Page 60 of Broken Pact

He leans casually against the counter, a playful glint in his eye. “Thought I’d surprise my best girl.”

I give him a sidelong glance. “Is this your master plan? Convince the town and everyone we’re dating by bringing me coffee in the mornings?”

He grins, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “It’d be easier if you were in my bed, but I can work with this.”

My tongue runs along my bottom lip. “Dream on. I am never sharing a bed with you.”

He leans forward, his grin sinful and eyes dark. “Never say never, baby.”

I roll my eyes, but there’s no denying the warmth spreading through me. “You’re impossible.”

He chuckles, then his expression turns serious for a moment. “As much as I want to stay, I gotta get to the garage this morning. And baby, when I leave, lock the door, yeah?”

The sudden shift catches me off guard. “Is there something going on?”

His gaze softens, a moment of genuine concern. “Just want to make sure you’re safe. You know you can always come to me if you need help with anything, right?”

The sincerity in his voice makes my heart ache a little. But then anxiety rears its head, convinced he somehow knows about my landlord situation. And to round out the trio of emotional warfare, embarrassment takes over. And she’s the fucking worst.

“I can take care of myself.” It comes out harsher than I meant, a knee-jerk response when I’m feeling embarrassed. And it seems I have that emotion in spades, which is so frustrating.

I clear my throat, dropping my gaze for a minute. “Sorry. It’s just, I can handle everything on my own.” Mostly.

His smirk doesn’t fade, he just nods and raps his knuckles on the countertop. “I know. Humor me, yeah? So about tonight.”

“What about tonight?”

“How do you feel about pizza? I’ll pick you up around six?” He pushes off the counter and points at me. “But if you’re one of those pineapple on pizza people, we might have to break up.”

Laughing, I shake my head. “You’ll have to find out some other time. I’m busy tonight.”

His jaw clenches so quickly, I would’ve missed it if I wasn’t looking. “Yeah, with what, hm?”

I wave my hand absently. “It’s kind of lame, but my parents host a family dinner on Sundays.”

He hums under his breath, his eyes looking over my face like he’s cataloging my features. “Another time then.”

For a moment, we just stand there, the air between us filled with unspoken words. Jasper’s gaze holds mine, steady and warm, and for a moment, I almost forget this isn’t real.

“Thanks for the coffee, Jasper,” I murmur, breaking the silence.

He nods, that playful glint returning to his eyes. “See you soon, baby.”

As he walks out, I watch him go, my heart pounding in my chest. This fake relationship is turning out to be more complicated than I expected. And maybe, just maybe, I’m okay with that.

29

CORALINE

My hand dives into my purse, fingers tangling in everything but the sharp edges of my keys. I crane my neck to look into the crossbody close to my hip, opening the top and angling it toward the one working porch light. I make a mental note to send the landlord another email to fix it.

My roommate, Harper, usually handles that kind of thing since she’s listed as the primary person on the lease, but surprise to no one, she’s at her boyfriend’s house. He’s an entitled trust fund type who thinks a woman’s place is serving a man. It’s difficult to witness the way Davis treats Harper, and even harder to keep my mouth shut about it. So it’s probably a good thing she spends so much time at his place.

The truth is, I don’t mind being alone. I’m actually really good at it. Growing up with three siblings, you’d think that I was always surrounded by people, but it’s just not how it happened in my house. My older brothers have always been thick as thieves, which is a good thing considering they’re only eleven months apart. And then there’s me, two years later. By the time Abby was old enough to sort of play with me, my brothers had started largely ignoring me. I remember thinking finally—now I get to have my very own best friend.

But my sister prefers her own company to pretty much anyone else’s. She’s not an introvert. She’s sociable and friendly and has more friends than most people would be comfortable with. But it feels like it’s for show, a box to check off on her list of goals.

“Where are you?” Frustration huffs out of my chest with each swipe of my fingers inside my bag. It’s not even that big of a purse, so I don’t know what I was expecting. It’s not a Mary Poppins carpet bag of tricks.

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