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T he following evening crests, and I’m taming a stubborn curl in the mirror when there’s a knock at the door.

My heart leaps. Twists.

I swish a dirty-blond ribbon out of my eyes, then swipe my hands down the front of my heather-gray hoodie. My nerves are in knots as I wind through the living room and pull open the door.

Jasper greets me with his hands on his hips, fidgeting from loafer to loafer. “Oh… You’re not dressed up.” His gaze trails down my casual blue jeans topped with Converse sneakers before sweeping back up.

I frown. “Why would I be?”

Jasper is wearing a dress suit and a metallic cerulean tie, the scent of his cologne teasing a promise of something more formal.

He clears his throat and smiles. “No matter. You still look incredible.”

The compliment boomerangs through me like a chaotic pinball.

I used to live for his compliments, be it a favorable word or a flirtatious look. I’d dab Jasper’s favorite perfume at the space just below my ear—a delicate blend of honeycrisp apple and soft peony. He’d nuzzle his nose against my neck, breathe me in, and I’d laugh because it tickled.

I’m not wearing perfume tonight.

“Thank you,” I murmur, unsure how to process our new dynamic. Wavering for a beat, I reach for my purse on the wall hook and shuffle past him. “Where are we headed? There’s a cute café a few miles from here that has great coffee?—”

“I made a reservation at Kaiyo.”

I blink up at him, moving toward the exit of the complex. “Oh. That’s fancier than I expected.”

“I heard the sushi is good.”

I shouldn’t be surprised Jasper scored us reservations at a high-end location. He was always extra like that. Appearances mattered. Still, I don’t want him to get the wrong idea about tonight—this is merely a business transaction between ex-spouses, tangled in a web of complicated history, emotional damage, and heart-rending betrayal.

Totally casual.

“I hope you know this isn’t a date.” I avoid eye contact as I close the door behind me. “Regardless of how I left things with Allison, I wouldn’t do that to her.”

I wouldn’t do that to Isaac, either.

Erotic hotel memories spring to mind, dragging me farther away from Jasper. A prickle of guilt teases my heart.

What the hell are we?

Last night was a fusion of so many things: hot, dirty sex, tender moments and hard-fought intimacy, big reveals and confusing goodbyes. For all the things we discussed, putting a label on our complex relationship was not one of the topics.

Oddly enough…I kind of like that.

Yet, I can’t help but low-key feel like shit as I pull ahead of Jasper, as if I’m speeding away from a fire I helped start, only to realize the smoke’s still clinging to me.

He comes up beside me as a fifty-degree wind smacks us in the face. “Things with Allison are a bit…strained at the moment.”

My shoes thunk against the pavement as my grip tightens on my handbag. “Strained?”

“Mmhmm.” He rubs two fingers across his chin. “I’d prefer to stay focused tonight. I have some news that might cheer you up.”

“I’m cheery.” My tone drips with the opposite of cheer. “Never been better.”

“I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

“That’s kind of unavoidable, Jasper. Everything about this is uncomfortable.” My tone bleeds honesty as we trudge through the parking lot and beeline toward Jasper’s silver Porsche coupe.

Partial honesty, anyway.

I refrain from telling him that some of the discomfort lies in the fact that I spent the greater part of last night featured in a multitude of different positions—sweating, moaning, sore, and on the receiving end of multiple orgasms.

As we approach the vehicle, a hint of bleach dances underneath my nose. My instincts heighten as an unsettling feeling edges its way through me. I glance around the lot.

I’m not sure what I’m expecting to find. The smell is associated with Roger, who met a grisly, horrific death right in front of my eyes. But logic is often eclipsed by memories I wish I could erase. The bleach brings it all rushing back—the stark, metallic tang in the air, the cold dread, the terror twisting in my gut as I watched Roger fall, his insides splashing across my face like insidious rain.

I shake my head, forcing myself to focus. The parking lot is empty, and there are no signs of anyone lurking.

Isaac promised me I was safe.

I trust him.

“Are you okay?” Jasper holds the passenger door open for me, his eyes narrowing through nightfall.

“Yep. I’m good.” I slide into the vehicle and buckle my seatbelt as Jasper closes the door and enters the driver’s side.

It’s a quiet twenty-minute drive to the restaurant.

“Would you like some music?” Jasper asks as we idle in traffic.

I cross my arms and look out the window. I always needed music in the car; he hasn’t forgotten that. Podcasts and audiobooks were my go-to for cleaning and exercising, but music was reserved for sliding in behind the wheel. There was something about the rhythmic bass that made stop lights and angry drivers fade into background noise. “No, thanks,” I say, realizing I haven’t voluntarily listened to music since I’ve been back.

It feels like yet another missing piece of the old Everly.

Jasper’s car is pristine, as always. Not a single speck of dust on the dashboard. It smells like tea-tree oil and fresh pine, prompting long-lost memories to coast across my mind: joyrides to galas and photography shoots, road trips to Nevada, dinner dates, and popcorn fights at the drive-in theater.

Another life.

A past life.

