I really thought he was joking, but the proof is in the pudding. He brought me to a karaoke bar. I save our seats while he fetches some drinks.

"Liquid courage.” He returns with a tray of shots, and my gut churns.

"I’m not sure about this.”

He slumps into his chair. “What is the dilemma? You wanted to do it, so do it.”

He’s talking about the karaoke, and I’m talking about the drinks. I don’t want to see him get drunk, but I fear the inevitable. I can't just come out and say it. Because it would turn his already sour mood to ice. It was a nice gesture, and I don’t want to spoil things.

The whole day has been a nice gesture, and I'm struggling to find the meaning behind it. Daire knows he doesn’t need to do any of this. But somehow, in the space of a week, we've gone from hating each other to doing crazy things together. We’re sleeping together. Groping and making out and spending time on what could only logically be considered dates.

It doesn't feel superficial. It doesn't feel like the Daire that I know at all. And I'm so confused. I'm in so much turmoil trying to make sense of it that I feel like I'm drowning in a pool of shallow water. But I also know better than to say any of this out loud. Admitting my feelings or true vulnerability to Daire would be far more brutal at this stage of my life then it was when we were younger.

For years I have tried to pacify myself with the belief that I was merely clinging to him in a situation where I had little control. He was a source of strength and stability in my chaotic relationship with Ryan, and I’ve managed to successfully water down my feelings for him over the last decade. I’ve managed to convince myself it was nothing but a passing phase in my life that I would blot from my memory.

But I know now that it's real. It's chafing at me day and night, and there are elements I didn't have back then. His touch, his skin, his tastes and his scent and the way my body comes alive for him when he touches me. They feel like a hard-earned victory in the war we’ve waged for so long, and I’m terrified to lose them.

I don't know what to do, so I do the only thing I can. I take the shot that he offers me. Chocolate cake with a wedge of lemon. They’re my favorite, and I'm not even certain I ever told him that. But Daire remembers the little things and sometimes it makes me believe that this time could be different. It's easy to think that when the alcohol settles in my stomach and he looks at me from across the table, his eyes dark and hot and filled with promises of so much danger.

"Aren't you going to have one?" I ask.

He doesn’t blink. "No, LB."

I want to ask him why. I want to have hope. But hope is the last thing I need right now. Logic, I tell myself. I need to remember to be logical. "I guess these aren't really your drink of choice, huh?"

"They have a full bar here," he notes.

I know that. Daire does too. He also knows I'm not asking about the shots. He hasn't been shaking. He hasn't been calling me late at night to come and scrape him from whatever bar he's been kicked out of. He hasn't been that Daire in a while. I wanted to ignore it because hope was there threatening to disappoint if I acknowledged it.

But it’s been a long time. A very long time. And part of me knows that Mellie was right. Things haven’t been easy for Daire. He’s never forgiven himself for what happened. He’s blamed himself and punished himself and wallowed in his guilt. He carries his own scars from that night, and I’m certain it’s something he’ll never forget. But that doesn’t make it okay. That doesn’t mean he can sit here and act like he isn’t drinking anymore. That repressed anger comes over me like a tsunami, silent and deadly.

It doesn’t make sense. Daire's done nothing wrong. In fact, he's done everything right today. If this were a real date, I would tell him to take me home right now and invite him in. Because he's faultless. He's everything.

He always has been.

But I can’t get over it. He’s acting like such a hypocrite, sitting here sober while he watches me drink. I’m the responsible one. Not him. I sway when I stand up, and he catches me around the arm. "Are you alright?"

"Get drunk with me." Apparently, chocolate cake shots make me mean.

Daire’s lips tilt at the corners, but it isn’t because he’s amused. "Why?”

“Why not?” I challenge. “Don’t act like you aren’t still drinking. I know you. And just because you stopped calling me, it doesn’t mean you stopped doing this.”

He steps into my space and brushes his fingers over my cheek. Soft and gentle and sweeter than I deserve right now. But Daire isn't sweet. That's what I keep telling myself when he leans into me.

"What’s the matter, LB?" he murmurs against my lips. “Have you missed my drunken phone calls?”

“Have I missed scraping you up in a sorry state from every bar in the city?” I scoff. “The answer to that question is no, Daire. But it’s our reality, right? So why pretend we’re something else?”

Daire retreats and scrubs a hand through his hair. I miss his warmth, and I hate the hurt in his eyes. It’s false. It’s so, so false. Because you can’t hurt something that no longer has a heart. And I’m sick of this charade.

“What is your problem, Lola?” he asks. “Why are you acting this way?”

“My problem is this.” I gesture between us. “You’re not being yourself. This whole thing is so fake. It’s not real, and it’s not us. The bucket list thing? The taking me out and buying me clothes and giving me roses and fake dates. Why? What could you possibly accomplish by doing these things?”

The shutters come down over his face, and his eyes drift over towards the bar. It shouldn’t satisfy me to see how easily he’s caving, but it does. It also hurts, because it means I’m right. It means that Daire is never going to change and I’m an idiot.

My phone buzzes from the table, and I pick it up. By the time I reply to a text, Daire is at the bar. He returns with a drink and sets it on the table. His eyes meet mine, and there’s an unspoken question lingering between us. He’s waiting for my permission, or possibly my continued encouragement. I don’t know why when he never needed it before.

“Good news.” My voice grates my own nerves when I wiggle the phone in his direction. “Julian is in town. He’s coming down to meet us now.”

Daire’s entire body turns to stone as he reads the message and then looks to me. “He doesn’t need to know about us.”

His statement punches me right in the stomach. I nod stiffly and repeat the sentiment.

“He doesn’t need to know.”