“And what do you do for a living?” my grandfather asked.

The man who’d just moved in next door, Matt—short for Matteo—sipped his iced tea, his lips crinkling at the corners. All the other times I’d seen our neighbor, he’d been dressed casually: faded t-shirts and workout shorts. Apparently, he’d wanted to impress my grandparents after they’d invited him over for afternoon tea, because tucked into khaki pants, his navy-blue dress shirt was crisp and clean, sleeves folded to perfection around his forearms. “I’m an entrepreneur,” he said.

At fifteen, I’d just learned what “entrepreneur” meant. Next to me, Milky nudged my side. When I turned to her, she was grinning from ear-to-ear, her eyes dancing with desire. Not because the man opposite us had just used a word I’m sure she didn’t understand, but because she’d been crushing on the guy since we’d come home from school one day and seen the moving truck in his driveway.

My grandmother placed her glass on the table and eyed the man. “And what exactly is it that you entrepeneer in?”

She obviously didn’t know the meaning of the word, either, and I wasn’t about to tell her that “entrepeneer” was not a word.

“A little of everything,” he said, his voice deeper than the boys I’d encountered during inter-school academic competitions. He added, “But mainly merchandise.” Matt offered my grandmother a smile that had Milky sitting higher. The man must’ve noticed, because he smiled again, this one directed at my sister, and ran a hand through his hair while he leaned back in his chair, getting more comfortable. I wasn’t blind; the guy was nice to look at. Dark hair, dark eyes, olive skin from genetics rather than UV rays. His good looks were movie star, yet rough around the edges, and it was hard to pinpoint his age. He could be anywhere from eighteen to thirty. Like those twenty-something-year-old actors who portrayed sixteen-year-old high school students in shows like One Tree Hill.

The conversation went on and on while my grandparents asked more questions, Milky got more lost in her adolescent heart’s desire, and I watched the Saturday sun beat down on us, wondering when it would all be over.

When enough time had passed, and I could no longer hold out, I stood up. “May I please be excused? I have homework to do.”

Matt’s gaze swung to mine, dark, almost devilish eyes pinning me to my spot. Then he smirked the devil’s grin, and I found myself transfixed by the way his eyes settled over me. “Homework on the weekend?” he asked. “That’s dedication.”

My grandfather spoke for me, pride clear in his voice. “Andromeda’s our academic wonder child. She’s in the National Honor Society, debate, drama and math clubs. Our girl’s on her way to Harvard!”

Feeling a pressure pull in my gut, unease made me shift my attention to my twin. “Milky’s on the dance team,” I said, pushing the focus to her.

Seconds ticked by as silence blanketed us. Finally, my grandmother said, “You may be excused, Andromeda.”

I exhaled a breath and nodded once. But just as I turned to leave, a hand landed on my shoulder. I glanced back to Matt standing close behind me. He held out his hand, and when I took it in mine, my pulse spiked, and nervous energy caused my breath to catch.

“It was really nice meeting you, Andromeda. Hopefully, I’ll see you around.”

* * *

It was two weeks later when I ran into Matt, literally.

I’d been so focused on running out of the concert hall doors to catch the bus home after a Mathletes competition that I didn’t see him on the sidewalk. His hands grasped my flailing arms until I was on steady feet, his laughter warm against the side of my head. “Whoa. Hey now,” he murmured, pulling back to take in my frame.

My head spun, not just from the impact, but from the way I could still feel his heated touch even though his hands were no longer on me. Recognition formed in his features, and he grinned down at me, his eyes light against the spring sun. His gaze wandered up my body, before settling on my face.

Maybe it should have been a sign of what was to come, but his reaction was common. I had a twin, an identical one, and that meant most people had to look twice, look longer, before attempting to prove they knew the difference between us.

It was clear he was having a tough time differentiating, and he winced a little—charming, in a way—and then slowly, surely, he stood taller and announced, victorious, “Andromeda.”

I giggled at my neighbor. “How’d you know?”

He raised his hand between us, careful as to not scare me, and touched the right side of my face with his index finger. “Face like this, it’s hard to forget.”

There was no stopping the way my body reacted to his touch. Heat spread, pooling in my cheeks until I could no longer face him. I was glaring at his feet when he said, “What are you doing, anyway? Shouldn’t you be at school?”

I blindly pointed to the bus stop. “I had a Mathlete thing, and I was running for the bus.”

A hissing sound came from the man in front of me, above me, around me. “You mean the one that just left?”

My eyes snapped to the back of the retreating bus. “No!” I cried, and he laughed at my expense.

“I’m heading home. I’ll give you a ride.”

From the stalking Milky had done, we knew that Matt owned two cars: a giant, black SUV, and an older, yellow convertible. That day, we maneuvered the streets from downtown toward our homes surrounded by butter-tinged metal. He kept the stereo low, his hands on the wheel, and it was there, in our own little bubble, that I finally found the courage to ask a question that’d been on my mind since I saw him carry an enormous TV across his front lawn. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-six,” he said, not skipping a beat. He leaned to his side and glanced at me, his gaze trailing from my bare legs—where the hem of my school-issued plaid skirt met my thighs—and up to my eyes. He cleared his throat and focused on the road. “Which is too damn old to be having the thoughts I’m having.”