Page 54 of Yours Until Forever

Undefined relationship that’s confusing. Low-commitment, high emotional damage. Also known as: modern romance.

Me:

I hate everything.

Colin:

Define “everything.”

Me:

This. You two. The internet. Modern dating. Words like zaddy.

Tim:

She’s spiraling. Place your bets now. I give it two hours before she bakes a dozen cakes and starts labeling her pantry.

I place my phone down and decide Tim doesn’t know me at all. I then proceed to take a shower, shave both legs, exfoliate, moisturize, and put on actual clothes. I am calm. I am collected. I am absolutely not spiraling over whatever Marin has decided is our “angle”, or the things being said on social media.

I even light a candle and read a chapter of a novel. That’s how notspiralingI am.

And then, an hour and fifty-one minutes later, I receive a text from James about how he just knew I was giving it to Gage, and my spiral is on. I’m in the kitchen, lining up ingredients like I’m prepping forThe Great British Bake Offand muttering things like “It’s just one cake, Tim can calm down.”

Five hours later, I’m still in my kitchen. I’ve baked my little heart out. I’ve rearranged my pantry. Cleaned my fridge. And successfully avoided both social media and my ex-husband all afternoon.

My kitchen is a mess, though.

I’m thinking about cleaning it up when my doorman calls to let me know Gage is here. I glance down at myself, at the oversized oatmeal knit sweater that hangs off one shoulder, black leggings dusted with flour, and fuzzy socks that used to be all white but now have cocoa sprinkled over them. My hair’s in a messy bun that’s doing more mess than bun, and I’m pretty sure there’s flour in there too. Not exactly the picture of “come on in”, but here we are.

“Thanks. Send him up, Dan,” I say, then spin to assess the war zone that is my kitchen. If I had magical powers, now would be the time to summon them. One snap of my fingers, and poof—clean hair, spotless kitchen, and maybe clothes that don’t look like I lost a baking battle. But no, no magic. Just me, knee-deep in domestic disarray, and Gage on his way up.

I’m back in the kitchen when the elevator dings and I swear that sound just became as sexually charged as a text notification is for me these days.

He strides into my kitchen wearing black dress pants and a fitted, crisp black shirt with the sleeves rolled up just enough to end me.

“Seriously,” I toss out, unable to stop myself, “do you own any clothes that don’t scream ‘sexy hostile takeover?’”

A slow, sexy smile fills his face as he comes to a stop on the other side of the island to me. “What are we talking here? Gray sweatpants that hang low? Running shorts? I’ve got some of those in my closet.”

“I walked into that one,” I mutter, now imagining Gage in sweatpants.

That sexy smile remains locked in place while he takes a long moment to look me over. Then, his gaze sweeps across the kitchen, and he comes back to me with a raised brow. “Is the school having a bake sale I forgot about?”

“No. I decided I’d bake ten cakes just for the fun of it. You’re welcome to take them all home so I don’t have to eat any of them.”

“Right,” he says, and I see him trying to make sense of me. “Is this because of social media? That photo of us that’s circulating?”

“Maybe.” I really don’t want to have to tell him the angle that Marin’s decided to run with.

“That’s cleared things up for me.”

I bite my lip. “Yes.”

“Amelia.” His voice drops into that tone he uses when he’s trying to boss me into something. “Tell me what’s going on.”

I may be a highly intelligent woman, but Gage is a walking override button for all things logical, rational, or remotely self-preserving. And sometimes, I’m horrified by what escapes my mouth. Today is one of those times. Because when I open it to answer his question, what actually comes out is, “Do you know what a zaddy is?”

Good. God.

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