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I thought I wanted... something simple. Someone who wouldn’t lie, who wouldn’t manipulate, who would just bereal. Wasn’t that what I’d said to Monica, drunk on wine and cynicism? That I was done with men who wore masks?

Now Ray comes along and I didn’t know what to do with him. He’stooreal. Too steady. Too much like something I could lean on. He fits what I said I wanted, but somehow that terrifies me.

I rub a hand over my face. My weekend on the mountain isn’t over yet. There’s still time. And thereissomething here. Buried under unsaid words and half-finished goodbyes.

I’m going to find out what’s driving Ray away from me. Even if it means tearing down every wall between us. Even if I have to walk into the fire he’s running from.

3

STACY

Atickle brushes my skin, soft as a whisper, coaxing me from the heavy fog of sleep. I float in that strange, heavy space between dreaming and waking—where nothing feels real. Then the scent hits me.

Coffee. Rich, warm, just a touch sweet—exactly the way I like it. Comfort in a cup. My mouth waters before I even open my eyes.

When I blink them open, blurry light spills through the windows, and the shape in front of me slowly sharpens.

Erica sits on the edge of the bed, one perfectly manicured eyebrow arched, a deep purple mug in her hand. She holds it near my face like an offering, though her arched brow says it's more of a warning.

“Rise and shine,” she says, voice flat and tinged with disappointment.

I grunt, rubbing my eyes as I push myself upright.

“Good morning,” I mumble, throat dry, voice thick with sleep.

“For me, maybe.” Her lips curve, but there’s no humor in it. “You? Not so much. Mon’s waiting out on the patio. Feel free to join us.”

She doesn’t wait for an answer. Just sets the mug on the nightstand and glides out of the room like the drama queen she is.

I sit there blinking at the empty doorway, still half-lost in sleep and dread. Dreading whatever comes next. I crawl out from under the comforter and grab the coffee, blow, then sip. The rich, full-bodied flavor floods my mouth—liquid electricity. Monica never skimps on the good stuff. I appreciate that.

What is the drama this morning? And Monica too? What fresh disaster brewed while I was out cold? Then the pieces click into place.

Shit. Ray.

He must’ve said something. Or worse—he said nothing and left them to speculate. Either way, I’m the morning gossip special. My antics were probably the hot topic of conversation over pastries and decaf.

Fucking perfect.

I groan and flop back onto the bed—then immediately regret it. My body aches like I’ve been tossed in a blender and poured out wrong. I kick off the covers with a frustrated sigh. This is not how I imagined starting the day, in my fantasy, there was a kiss involved—maybe more than one. Definitely not judgment or side-eyes over coffee.

I shouldn’t have expected anything else after last night. Right now, all my fantasies feel like they belong to another lifetime—one in which I’m not a total screwup who can’t get it right. There’s no avoiding this, so I might as well get it over with. I drain more coffee, pull on the first clothes I find, and pad out to the patio—barefoot, still rumpled from yesterday.

The morning air is cool in the shade. Jasmine floats on the breeze, mingling with the scent of fresh coffee. Monica sits cross-legged, radiant in that serene glow she always seems to carry now. Erica, halfway through her second cup, perches with sunglasses like armor. There’s a third mug waiting. Mine. At least they didn’t forget me entirely. I settle into the seat across from them, wrapping my hands around the warm ceramic.

“So… I’m guessing Ray told you what happened at Tiffany’s?”

Monica lifts an eyebrow, surprised. “Ray?”

“Yeah,” I say, taking a sip. It’s just the way I like it—bless whoever made this. “You didn’t see him?”

“No, sweetheart,” Erica answers, shaking her head. “Ray was still passed out cold when we left Dawson. Why? Did you two run into each other?”

“Something like that.” I nod slowly, the memory of last night crawling back like fog. “He’s why I woke up alone. And not in jail. Or worse.”

Erica straightens, leans in. “Okay, now you have to explain.”

I exhale, glance between them, and own it.