Fourteen precise minutes later, I haven’t even buckled up before she begins her interrogation. “Question time!”

My eyes are on the rearview mirror as I reverse out of the garage. “I thought you needed time to process.”

I love questions—when I’m the one asking them. I don’t like being on the other side of the microphone. It always feels like a test designed to fail.

“Well, I had to rush to meet your timeline!” She tips her chip up. “I am nothing if not adaptable to hostile environments. And bitchy bossy best-friends.”

From the corner of my eye, I see her body is slightly turned in my direction in her seat, her elbow on the window so her hand holds her inquisitive face.

I smile and shake my head, already more at ease. Camila is my friend. She won’t cast stones. She’ll listen and provide insane advice, but she won’t condemn.

“Firstly, what else are you not telling me?” She waves a finger in my face, partially obstructing my view. “You still have that sick look on your face. Of someone who’s holding too much inside and is bound to vomit—”

I swat her hand away. “Gross.”

“Or have a mental breakdown.”

“That’s more likely.”

She nods. “You totally look like the kind of girl who has a nervous breakdown at three in the morning, cry and scream your soul into your pillow, and then you get up and go to work like nothing happened.”

I don’t correct her—there are never tears—and tap my fingers against the steering wheel.

“I… I think I might have feelings for him.”

“Ya think, friend?”

Blowing out a breath, I take a moment to convert the chaos that plagues my mind to words. “I’m confused. I used to despise him. The mere mention of his name had me running for the hills. And now I look back and… feel silly for that.”

My eyes stay on the road as I speak.

Perhaps that’s why confessionals have a wall to veil the listener. It’s easier to pretend you’re not being judged for your sins.

“All the reasons I used to justify my dislike of him now look silly. And fabricated. It’s like I wanted to hate him. I feel embarrassed. It’s not like he’s not annoying—he is. I still want to choke him at least 90% of the time—”

“Kinky.”

“—but he’s not the devil I convinced myself he was. He’s not the bad guy. And… it’s a mess. I’m a mess. I need you to help me rationalize this. I can’t function any other way.”

“We can do that.” She pulls one pigtail tighter, then the other, as if she’s gearing up for a fight. Or a dissection. “First of all, I can’t understand why you were so hellbent on hating him?”

Finally, an easy answer. “Because I thought he was a jerk.”

I remember that day like it was yesterday. “Back when he moved in, I got him some flowers. He took one look at me, he sneered at the flowers like they offended his mother, and said ‘I’m allergic. I have to go—do something. Excuse me.’ And he slammed the door in my face. Rude fucking asshole.”

The trip down the memory lane heats up my blood, a feeling I became too well acquainted with in the past year and a half. That’s how I was able to cling to my contempt for so long.

“Actually, no. He didn’t slam the door. He closed it with a freaking click, which was worse somehow.”

“I feel like maybe we’re not talking about the same guy here?” She wears the same look of confusion of a kid when they realized Santa isn’t real. “That’s what happened? The whole story?”

“Well, he’d knocked on my door before. He had a cup of sugar or whatever, saying something about introducing himself. That I could knock if I ever needed anything. I don’t remember very well. I was upset about something, so I didn’t really have the time or attention span.” Hearing myself, I sound like a jerk too. Uh. “I felt bad, so the next day I got the flowers. And the rest is history. Bad history”

“Still. Whoever you’re talking about, it’s not Miles.” Her pigtails swish as she shakes her head. She’s in denial.

“Exactly. Which is why when I saw him acting like himself, I was convinced that’s what it was. An act. That he was hiding his true asshole nature behind a mask of charm. So I made it my mission to stay away from him, let him see I knew the truth about him by making my contempt evident.”

“And he never apologized?”