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nova

“ H e said what!?”

I groan. “God—he said so much. Like, where do I even start.”

Poppy’s eyes are practically bugging out of her skull as she stares back at me from the phone screen, clutching her mug for our virtual coffee date.

I have her propped up on a table, leaning against a small container of sugar and artificial sweetener.

“Uh, how about the part where he said not to fall in love with him? Or the part where he told you to break the rules slowly? Or maybe the part where he said he wouldn’t say anything to your brother until you were ready, ergo: date you in secret. Who does that?”

I lift my head just enough to glare at her. “Thank you for the helpful recap.”

She ignores me completely. “Nova. You’re not casually seeing this man. You’re already emotionally involved. And I say this with love—but you’re so screwed. ”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” I mutter, stabbing at the whipped cream on top of my mocha with my straw.

Poppy folds her arms. “Okay, so go on. Spill. Walk me through the whole thing. Slowly. In glorious, ex cruciating detail.”

I waste no time.

“So we’re joking around, right?” I begin. “Flirting like usual. Then Luca starts laying down these fake relationship clauses.”

“Clauses?”

“You know: no falling in love before date five, no posting on social media, no kissing until the fourth date — things like that.”

“Hold up.” Poppy lifts a hand. “You made a no-kissing rule? Are you out of your mind?”

“I panicked!” I cry. “I needed something to slow things down and my brain defaulted.” Jeez, sue me for freaking out! “People need boundaries.”

She waves a hand. “No, you gave him a challenge. Now he’s going to be feral by date four.”

“Uh. Probably.” I murmur, vaguely alarmed by how excited I am about the anticipation.

Poppy smirks. “So what’s next?”

I try to keep a straight face and fail. “Grocery shopping.”

She chokes on her chai. “ What? ”

“Yep. So domestic and innocent. We’ll meet in the produce section. He said I could teach him how to pick out a ripe avocado and then flirt with him over bananas.”

Poppy looks like she’s about to combust. “That is the most sexually suggestive farmer’s market content I’ve ever heard.”

“I know.” Isn’t it?

She frowns. “Why do you get all the good ones? I’m so jealous. My only date in the last two weeks was with a guy who thought it was okay to video chat me from the toilet. ”

Oh God.

I remember that guy.

She sighs. “I’m back on the apps, by the way.”

I did know, but grimace anyway and hold up my latte. “Godspeed my friend.”

“It’s like sifting through the lost and found at a frat house. ”

I laugh at her analogy. “You’re being way too generous.”

We both break into laughter, the kind that makes several people around me glance over. I don’t care. It feels good to laugh like this.

To spiral out loud.

“Can I hit you with a truth bomb?” Poppy asks me, swirling the ice around her chai.

“Sure. Why not?”

“If a guy is willing to date you in secret just to respect your boundaries, flirt over stupid mugs, and wait until date four to kiss you even though he clearly wants to devour you alive…he’s not the red flag.”

I stare at her, straw paused halfway to my mouth. “Dude, that was so rude.”

Poppy smirks over the brim of her cup. “I said what I said.”

“You’re giving him way too much credit.”

“I’m giving him the credit he deserves.” She points at me through the phone. “You’re the one who came in here complaining about a decent guy who wants to date you as if it were a bad thing.”

“Are you calling me a red flag?”

Poppy’s shrug is non-committal. “I did not say that.”

“But you implied it.”

My best friend sips from her cup with the world’s most infuriating smirk. “If the latte fits…”

I glare at her. “I am not the red flag. I’m... cautious. Safe.”

“Yup. Safer than a seatbelt,” she deadpans.

I gasp. “Take that back.”

How dare she!

She leans back in a corner booth of her local Starbucks, the green pleather padding a comfier spot than the hard chair I’m on.

“You’re out there in the streets trying to slap warning labels on a man who’s agreed to date you in secret so your brother doesn’t get pissed. You made a no-kissing-until date four clause. He didn’t even blink.”

I scowl, but only ‘cause I can’t argue with her, dammit.

