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“I’ll tell you when we’re inside. Never know who’s listening.”

Oliver’s eyes dart around the empty landscape, but he’s known me long enough to go with it. He holds the door open for me, and I walk past him into the darkened interior of The Brew. The first thing I notice is the security camera, and I think,God, I hope that thing is off.

Oliver turns on all the lights and walks over to the counter. I follow, hot on his heels, and sit on the bar stool off to the side. While Oliver goes to clock in, I spin around on my stool.What can I say? I’m a kid at heart.

It’s eerie being in here with nobody else. I’m used to the place being all hustle and bustle, a line snaking out the door, every table full of students hard at work or meeting up with friends. But now, it’s dead silent except for the gentle hum of the refrigerators and the distant clanking of Oliver moving around in the back room.

Oliver emerges from the back room with a black apron tied around his waist. “I take it you didn’t get here super early for my badass mocha cappuccino?”

I shake my head. I’m still struggling with how exactly to tell Oliver about Elliot sleeping in the library. It’s not exactly something I can easily slip into conversation.

“Is this about what the Ice Queen posted last night?”

I blink. “Wait, the Ice Queen? What did she post?”

Oliver pulls his phone from his back pocket and slides it across the counter to me. I pick it up, unlock it—yes, he trusts me with his passcode—and read the Ice Queen’s newest post.

Fiddlesticks. Peopledidsee me following Elliot across campus last night. Apparently, subtlety isn’t my strong suit onoroff the ice.

Panic rises in my chest as the reality of the situation hits me in the gut. If the Ice Queen discovers Elliot’s identity, he’ll be thrust into the spotlight, and it’ll be entirely my fault.

I can’t even imagine how he’d react. Would he be angry? Hurt? Annoyed that I’ve accidentally made him a featured guest in my life story?

I run my hands through my hair, tugging at the strands in frustration. This is such a mess, and I have no idea how to fix it. I wish I could go back in time and stop myself from agreeing to let the Ice Queen write about me. But I can’t. All I can do now is manage the fallout the best I can.

“G. You look like you’re about to pass out. Breathe and tell me what’s going on.”

I inhale through my nose, exhale through my mouth, and then spill like a full cup of coffee with a loose lid.

“Damn,” Oliver murmurs once I’m done. “That’s heavy, G. I can’t imagine not having a proper place to call home.”

“I know, right? And the worst part is he’s acting incredibly nonchalant about it.”

“Elliot’s a tough cookie, that’s for sure. But even the toughest cookies can crumble under too much pressure.”

I snort. “Did you just compare Elliot to a cookie?”

Oliver grins. “Hey, if the chocolate chip fits…”

My eyes roll so hard that they nearly fall out of my head. Leave it to Oliver to find humor in even the most serious of situations.

“Speaking of cookies…” Oliver gestures toward the glass display case filled with tempting treats. “Why don’t you pick out something to eat before the morning rush hits.”

I peer into the case like a kid with their nose pressed againstthe window of a candy store and stare at the assortment of muffins, scones, and pastries. “I’ll take…a blueberry muffin.”

Oliver slips on a pair of latex gloves and opens the display case. He reaches in and takes his sweet time finding the muffin I selected. I’m practically vibrating in my seat in anticipation and have to bite my tongue to keep from yelling at him to speed it up.

The instant his meaty hand wraps around the top of my muffin, my mouth waters. I swallow loudly, and Oliver snickers.

“Do you want it to go?” he asks, holding it out to me like it’s an apple and he’s the Evil Queen fromSnow White and the Seven Dwarfs.

And like Snow White, I snatch it out of his hand and take a gigantic bite. The burst of warm blueberries and sugary crust that coats my tongue makes me moan in ecstasy.Holy snickers, it’s even better than I imagined.

“You’re an animal!” Oliver laughs.

I shrug, not caring one bit how I look. Crumbs fly everywhere, and my fingers become sticky from the blueberries. Each bite is a piece of heaven, and for a moment, all my worries about Elliot and the Ice Queen melt away.

“Did you bake these yourself?” I ask around a mouthful of blueberry goodness. A few crumbs tumble from my lips onto the counter.Oops.