Nate’s POV
Rachel has been acting really suspicious ever since I got back from shopping.
I don’t get it, I think to myself as I watch her pace anxiously around the kitchen, sipping at a hard seltzer with a furrowed brow. What could possibly have happened? I was only gone a few hours, came home, got dressed for the party, and came out to meet her.
And, of course, she’s denying that anything’s wrong.
“You’re not typically much of a pacer,” I can’t help but point out, even though I know she’s not going to admit to anything. “You worried about something?”
She shakes her head, not looking me in the eye. “I’m fine. What time does the party start?”
Something really is wrong with her, I marvel; we haven’t assigned a party start time since we were sixteen years old. People come over when they