“Don’t give me that look—you adore me.” She sips away, ignoring my brooding. “If I were dating a man who spoke fluent slow-burn seduction, I wouldn’t be trying to turn it into a casual grocery run.”

I pout. “You don’t understand.”

Poppy rolls her eyes. “You’re right, I don’t. Because it would be a cold day in hell before my dumb brother dictated my happiness for no reason at all. So what—you’re twins. Big deal.”

I blink at her, stunned. “Wow. Are you trying to get excommunicated from my family?”

Poppy shrugs unapologetically. “Please. Someone has to say it—Gio doesn’t get to hold your love life hostage just because he can body-check a man through drywall.”

“That does not mean he’s controlling. Gio is?—”

“A huge pain in the ass? Yeah—I know.” Poppy folds her arms. “So what’s the plan? You sneak around with the guy you clearly have very real feelings for, pretend it’s nothing, and hope Gio magically gains support for the relationship overnight?”

My mouth opens.

Closes.

“Know what’s really gonna piss him off? Him finding out you were sneaking around. That’s really gonna endear Luca to him.”

My chest tightens, and for a second, I think I might cry right here in this over-air-conditioned café surrounded by pumpkin spice and judgmental glances.

I blink hard.

Look down at my cup.

Try to gather the frayed strings of my composure and tie them into a knot tight enough to hold .

Poppy notices immediately—of course she does. Even with the distance, she’s in tuned to my moods .

“Hey,” she says gently, her voice dropping to that rare, serious tone she reserves for breakups and bad news. “Breathe. It’s okay. You don’t have to figure it all out today.”

I nod once, fast. Then again, slower.

“I’m just…” I press my fingers to my temple. “I’m so tired of always choosing between what I want and what won’t cause waves.”

If Poppy could reach across the table and grab my hand, she would. “Then stop doing that. You deserve to want things. You’re allowed to be things. Not just Gio’s sister.

I laugh, shaky and uneven. “Tell that to my anxiety.”

“Your anxiety can shove it,” she says brightly. “Your anxiety doesn’t get to veto kissing hot hockey players who say emotionally vulnerable things at dinner.”

I give a weak little laugh. “He did say a lot of emotionally vulnerable things.”

Wiping my eyes with the sleeve of my sweater, I exhale for the first time all day. I got this.

I do.

“Babes,” Poppy says. “Gio has a family now. Gio has Austin and Vivi. Why shouldn’t you be happy? Nothing stopped him from taking what he wants—now it’s time to take what you want.”

No truer words.

“You think Gio is gonna to be mad? Let him! Let him be mad! He doesn’t get to gatekeep your joy because he got his first.”

Right.

I know this.

Poppy softens her tone. “You’re not letting anyone down by falling for someone who wants you. Who respects your self-imposed weirdness and doesn’t run for the hills when you start spiraling.”

“I’m not going to panic.”

“You’re going to panic a little ,” she amends. “And I’ll help you figure it out. ”

“So—what do I do?”

My bestie hums. “First thing I would do if this was my brother being a dick, would be to text him and tell him you have a date. At least lay the groundwork.”

Yikes. That sounds scary.

“Or,” Poppy amends again, seeing the look on my face. “You can text Austin, since she’ll be on your side no matter what.”

I scrunch my nose. “I don’t think I’m ready for that level of honesty with those two yet. I have no idea if Austin will actually keep it a secret from my brother—they are so caught up in their own love story.”

Poppy sighs dramatically and slumps in the booth. “Alright. Then my advice is this: don’t say anything yet. Just go. See Luca. Let it happen. No pressure. No labels. No secret sibling betrayal yet.”

I raise a brow. “Yet?”

She grins. “Look, I’m not saying sneak around forever. But give yourself permission to see where this goes. With no one else in your head about it.”

“I’m serious,” she continues, chewing. “You can’t keep doing the whole hide-and-deflect routine forever because you like him.”

I groan and let my head fall against the wall beside my table, the wood chair creaking under me. “I barely know him.”

