Page 31

I take her down the hall and Nate follows. And, as soon as she peers in, she says, “Oh, you’re nesting. This is serious.”

“Kira,” I warn.

“What?” She surveys my desk. “You brought a lamp, a mug, and those neurotic highlighters. That’s girl-code for ‘claiming territory.’”

“I’m claiming peace and quiet,” I say. “Which I clearly won’t get with you here.”

Kira shrugs. “I just wanted to see the setup. And maybe flirt with the tall one a little.”

Nate raises an eyebrow. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

Kira winks. “I like your confidence.”

I groan again. “Please don’t encourage her.”

He chuckles. “Too late.”

Kira now walks around the apartment like a realtor, and then points to the couch. “This could use a throw blanket. Maybe a decorative tray.”

“You’re terrifying,” Nate mutters.

“Thank you.” She pulls out her phone. “I’ll send you links.”

I look at Nate, exasperated. “I swear, she’s not usually this intense.”

“She’s fine,” he says with a laugh. “Kind of like a caffeinated interior designer.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Kira calls from the kitchen.

“Just wait,” I whisper to Nate. “She’s going to open your fridge and do an inventory.”

“I’ve already accepted my fate.”

“You’re a brave man.”

“I gave you a key, didn’t I?”

That shuts me up.

Because I’m smiling too much.

And he notices.

And suddenly, this whole ridiculous study setup feels a little too much like something else entirely.

Kira stretches out dramatically across the couch. "I vote we carb-load. I need garlic knots like I need air."

Nate leans on the wall, arms crossed, amused. "There’s a place two blocks down. Best garlic knots in the city, if you don’t mind red-checkered tablecloths and servers who call you 'sweetheart.'"

"Do they judge you for ordering extra cheese?" I ask.

"Only if you don’t," Nate says.

Kira claps her hands. "It’s settled. Operation Carbs Commences."

We bundle up and head out into the cold. It’s one of those wintry nights where your breath fogs up immediately and your hair threatens to freeze if you breathe wrong. But there’s something charming about it too. The sidewalks are lit with strings of twinkling lights,and the bite of cold in your lungs making everything feel sharper.

The restaurant is small, loud, and smells like heaven. There’s a giant plastic tomato in the window. It’s the kind of place that hasn’t updated its menu since 1983.