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“So what? Nobody ever got drunk and decided to eat their least favourite food is all I’m saying.”

He’s still holding my own phone up inches from my face. I grab it out of his hands and roll my eyes.

“What does that even mean?”

“This girl clearly wants you. Don’t be an idiot. Go get her. If a woman like that was textingme, I’d be breaking the fucking sound barrier getting to her door.”

It’s a difficult conversation because for the first time since I’ve met him, Matt is telling me exactly what I want to hear, and it’s taking every atom of self-control I have at my disposal to resist the urge to get in my car and floor it to Boston without stopping for a single red light on the way.

“It’s complicated,” I say with a sigh. “Trust me. Anyway, we told Inés we wouldn’t leave until we’ve figured out where the hell our books are.”

Matt swipes a hand through his already messy hair and glares at the spreadsheet on his laptop. “Warehouse 17 says they never got the shipment, but the distributor swears it left their facility three days ago. So where the fuck did it go?”

“We’re supposed to get an update from freight logistics before eleven,” I mutter, glancing at the time. 10:47 p.m. “If they don’t get back to us in the next ten minutes, I’m going to pull another Illinois and fly there myself.”

Matt groans a laugh. “Nothing like harassing third-party logistics on Valentine’s Day. Love is truly in the air.”

I check my phone again: Sophie’s message is still open, her eyes and words a challenge.

Come get me.

Ten months of silence, ten months of nothing, ten months of sticking to the plan, of being good, of resisting every impulse to call her, to look her up, to go to Cambridge and crush the breath out of her lungs with a kiss. Ten months of constantly fighting temptation—and she’s the one who broke first.

What does that mean? It’s got to mean something.

But she’s drunk. So it probably means less than nothing.

Right?

I look up and meet Matt’s eyes without meaning to. For a moment, we’re both totally silent. And then Matt slams his fist on the table and jumps to his feet.

“Fuck this. I’m calling them again.” He points an aggressive finger at me. “We’re finding these books and youwillgo get your girl.” He pulls his cross out of the collar of his shirt and kisses it. “A-fucking-men.”

Matt’s prayers are answered,but it’s long past midnight when we finally step out of the office. It’s stopped snowing, the night is quiet, trees shivering in the wind. Matt rummages in his pocket for his car keys, then claps a hand against my back.

“You did good, kid.”

“You did most of the work.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’ll be telling Inés, but just between us—you did good.”

I laugh, breath misting in the cold dark. “Thanks.”

Matt studies me for a moment, his eyes narrowed against the sharp wind.

“Look, I’ll say this. You’re young, and you’ve got a hell of a lot to learn, but you have good instincts—for such a clueless rich kid, anyway.” He waves a vague hand at my phone, which I’m still gripping in my fingers. “So whatever your gut is telling you to do, I’d say listen to it.”

My gut’s been telling me to get to my knees in front of Sophie Sutton for years now. I don’t say that to Matt. I point at the office over my shoulder.

“You know we have to be back here in six hours, right?”

Matt scoffs, rolling his eyes. “So? Aren’t you rich or something? Charter a private fucking jet, I don’t know.”

He doesn’t wait for a response, just pulls open his car door and drops into the driver’s seat, shutting himself off from further argument before peeling out of the lot.

I don’t charter a jet.

I don’t head for the airport, or scroll for last-minute flights, or check departures boards to see if there’s anything leaving for Boston tonight. I don’t do what every impulse inside of me is demanding I do.