Poppy arches a brow, clearly enjoying herself. “And you like him.”

I hesitate, then nod slowly. “And I like him.”

“FINALLY.” She throws her hands up, nearly knocking over her latte. “She’s admitting it, everyone! Nova Montagalo likes a man and she hasn’t shoved him off a cliff yet!”

“Would you keep your voice down? People are looking at me.”

“No one is looking at you.” She levels me with a look, leaning closer to her phone to study my face. “You’re glowing.”

I scoff. “I am not. ”

I might be.

I can feel the flush on my cheeks.

“You are. It’s giving ‘first crush at summer camp’ and I’m totally obsessed.” She grins, smug and victorious. “For once you’re talking to someone who doesn’t have commitment issues and an Instagram account full of gym selfies.”

I press my lips together, trying not to laugh. “That was one guy.”

“That was three guys.”

Touché.

Fine.

It was three—possibly four?

There’s no doubt I have a type: big, broody, fit. Blame it on my brother, I’m used to men who stay in shape and take care of themselves, considering I’ve been surrounded by them almost my entire life.

The kind of guys who keep their jaws clenched, their texts short, and their gym bags in the passenger seat like it’s their second girlfriend.

I grew up on the sidelines and in the back seat of my mom’s SUV, half-asleep with a Gatorade bottle rolling around on the floor. I knew how to tape an ankle before I could drive. Learned the language of grunts and shoulder shrugs.

I am fluent in locker room jargon .

My brother taught me muscles were armor, and being tough was better than being open. And somewhere along the way, I equated being closed off with safety.

Maybe I date these guys because they’re familiar.

Predictable.

I know how to read them —when they need space, when they’re upset but won’t say it, when they’re using sarcasm to hide the fact they care more than they want to admit.

Or maybe I just like the challenge?

If I can be the one girl who cracks through the hard exterior, I’ll win some kind of prize. Emotional intimacy, I guess. Or at least the illusion of it…

“Your face is doing the thing again,” Poppy says, pulling me out of my thoughts.

“What thing?”

“You know—the one where your soul floats six inches above your body and starts monologuing about emotional intimacy and why hot, emotionally repressed guys feel like home.”

My brows go up. “Is that what I look like?”

“Worse.”

I huff out a laugh, fiddling with the corner of my paper napkin.

“Maybe I date these guys because it’s what I’m comfortable with. I know when they need space, when they’re upset, when they’re using sarcasm to hide the fact they’re butt hurt.”

“Mm,” Poppy hums. “Sounds like someone I know who happens to share your DNA.”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, yeah. My brother. I’m familiar with the theory.”

Poppy leans forward again, expression wise beyond her years. “And now you’re finally tired of playing games.”

I don’t say anything.

She grins suddenly, like she can’t help herself. “Which brings us to the most suspicious non-date date of all time. Grocery store boy.”

I narrow my eyes. “Don’t.”

Poppy lights up. “Oh, we are absolutely doing this. Nova, you’re going on a date at a grocery store. This is not normal.”

“Says who?” I think it makes perfect sense. “We’re going to have fun and fly under the radar.”

Poppy rolls her eyes. “Because sneaking around the produce aisle is so much fun.” She snaps her fingers. “Maybe you should bring a recipe, shop the ingredients together, then invite him to your place to cook it.”

Uh, no .

That will not be happening. “I’m still feeling him out, okay?”

Poppy gasps as if I’ve personally insulted her. “You’re not even gonna let him see your kitchen? And by kitchen I mean—vagina.”

I choke on my latte.

“Poppy!”

She grins, completely unapologetic, stirring her drink like she didn’t just casually weaponize my sex life. “What? I’m just saying. Let him see where you keep your spices.”

I glare at her. “That is not a metaphor I’m unpacking before noon.”

“Stop being a prude.”

“Can’t help it.” I sigh. “I am one.”

My best friend studies me. “Remind me again when the last time you got laid was?”

I level her with a stare. Of course she would bring this up.

