The door to my apartment is blocked by another set of brown boxes full of more shit Kate ordered for her classroom. You would think the delivery guy would pile them off to the side a little, but no. I have to lean into the stack to access the lock while juggling my phone, messenger bag, and the three travel coffee cups I had in my car. It’s been a rough week, and it’s not anywhere near being over yet.

“Kate,” I yell over the music thumping through our apartment. “Katelyn, get your shit—”

“Babe, maybe I should let you go,” Gavin says, pulling my attention back to the reason my phone is wedged precariously between my chin and shoulder.

“Sorry for being such a hot mess and a hard-ass. She loves those kids in her class.” I have zero experience with kids, but I think my roommate might be one of the best kindergarten teachers in existence. “I mean, if I had to spend all day with snot-nosed five-year-olds, I’d have a serious drinking problem.”

“Are you sure she doesn’t? Didn’t you tell me tequila was her therapy?”

I don’t know whether to laugh at him for remembering the little things I’ve told him about my friends or cry because he remembers even the most insignificant things I’ve told him.

“Yeah, but it’s more for relationship therapy, never frustration with the kiddos. She’s got the worst dating history ever, I swear.” I kick off my shoes before rinsing my coffee mugs and dropping them into the dishwasher.

“I can’t wait to meet your friends. Soon? I’ll see if I can rearrange things and get a couple of days. I want to see you. I need to see you.”

My shoulders droop, and I’m hit with just how much I miss him.

How will this ever work with us? On different coasts, different countries for months at a time.

“I’m sorry. I’ll … Gavin, I just can’t get away right now. I feel so stuck.”

“Nah, no worries. I’ll see what I can do, but I’m gonna let you go now. I miss you.”

“Me, too.” I end the call before I can make a tear or say something crazy that I haven’t even begun to examine yet. The frustrations and doubts from being separated are at war with the heart-wrenching longing that makes me think this could be love.

How? How can I be in love?

Lost in the deep, dark recesses of my mind, I jump when Kate drops her boxes on the kitchen floor.

“Can you hand me the scissors?”

“God, you scared the shit out of me,” I gush, hand flying to my chest to keep my heart from beating its way out.

“No kidding. What’s happening? You looked pretty deep in thought.” Kate reaches over the island and grabs a knife from the drawer. She unpacks each of the boxes, lining the island with feathers, balloons, paper plates, and a million other miscellaneous things, grouping them in a completely nonsensical way.

“I was—am really. Do you want wine?” I ask, finally taking my coat off. “I think I need wine to figure this out.” I grab a glass from the cabinet and turn to see if I need to grab another.

Kate bobs her head side to side and looks at the clock on the microwave. “Couldn’t hurt,” she says. “I have a date—eh, let’s not jinx things. I’m having dinner with someone tonight, but I’m sure the wine will help.”

And it finally clicks that Kate’s not in her usual after-school leggings and hoodie. She’s dressed nice. Black pencil skirt, white silk blouse—

“You’re rocking the sexy-librarian thing pretty hard. Who is this guy?” I pour us each a glass of merlot and lean against the counter, watching her repack all her treasures according to the projects she has no doubt planned. “Another Tinder winner?”

The woodsy, berry notes of the wine burst on my tongue.

Too bad I’m more in the mood to gulp than sip and savor.

Concentration pushing her brows together, Kate closes up the freshly organized boxes and labels the short sides in color-coded marker. “Nope. And I’m sure it won’t amount to anything.”

She shrugs, trying her best for nonplussed, but this girl needs a break. She’s been on so many disastrous dates. Not to mention, the guy she moved up here with, the one she caught macking on another dude … yeah, she’s earned one of the good ones. Now if only she can manage to find one.

“Let’s concentrate on you for a hot minute though. Things rocky with the rock star?”

“No, it’s just … I don’t know.” I sigh. “Dude, can I actually be falling for him? Like, in real love when we’ve only spent a handful of days together? Half of them well over a year ago?”

Kate sips at her wine and assesses me over the rim of the glass. “Anything’s possible. Is it a problem though? You sound like it might be a problem.” She stacks the boxes, tucking them under the table by our front door.

“It’s just stupid. We’ve spent next to no time together. What if it’s all an illusion and we’re not at all compatible?”

“What do you mean? Like, sexually?” She whips her head around and stares at me. “I thought you said—”

My wine barely makes it down my throat, narrowly escaping a wild expulsion through my nose. “The sex is fine, but what if that’s all there is? It’s not like we can just date like normal people and then walk away when things go south. He’s either in LA or on tour, and I’m here. That doesn’t bode well for a normal dating relationship.”

“When?”

I look at her like she’s making no sense—because, right now, she’s not.

“You said ‘when things go south,’ not if. Are you invested or not? Are you willing to take a risk for real, or are you just playing with him?”

“Same thing—”

“Nuh-uh. Girl, you need to decide what your plan is. Are you in or out? Planning or playing? There’s no harm in playing, but you’ve gotta know that for yourself. And, if you’re just playing, then it’s probably not gonna go anywhere.” She pauses, checking the time again. “Listen, I’m the last one you should go to for relationship anything, but if you’re not putting yourself on the line, you’re not serious. And you’re not gonna build anything worthwhile on a fling.”

“But that’s all this was ever supposed to be,” I whine, stomping, my feet.

Not proud at all for my toddler behavior, Kate takes my tantrum in stride and pulls out her totally reasonable teacher voice. “And that’s all it ever will be unless you risk your heart and give it a real chance.” She drains her glass and hands it to me. “I’ve gotta shake. I own the fact that this is going nowhere, so I’m meeting Mr. Right Now at the restaurant. Don’t wait up. If he plays his cards right, he might get dessert.”

Sashaying her way to the door, Kate turns dramatically and flips her ruby-red velvet coat around her shoulders, waiting for the inevitable. When I hold off longer than pleases her, she rolls her hand in a hurry-up motion.

Rolling my eyes, I hit her with the standard send-off. “Be safe and make good choices.”

The door clicks shut, and I dump another healthy dose of wine in my glass.

With the tracks done, the production engineers slap us with a rough mix of each of the songs. The hours upon hours of recording the initial tracks—starting with Ian and Nate, then me, and finally Kane—are draining. Exhausting, both physically and emotionally. But, at the same time, the experience is thrilling.

Rand, being the badass fucker he is, rocks the preproduction so that the tracks we lay are tight. Really tight. He’s got us in line with playing as close to perfection as we can get, so the mixing and engineering is almost as simple as layering the tracks together and adjusting a couple of slides on the board.

He and our producer, Slick, are firm believers in the theory that every shrug and, “We’ll be fixing in mixing,” adds an easy hour to the process.

That is why my fuckup with “One” sucks hard. It’s not just the money we wasted—I wasted; it’s also the time.

Money can be rationalized; it can be earned back, and that wealth shared makes everyone happy. But time squandered is time lost, and no one is happy about that. No one.

The hours wasted in trying to get the elusive “One” tracked has put the engineers behind. It’s put us behind, and I’m the dog who did that. Any grand thoughts I might have had about trying to slip away to see Gracyn for a couple of days are squashed with impunity because of my failure. And doesn’t that just piss me off?

Live and fucking learn.