PHOENIX:
It started with the note.
That stupid little card tucked between four dozen roses.
Dinner at 7?
I read it again while brushing my teeth. Propped it against the mirror like it was a ransom demand I hadn’t decided whether to meet.
Dinner at 7.
Like it was just that easy.
I spit into the sink and glared at myself. “Don’t you dare start smiling.”
My reflection didn’t listen.
The clock ticked way too fast for a day that felt like it was dragging nails across my skin. By six, I’d already opened my closet four times. Pulled out jeans. A black dress. A red one. Put them all back.
What the hell was I even doing?
This wasn’t a date. It couldn’t be. Ryder and I didn’t do that. We did back-and-forths, hot-and-cold, snarls and smirks and a tension so thick it could choke a bear.
Bu