“Honestly, my vag has cobwebs.” I take a casual sip of my drink, unbothered. “Like, full on haunted house situation. I think there’s a ghost down there, probably named Mavis.”

Poppy loses it.

She laughs so hard she snorts, which only makes us both laugh harder.

“Oh my God,” she gasps. “You need an exorcism. An out of body experience, preferably with a man who’s good with his hands.”

“And mouth.” Another sigh.

“Hence—you let Luca squeeze your fruit. Have him motorboat your cantaloupes.”

“Get out of my damn bedroom.”

Poppy is utterly unrepentant. “Honey, if I lived in your bedroom, you’d have seen a lot more action by now.”

I fling a sugar packet at the screen.

“This is why you love me,” my best friend announces, tapping on her cup. “Okay, but for real—are you ready for this date? And don’t give me some nonchalant answer. I want honesty.”

“Yes. Luca is a delight.”

She stares. “A delight?”

“You’d love him.”

“This isn’t about me loving him—this is about you loving him.” She pauses. “What are the odds he’s going to pin you against the freezer door by the popsicles?”

I blink at her. “You are unwell.”

Poppy shrugs like she’s flattered. “I’m just manifesting options. Freezer door. Popsicles. Casual public dry humping.”

I roll my eyes again, but the truth is—my stomach is already doing that slow, traitorous flip it does at the thought of seeing Luca again. He’s easy to talk to. Funny in that quiet, clever way.

“I hate that you just said all of those words in a row.”

She sips her drink, unbothered. “You love it.”

I do.

She’s the best and the worst.

“He would never though,” I say, a little too quickly. “He’s a gentleman.”

She gives me a look—the kind that says sure, Jan .

I keep picking at my napkin, shredding the edges like they personally wronged me. “He didn’t even kiss me. We left Rainforest Café, walked through this totally empty parking garage and he just—opened my car door. Said he had a great time. Same thing again when we left the steakhouse.”

She crosses her arms again. “And you’re the one that made the rule about not kissing yet. So look, either he’s a monk—or this guy is playing a long game so smooth, I respect it.”

“Long game?” I blink. “How?”

“Think about it.” Poppy taps her straw against the rim of her drink. “He walks you to your car. No kiss . No pressure. Just a good night and a polite goodbye. That’s not just gentleman behavior, Nova. That’s strategic . He wants to drive you crazy with lust. He absolutely wanted to kiss you. No straight man agrees to a jungle-themed zoo dinner without having fantasized about his tongue privileges.”

I blink. “Tongue privileges?”

She grins. “He wanted to see your boobies. And stick his tongue in your mouth—probably both at the same time.”

Before I can reply, Poppy glances around Starbucks, then slaps her hand dramatically on the tabletop. “Welp. Time for me to go pretend to be productive.”

I laugh, grabbing my bag. “Try not to traumatize anyone else today.”

She stands and stretches and all I can see is her waist and crotch as she bends this way and that—like she’s about to run a marathon. “No promises. You go prep for your date. And for the love of God, do not let him mansplain the difference between an apricot and a nectarine once you show him your peaches.”

“Get out of here,” I mutter, smiling.

“Go fall in love in the freezer section!” She blows kisses at the phone. “Smooches! Do everything I would do!”

It’s just a date, I tell myself. A casual, under-the-radar, non-date grocery run with a guy who smells good and opens doors. And walks me to my car.

And hasn’t put the moves on me.

My phone buzzes as I sit in the car, reflecting on our conversation.

Poppy: TITS UP, SOLDIER.

Jeez. Why is she like this?

Me: I’m literally still sitting in the car. I have to go home and get ready still…

Poppy: This feels like it’s taking an eternity.

Me: Well I can’t text and drive, can I???? Not to mention, I don’t know what to wear. It’s a date but it’s like…what does one wear to the grocery store???

Poppy: Beats the hell out of me. I’d definitely look sexy, though—everything but heels.

Me: You think?

