “If you can’t figure that out, then I don’t know what I’m going to do with you.”

“Well, I owe you a lot, Spence,” I said after a pause. “I mean it. Thanks for everything.” The words came from my heart. It’s not every day you met someone like Spencer. Someone who would do anything for a friend, even take a beating for them. He was loyal, helpful, and, even if he cracked jokes at the expense of others—above all my best girlfriend—he was serious and sensitive when it came down to the wire.

“No problem. I just hope things work out.”

What could I say to that? All I could do was avoid his gaze and nod.

Dawn and I spent the rest of the evening putting together colorful ads for the second room, which we wanted to hang around campus. Scott put the ad online after I told him what I was hoping for in a potential roommate. Spencer offered helpful suggestions like, “Pink unicorns only need apply.” He made me laugh so hard that the champagne came out my nose.

When they parted at the end of the evening and I was alone in my apartment for the first time, I didn’t know whether I wanted to dance or to cry. I felt great because I had found a wonderful home. But at the same time, something inside still ached. So I decided on a mixture of both.

It left me so stirred up that I couldn’t think straight anymore. Emboldened by the booze, I reached for my phone and typed wildly on it, threw it on the sofa, and picked it up again only to place it far out of reach so I couldn’t do anything I’d regret.

But my restraint crumbled.

I jumped up, grabbed it again, and before I could convince myself of anything else, I selected Kaden’s number.

It felt like the best thing to do and also the stupidest thing I’d ever done.

But I had to hear his voice. I missed him so much.

He picked up after the first ring. “Bubbles?”

Oh God.I should have thought that one through better. Tears shot to my eyes, and I felt an urgent need to bawl out Taylor Swift’sI Almost Doin his ears. OrAttack,by Thirty Seconds to Mars. Or anything but let him hear me cry.

“Is everything okay?” Kaden’s voice was low, almost a whisper.

Summoning all my courage, I whispered, “Why didn’t you tell me? About what happened with Alex?”

He breathed in sharply. For a while he said nothing, and I pressed my face into one of the sofa pillows to keep myself from filling up the silence with my own words—ones that couldn’t be taken back later. Even if it was nearly suffocating me. It was his turn.

“Can I come over?” Kaden asked, in a shaky voice.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I murmured into the pillow.

Kaden took another deep breath. “You deserve an explanation, Allie. Please. Let me tell you. In person.”

The champagne had done me in, and I might regret this a lot tomorrow. But I wanted to see him so badly, wanted to finally hear his side of the story. So I just said, “Okay.”

Less than ten minutes later I heard light knocking on the door. Standing up, I felt a bit dizzy. A few deep breaths later, I went to open the door.

Kaden looked tired. For the first time ever, I saw dark shadows under his caramel-colored eyes—he usually managed to look well-rested, even after a night of partying. He wore a blue baseball cap backward and smelled exactly as I remembered. Spicy. And he was wearing my sweater. Okay, strictly speaking it wasn’t my sweater, but it was the one I’d always borrowed when we went hiking. Over the past few weeks I’d tried to repress all memories of our shared time, but now the images poured over me like a waterfall. It took a great effort for me not to fall into his arms and bury my nose in his shoulder.

Instead, I just unlocked the door.

Kaden’s feelings seemed to be as jumbled up as mine. His eyes sparked when he saw me. But then he must have remembered why he’d come over, and his gaze darkened.

Stepping to the side, I invited him in with a wave of the hand.

“Welcome to Casa de Harper,” I said, imitating his own words of welcome when I had moved in to his place.

Kaden winced, and I regretted the bad joke. He dug his hands into his sweatshirt and followed me into the living room.

“Please sit,” I said, pointing to the sofa. “Want something to drink?”

“What have you got?”

“Champagne?” It was more of a question than a statement. “Actually, no. We drank it all. Tap water?”