The valet parks the car, and we stroll into the dimly lit restaurant before being led to a two-person booth. Candlelight and soft music have me feeling itchy and underdressed, completely out of place.

When I settle into my seat, I readjust the collar of my hoodie and tuck my hair behind my ears. “So.” I have no idea what to say, or why he wants to see me. Cursory conversation feels too shallow, given our circumstances, and anything with sentiment or depth feels like too much. “How’s your mother doing?” I latch on to a common thread that won’t strangle me.

“She’s fine. Has an office job in Santa Monica. She’s allowed to bring her maltese.” Jasper folds a napkin in his lap, then dances his fingertips on the tabletop as he makes a humming sound. “Everly, I wanted to discuss something with you. It’s about your career.”

My throat dries.

The gentleman’s club?

It’s not that I’m ashamed or embarrassed, I’m just in no mood for an interrogation. “My job is going well at the moment.”

His eyes flash. “Not the stripping.” When he catches the way I flinch, he exhales through his nose. “Allison told me. Your mother brought it up. Everyone is worried about you.”

Thanks, Mom. “Wonderful. I was wondering how you found me.”

“But this isn’t about the dancing. It’s about modeling—about stepping back into the industry.”

I reach for my chopsticks, a flimsy excuse to avoid looking directly at him. “I appreciate that, but I’m done with modeling. It’s not for me.”

“And stripping for men is?” he counters, his voice edged with a note I can’t quite place.

Heat creeps up my neck. “The club gives me a sense of control…something I didn’t have for a long time.”

He huffs lightly, leaning back. “Modeling can offer the same. With your clothes on, no less.”

“There’s no control in modeling. People telling me what to wear, how to pose, how to smile…” My defenses spike. “If you dragged me here to judge me, I’ll save you the dinner bill.”

Jasper sighs, his shoulders relaxing, like he’s softening, but his eyes don’t quite match. “No. I’m not judging you. I’m just offering a different perspective. A door’s been left open for you, and it leads somewhere…let’s say, respectable.”

“Respectable,” I echo, my tone sharp.

“Trevor Scott—the influencer from Miami,” he says. “He’s been working with Abner on a new clothing line, and they both think you’d be a perfect fit for an upcoming runway show.”

I can still remember Trevor’s business card tucked inside my lace stocking that night. The night they took me. “I told you I’m retired.”

“You’re hardly past your prime.”

“I’m retired for personal reasons.”

“Please.” He shifts forward, eyes locked on mine. “Think about it. I can help you start over. We could?—”

“I am starting over,” I say, my voice hardening. “But there is no ‘we.’ We’re divorced. And you have a girlfriend.”

His face falls, as if the reminder stings. He loosens his tie, his gaze dropping to the table. “As I mentioned, things with Allison are strained.”

“Strained because of me?” I ask, tilting my head. “Let’s not rewrite history here. I left so we could move on, and we’re all the better for it.”

He fiddles with his cufflink. “Not a single one of us is better for it. We’re all destroyed, crawling through the aftermath on our hands and knees.” Off my startled look, he shakes his head, his throat rolling. “Ali is a mess. Reclusive, sad, and unreachable.”

Tears threaten, stinging the backs of my eyes. My breath snags with empathy. “If you think I’m glad to hear that, I’m not,” I choke out. “It hurts to hear that.”

“I’m not trying to hurt you, baby—” His eyes widen a fraction, the nickname falling out unbidden. He bites at his lip, looks away. “Sorry. Fuck… I didn’t mean?—”

“It’s fine.” I squeeze the chopstick like it’s my tether to reality. Something to ground me.

Baby.

I used to love it when he called me that. There was nothing unique about the term of endearment, but it was mine.

Ours.

Now, the nickname crawls through me like splinters under my skin.

I crave a different voice and a different name— Bee .

“Old habit,” Jasper adds, looking mortified. He skims both hands through his slicked-back hair. “I’m sorry. I’m only trying to?—”

Just then, a waiter approaches, and Jasper takes the lead, ordering for both of us: sushi rolls, edamame, and two glasses of wine. I feel strangely like I’m observing the scene from outside, watching the little pleasantries and gestures that once felt so familiar.

When the waiter leaves, Jasper clears his throat, taking a sip of his Pinot noir. “Are you sleeping with that guy?”

“What?” My pulse races at the shift in topic. “That’s none of your business.”

“So that’s a yes.” His expression darkens, his grip tight around the wineglass. “He seems…unhinged. A loose cannon.”

“I repeat—my relationships are not your concern.”

“I worry about you. Living here alone, stripping for strangers, getting involved with these types. You deserve more—stability, financial security. And this…” He gestures vaguely, as if the life I’ve built is barely worth acknowledging.

“Stop.” I drop the chopsticks with a loud clink . “You don’t know me anymore, and you certainly don’t know what I deserve.”

He blinks, rubbing a hand down his chin. “Right.” His coiffed hair glimmers under the atmospheric light fixture, a contradiction to the muddled look in his eyes. “Just…consider it. Please.”

“Consider what, exactly? Your so-called modeling proposition? Or you?”