Poppy: For sure. Show some skin too and make the dads jealous. Who knows, if this doesn’t work out with Luca maybe some other single will swoop in and save you in the meat department.

Me: Okay but…what KIND of sexy? Like, Oops, did I forget to wear a bra?!

Poppy: Exactly. Go for: I care enough to show you skin but not enough to get lipstick on a rotisserie chicken.

Me: That was disturbingly specific.

Poppy: You’re welcome.

Me: Alright. I’m going home. Shower. Soft curls. Green jacket you gave me for my birthday with the black tank top?

Poppy: YESSSSS. Sexual but responsible. You shop organic but your pussy will RUIN him.

My phone buzzes again, but it’s a different name this time.

Luca: Hey—still good for later?

Poppy: That tank top makes your tits look amazing.

Without thinking, I quickly type my reply:

Me: Honestly when he sees me in this tank top with my titties out he’s gonna propose next to the canned beans. LOL

I hit send.

And immediately realize…

I sent it to Luca.

My soul leaves my body.

“No. No no no no no no no?—"

I fumble with my phone like I can physically pull the text back out of cyberspace, my heart sprinting laps around my chest.

New message appears.

Luca: Well, when you get to the store, you’ll find me standing near the beans.

I want to slam my face into the steering wheel.

Another buzz.

Luca: For the record, I’m VERY pro tank top. And marriage is a big step, but I also REALLY like canned beans.

I let out a strangled noise that’s part-laugh, part-scream. My cheeks are on fire. My body is 90% regret, 10% hope he’s kidding but also slightly not.

I quickly text Poppy.

Me: I hate you so much right now.

Poppy: What the hell did I do?!?

Me: I was texting you and then he texted and I told him he might propose by the canned beans. But the message was meant for you and now I hate myself. My face is so red right now.

Poppy: I AM SCREAMING. Dead. Deceased.

Me: STOP LAUGHING. This is not a win.

Poppy: This is a massive win. For me.

Me: Excuse me while I throw myself into a lake.

More buzzing.

Luca: Just to confirm, the beans are in aisle 7. Currently debating which brand of legumes feels most matrimonial.

Oh my God.

I should say something.

I need to respond.

Poppy: Did he text back?!? I need a live feed. That one guy I fucked 6 months ago is a cop and can probably get us a body cam….

Nightmare.

How am I supposed to look at that man with a straight face?

Still. Despite my fluttery nerves, I smile down at my screen; at his name.

Luca: All jokes aside, what time should I meet you there?

Of course he texts now . While I’m in the middle of texting Poppy about that one guy she never mentioned sleeping with.

Multitasking: not my strength.

Pay attention, Nova. Pay. Attention.

Me: You did NOT tell me you fucked that guy! God I am so jealous—I wasn’t joking when I said there was a ghost in my vagina.

Me: Let’s say 3:30? I had a virtual coffee date with Poppy and still need time to go home and get cute.

A beat later, Poppy’s response hits like a warning siren.

Poppy: I think you meant that for someone else…he he

Oh shit—I sent Luca’s text to Poppy and Poppy’s text to Luca! Seriously. WHY AM I SO BAD AT MULTI-TASKING?!

My vag shrivels ten sizes, which, may or not be considered a bad thing, considering who you ask.

Ha!

My thumbs hover uselessly over the keyboard. There is no coming back from this.

Luca: Ghost in your vagina!? Are you haunted???

Poppy: Your thumbs are the problem—not me. I’ve been saying this for YEARS.

I press my fingers to my temples, willing the earth to open up and swallow me whole—or at the very least, send a Target truck to run over my phone.

I contemplate throwing it out my car window.

“Haunted?” I say out loud to no one. “Yes. Yes, I am. Emotionally, physically, spiritually—and now digitally.”

Me: I am going to throttle you. You are NOT helpful.

Poppy: What are you going to throttle me with? Your Victorian girlboss coochie?

Luca: So 3:30? Should I bring sage?

Me: Ha ha, probably… but I’m sure we can find it by the spices. See you in a bit.