WE BUMP INTO EACH other by the front door Thursday morning, after I finish an early jog. I’m not sure why, but I woke up at 5 AM this morning wide awake and couldn’t get back to sleep.

“Hi.” I dab my sweaty forehead on the back of my hand. I’m sure I look hot. Literally, not figuratively.

“Hey.” He reaches for his dusty work boots that rest on a wool rug by the front door. His white ALCOTT ELECTRIC t-shirt is blinding almost, contrasting against his bronzed skin. It must be new. “So thanks for taking care of Tucker last night.”

“Is everything okay? With him, I mean?”

He bites the inside of his mouth for a second before nodding. “Yeah. He’s a tough kid. He’ll get through it.”

“Probably helps he has you.”

I expect Sutter to roll his eyes or tell me to stop glorifying him, something self-deprecating, but he stands there staring, lost in thought almost, like he’s thinking hard about something.

If only he could read my thoughts—then he’d know how badly I wish I could kiss him. I don’t even care that I’m slicked in sweat and smell like the outdoors. I want to feel the heat of his mouth. His fingers in my hair. All of him consuming all of me.

I want him to look at me the way he did before—like I was some kind of wonderful.

Sutter glances at the door. I know he has to go.

“What are you doing tonight?” I ask.

“Not sure yet.”

“Maybe … we could hang out?”

Sutter walks to the door, placing his hand on the knob as he lingers. “Yeah. Maybe. We’ll see.”

There’s an ache in my chest. An actual ache. My stomach knots as I watch him swing the door open.

“Why are you doing this?” I ask.

He turns to face me. “Melrose.”

“I know you felt it too, Sutter.” My eyes burn, but I refuse to let him see me cry.

“I have to go.” He shuts the door and trots down the front porch steps, climbing into his truck a few seconds later.

I’d like to think he’s going to let my words sink in on his drive to work, but knowing him, he’ll probably drown it out with his favorite classic rock station.

He’s good at shutting out the world when things get too intense. I just never thought he’d shut me out—not after how far we’d come since the day we first met.

At the end of the day, I suppose I have to accept the fact that I don’t mean what I thought I meant to him.

But it won’t make me miss him any less when I’m gone.

I couldn’t stay home today.

Tucker vegged out on the sofa next to a stack of books he found God knows where, and I packed up Murphy and hightailed it to Gram’s house. Later this afternoon, I met up with Aerin and Maritza for a late lunch, and then I drove to Abbot-Kinney in Santa Monica and did some window shopping before settling into a corner table at a coffee house for a little soul searching.

Speaking of that … I haven’t heard from Nick since Wednesday morning.

Grabbing my phone, I shoot him a quick text, asking what he’s up to. If he’s still on the East Coast, it’s almost dinner time, so hopefully he’s up.

His little “existential crisis” episode was unnerving. He’s always been the calm one. The one who had his emotions under control and knew exactly what he wanted out of life. Somehow our roles have reversed.

I finish my almond milk latte and head back to my car. With traffic, it takes nearly an hour and a half to get home. The 405 is mostly stop and go for a while, and every time we stop, I think about seeing Sutter tonight after what I said earlier, and then I have to make a conscious effort to stop tapping my fingers or bouncing my knee.

I’m not good at being anxious. I can cry on command, but Lord help me if I can pull myself together.

I’m dying to know if he thought about me today, about what I said to him in the foyer. I basically confessed that I felt something between us, and then he … left.

Maybe he was running late for work, but I like to think that the conversation made him that uncomfortable that he had to get the hell out of there, and the reason it made him that uncomfortable was because he felt something too.

By the time Murphy and I pull in the driveway to the little bungalow, I kill the engine and scoop my dog under my arm, heading in.

The house is dark inside, all the shades drawn, but it smells sweet. Like fresh roses. Wine. Candles.

Inch by inch, my crazy heart climbs up my throat until it reaches my ears. The sound of my pulse whooshing almost drowns out the faint sound of soft music.

Sutter isn’t the romantic type, at least from what I’ve seen, but I have experienced the thoughtful, selfless side of him before, and I wouldn’t put this past him.

There’s a very real chance he feels bad about this morning, and about icing me out these last couple of days.

Maybe this is his way of making it up to me?

I can’t help but grin as I picture him standing in the next room, waiting to scoop me into his arms and tell me he feels the same, that he’s going to miss me like hell when I’m gone, and that he had to tell me how he felt before I left.

I visualize him telling me I’ll have something to come back to in a couple of months, someone waiting for me.

But my little runaway daydream comes to a screeching halt when I spot the figure standing in the kitchen doorway.

“… Nick?” I peer across the dim room. “Oh my god. What are you doing here?”

My voice cracks, and there’s a tightness in the back of my throat that I can’t seem to swallow away.

Disappointment.

It’s disappointment.

And it isn’t going anywhere.

“Mel,” he says, coming toward me. He takes my hands in his, and I’m distracted by how awkward this feels.

A month ago, I’d be jumping, squealing, crying, screaming, throwing myself into his arms.

A month ago, I’d have been sure this was exactly what I wanted.

It took meeting Sutter for me to realize, I never wanted Nick in the first place. My feelings for him were puppy love at best, an unrequited childhood crush.

“You know I wrote this song about you, don’t you?” he asks.

I don’t know where the music is coming from, but I soon realize it’s “Teenage Afterburn” by his band, Melrose Nights.

It was one of my favorite songs of his because it was about loving someone and being afraid they wouldn’t love you back, so you don’t say anything at all and the opportunity passes you by.

Growing up, I always thought of Nick when I heard this song. But now? My mind goes straight to Sutter.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me that?” I ask.

“Because I was an idiot.” He laughs, squeezing my hands in his. “I had the biggest crush on you all through high school.”

“What?” I’m glued to him, taking in his words like breaking news. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“I loved you too much to screw up the good thing we had,” he says. “I wanted you as my girlfriend. But I needed you as my best friend.”

There are no words.

“I love you, Mel,” he says. “I’ve always loved you. And it took seeing you happy with someone else to make me realize I could lose you.”

“Nick ... first of all, you’re never going to lose me. Second of all, happy with whom?”

“Sutter.” He doesn’t hesitate.

I clap my hand over my mouth and laugh because it’s all I can do. “That’s what this is about? You got jealous because Sutter and I were hitting it off and so you had to come back here and profess your love for me?”

“I know how this seems.” He rolls his eyes. “But yeah. It triggered something in me. Like a sleeper cell or some shit, I don’t know.”

I study his face. All the features I’d dreamt about night after night, year after year. There’s no fullness in my chest when I look at him. No threat of breathlessness. No giddy, bubbly sensation in my head.

“You don’t want me, Nick. You only want what you think you can’t have,” I say it with love, painting my tone with as much compassion as possible.

“I want to take you somewhere,” he says, ignoring my rational explanation of this craziness.

Nick releases my hand, making his way around the living room and blowing out candles. Next, he hooks his arm in mine and leads me outside toward a silver Ford. Producing a set of keys with a rental car agency’s logo on the keyring, he unlocks the passenger door.

He’s got this dopey grin on his face that reminds me of the time we were ten and ding-dong-ditching the mean woman who lived across the street. But Nick wouldn’t fly across the country and pull a stupid prank on me in order to profess his love.

Nick’s eyes catch mine and then he throws his arms around me. “God, it’s so good to see you.”

“Where are you taking me?” I ask as he swings me a minute later. The swing catches me by surprise, tickling my middle and making me laugh.

“You’ll see.”