Avery stood in front of her mirror, twisting a tube of lip gloss in her fingers. Her room was warm with late afternoon light, soft music playing low from her speaker, but she barely noticed any of it.
She had tried on four outfits already.
The fifth one—light denim skirt, fitted black top, simple gold hoops—was fine. Cute. Casual, but enough. She wasn’t trying too hard. At least, that’s what she kept telling herself.
But she’d spent twenty minutes on her eyeliner.
Her stomach fluttered as she applied the gloss, watching the way her lips caught the shine. It wasn’t for Lucas, not really. It was for something else entirely. Someone else.
She wiped it off.
Then reapplied it.
A knock came at her door just as she reached for her mascara. She froze, then heard the door creak open without