His jaw tightens. “I’m not here to meddle in your love life or confuse you. I just think…well, maybe we both gave up on something unfinished.”

“We were finished the moment you started with her.”

“You think this has been easy for me? Watching you walk away, after spending two years praying to God-knows-what that you would walk through that front door one day? Signing those goddamn divorce papers?” He squints at me, perspiration dotting his upper lip. “You just left. Without a backward glance. Like our marriage wasn’t worth salvaging.”

I gape at him, wondering how his version of this story could be so vastly different from mine. “Need I remind you that you let me go? Before I ever had a chance to walk through that door.”

He leans forward and jabs a finger at his chest. “I grieved you.”

My throat strangles at his words. Frowning, I stare at him across the table, a deeply buried pain carving out my insides. I shake my head through the barbed wire in my lungs. “Not long enough.”

He goes quiet, the strain dissolving from his posture. Slouching forward, he drops his face in his hands and scrubs a palm over the top of his head.

Silence festers.

I want to shapeshift out of my skin.

Our order arrives moments later, and I dive into the elaborate spread of sushi, hoping the flavors will distract me from the tension simmering between us. When the silence stretches uncomfortably, I finally glance over at him. “Do you love her?” I ask through a bite. “Allison?”

Jasper looks up, his face momentarily clouded with something that resembles guilt. He drops a sushi roll onto his plate, as if it weighs too much. “Yes.”

I brace myself, expecting the pain to strike like a rusty razor blade, to carve through the numbness and into my heart. But the feeling never comes. I thought his admission would shake me, disrupt my equilibrium, but instead, I feel an odd sense of calm.

“Then what is this?” My voice lowers, curiosity mingling with the remnants of our argument. “Why are you here?”

“Because I care about you, too,” he forces out, his tone almost pleading. “And I can’t help but feel like I gave up on you too soon. You’re falling apart, and I feel responsible.”

I scoff, insulted. “I’m not falling apart. I’m rebuilding.”

He reaches across the table, his fingers brushing mine, desperation lacing his touch. “The life we shared, it was?—”

“Over,” I finish for him.

His brows furrow as he squeezes my hand. “Good,” he says softly. “It was good.”

I pull my hand away and plop a napkin on my lap. “Look, I have a new life now, and so do you. You just said you love her. Why would I want to come between that?”

“Allison misses you, too. You’re not a wedge, Everly—you’re a missing piece.”

I swirl my sushi roll in a bowl of soy sauce until it’s inedible. “I thought this was about modeling.”

“It is,” he says, but there’s a tremor in his voice, something raw. “But it’s also more than that. It’s about forgiveness. Moving forward.”

My mind races, cluttered with memories of what once was.

I consider what moving forward really means, knowing now that Jasper isn’t the one who fills my thoughts anymore. Instead, I picture brown eyes and worn jeans—a warmth so different from silk ties and polished facades.

I see Isaac.

And I can’t tell if that’s a spark of hope or a death sentence.

I set my jaw, steeling myself. “What you’re feeling is regret over something left undone. But you don’t owe it to yourself to fix what no longer exists; you owe it to yourself to fix what you have right now.”

He searches my face, conflict shimmering in his eyes. A subtle desperation. “You don’t miss modeling?”

“Missing and wanting are two separate things. I can miss and mourn my past while still craving a different future. When you try to weave those two things together, all you’re left with are knots.” I soften, reaching for his hand again, but I keep my fingers hovering just above his. “I just want to be free, Jasper,” I tell him, my voice wavering. “Don’t you?”

For a heartbeat, I see a flicker of something in his expression—guilt, sorrow, regret, doubt.

Nobody predicted this. Our situation unfolded like a slow-motion car crash, inevitable and impossible to stop, leaving nothing but shattered glass and broken hearts.

The only thing left to do is pick up the pieces.

Jasper studies those pieces in a new light, until a different look steals his eyes. Acceptance, maybe. He blows out a breath, fiddling with his tie again. “Take me out of the equation, then. This isn’t about me or Allison. Just consider the modeling proposition—I can get your foot in the door, but I’ll assign you a new agent. Plenty would be vying for the opportunity to represent you,” he explains, the words falling out quickly. “There’s a runway show next week. It’s big. A last-minute slot opened, and Abner requested you. I really hope you’ll consider it.”

His eyes glimmer with a mix of hope and urgency, and I know this is his way of trying to make amends. He thinks that if he helps me find my way back to modeling, it’ll somehow make up for what happened between us.

My compliance will be the first step to chipping away his guilt.

And without the ghost of our doomed relationship hovering over me, I simmer in the invitation. I see it for what it is, for what it might become.

Stirring a sushi roll around the dish, I glance up. “When is it?”

His eyes flare slightly, tinged with relief. “Friday. I can help you prepare.”

I nod.

I should consider the positives: the stability, the familiarity, the steady paychecks. I can rebrand myself. I may no longer be Everly Cross, but I’m not gone. I’m still here, still capable of building something new from rubble and old bones.

Exhaling a breath, I sip my wine and meet his eyes. “I’ll think about it.”