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Becky and Malcolm’s building is within walking distance, so after I get out of the shower, I put on my sneakers and hoof it.

I reach the apartment building about five minutes before the agreed-upon time. I wait outside, pacing on the sidewalk, and people start giving me funny looks. I take out my phone and use the camera to make sure I look okay, and the truth is I seem a bit disheveled. Even though I recently showered, my hair is wet and windblown from the walk over here, and I also realize that my shirt is inside out.

I take off my shirt, which involves some maneuvering because I’m wearing a jacket on top of it. I manage to flip it, and then I throw it back on over my head. As I’m putting the jacket back on, I realize a woman with white-blond hair is standing a few feet away, staring at me.

“ Blake? ” she blurts out.

Out of context and with her hair looking different from the last time I saw her—shorter? longer?—it takes me a few seconds to recognize my former girlfriend. “Gwen?”

“It is you.” Gwen seems astonished, even though I think I look roughly the same as two years ago. “What are you doing ?”

“My shirt was…” I gesture helplessly at my T-shirt. “Anyway…uh…how are you, you know, doing?”

She sticks out her chest, and it’s hard not to notice that her shirt is definitely not inside out. And she doesn’t smell like cigarettes anymore. I wonder if she quit.

“Great, actually,” she says, and there’s an edge to her voice that surprises me. “I got a promotion at work, and also, I got engaged last week.”

Then she sticks her giant diamond right in my face.

I don’t know why she’s rubbing my nose in her success, because she was the one who broke up with me for practically no reason. Well, more like she started a stupid argument that ended with us breaking up. I don’t know if she thought I was at fault for the breakup, but by the way she’s looking at me, I can tell that she doesn’t have warm, fuzzy feelings for me.

“I’m really happy for you, Gwen.” I mean it—more or less. I’m not going to start listing my own accomplishments, the highlights of which include getting fired from my job and dumped by my fiancée. “You look like you’re doing great.”

Her gaze rakes over me. “And you look…”

She doesn’t complete the sentence. Just as well.

I glance at my watch—time to go upstairs. “Anyway, it’s been good seeing you, but I have to run.”

She gives me a strange look that I don’t try too hard to interpret. “Yes, so do I. I’ll…um…see you around, Blake.”

I’m willing to bet a thousand bucks I don’t have that I will never see her again.

The encounter with my ex-girlfriend has not put me in a good mindset to see Krista. I was anxious before, and now I feel much worse. What if two years from now, I run into Krista on the street and barely recognize her? The thought of it makes my chest tight.

I’d forgotten Becky and Malcolm’s building has a doorman, so my attempts to muscle my way upstairs probably would not have worked. For that reason, I’m grateful that when I say my name, the doorman waves me right in. The whole elevator ride to the twelfth floor, I’m tapping my right foot and resisting the urge to start pacing again.

When I get close to the apartment door, the smell of cinnamon hits me. I have clearly stressed Krista out, because she is making her snickerdoodle cookies. The aroma hits me with a wave of nostalgia—I miss her so much. I’m more determined than ever to win her back. I square my shoulders and knock purposefully on the door.

I fully expect Becky to be serving as the gatekeeper, so it’s a little surprising to see Krista standing at the door. Her strawberry-blond hair is pulled back into her patented messy bun, her lips are cotton candy pink, and she looks a little tired and disheveled too, if I’m being honest. But that only makes her more beautiful.

It’s been barely over a week since I’ve seen her, and it feels like a year. All I want is to reach out and give her a level ten hug.

“Krista,” I choke out.

I’m not imagining it when her own eyes fill with tears. “Hey, Blake.”

The diamond ring is in my coat pocket. I’m ready to give it back to her.

“Can I come in?” I ask.

She sucks in a breath. “Okay, but just for a minute.”

When I enter the apartment, the smell of cinnamon grows stronger. I follow Krista into the kitchen, and she pulls out an oven mitt, then pulls a tray of freshly baked cookies from the oven. She places them next to another tray that is already cooling. She made a lot of cookies. She’s clearly miserable.

“They smell great,” I say. “As always.”

She manages a tiny smile but doesn’t offer me one. “Thank you.”

“I miss your cookies.”

“Thank you.”

“I miss you , Krista.”

She looks away, her cheeks turning pink. “Blake…”

“Please give me another chance.” I attempt to reach for her hand, but she steps out of my grasp. “Nothing happened between me and Whitney. I swear on my life.”

“I believe that it didn’t,” she sighs, “but even so, you’re obsessed with that woman in an extremely unhealthy way. She’s all you talk about, Blake!”

“That’s not true.”

“It absolutely is true! You act like she is evil incarnate, but she’s just an ordinary person. A nice person.”

I clench my teeth. “Whitney is a lot of things, but she is not nice. In fact…”

In fact, I think there’s a chance Whitney killed Mr. Zimmerly.

I think something terrible may have happened in our living room.

I think Whitney might be trying to frame me for murder.

As I say all those words in my head, I recognize how wild it all sounds. Whitney framing me for murder? That sounds ridiculous. I can’t say that out loud. If Krista thinks I’m obsessed with Whitney, telling her what I really think will make things worse. Even though it’s all true.

“I’m worried about you, Blake.” She scrunches her eyebrows together. “I’m worried that you…that you’re losing your grip on reality. It’s scaring me. You’re so paranoid, and you won’t listen to anything I say.”

Okay, I definitely can’t tell her I think Whitney killed Mr. Zimmerly.

“I’m fine, Krista,” I insist. “I swear I am. The only reason I’m not fine is because you moved out.”

“I needed to do that.” She frowns. “I’m sorry, but you’re out of control. I couldn’t deal with it all anymore.”

“Deal with what?” I shoot back.

“Blake…”

“I’m serious! What are you talking about?”

I hadn’t even realized I had raised my voice until Becky materializes behind me, her arms folded across her chest. She clears her throat loudly.

“I think it’s time you get going, Blake,” she says.

I look between the two of them. Becky is glaring at me, and Krista just looks sad. This isn’t fair. I didn’t do anything wrong. I never cheated on Krista, and I’m not imagining that something is going on with Whitney. Krista might not believe me, but I know that woman has it out for me. She has been targeting me practically from the moment she moved in.

I appeal to Krista: “Can we please just talk a little bit longer?”

“No.” Becky’s voice is firm.

I don’t understand why she gets to be the gatekeeper.

“Time to go. Also…” Becky looks me up and down. “Your shirt is backward.”

I look down, and sure enough, the tag is showing on the front of my shirt. Damn. I must’ve flipped it around when I turned it inside out. How hard is it to put on a damn shirt?

“Fine,” I say. “I’ll go.”

I look over at the tray of cooling snickerdoodles on the counter. Will I ever get to eat any of Krista’s baked goods again?

“Wait.” Krista must notice the look on my face, because she grabs the spatula from the counter. “Let me give you some cookies—for the road.”

I’m pretty sure I will never be able to eat these cookies because they’re the last thing I have left of hers, but I let her pack them up for me. I memorize this moment, watching her slim fingers prying the cookies off the tray—her nails are painted a pale pink color that makes her hands look even more fragile. She places about six of them into a Ziploc bag and seals it for freshness. She steps forward and slips the bag of cookies into my jacket pocket.

It’s a strangely intimate gesture, and it makes me think that despite everything, there’s a chance we might be okay again someday.

If only I can get rid of Whitney.

“Goodbye, Blake,” she says.

“Bye, Krista,” I manage.

She reaches over to give me a level seven hug, which is tight enough to give me another modicum of hope. I hold her long enough that Becky gives me a look of disapproval. But Becky can go to hell.

One way or another, I am getting Krista back.