“I’m not telling you yet,” she says, and then she nods as though making up her mind. “But yes, you should come over. I want to show you something.”

And I’m only half joking when I say, “Is this an ambush you’re setting up with Cyrus? Is he going to beat me up?” I swallow. “Are you going to help him dispose of my body?”

Poppy throws her head back and lets out a laugh. “Ha!” she says. “No. Although…”

I straighten up. “Although what?”

Her smile fades into something regretful. “I won’t lie if he asks me what’s going on with you and India. And I think he’s probably going to ask soon.”

“Why do you think that?” I say, rubbing the back of my neck and trying to face my nervousness head-on. I don’t know what I want to do about India yet, but unless I’m prepared to walk out of her life forever, I’m going to have to deal with Cyrus. May as well get used to the idea.

“He has a sixth sense about his sisters,” she says, and I know she’s not wrong. “Not to mention tonight—” She breaks off and then shakes her head. “Well, you’ll see. Just come over tonight around eight. Don’t knock on the door. Text me when you get there, okay?”

“Okay,” I say, even though I’m dying to ask more questions. I resist, because I know she won’t answer. So I relax back into the couch cushions once more, suddenly so tired I could fall asleep right here. “I’ll be there at eight.”

When I pullup in front of India’s house that night, I’m exactly four minutes early, and I’m weirdly nervous. My mind keeps racing, too, with questions I don’t want to ask—mostly because I don’t want answers.

The things she wrote in that article, all those years ago—especially the part about not letting a playboy back in her life. Does she still feel that way? She said she liked me, but that’s not the same as letting me be a part of her world.

And what about the dating site? Did she join one? If she did, is she being safe? Is there someone on there who will deserve her?

Icertainly don’t.

I can’t help but want her anyway.

I sigh and then send a text to Poppy, telling her I’ve arrived. She answers immediately with instructions to get out of my car and come around the side of the house. She also tells me to close my car door quietly, which makes me feel a little bit like a thief or a stalker.

I do what she says anyway, trying my best to look normal as I head up the driveway. My hands are tucked casually into my pockets, and I resist the urge to crane my neck and look up and down the street to check if anyone is watching me.

When I round the side of the house, I’m just in time to see Poppy slipping out the side door. She closes it quietly behind her and then beckons for me to come closer. I follow as she sneaks further down—and there’s no other word for it; we’resneaking—until she reaches a window. She once again beckons for me, and I hurry forward, peering in to what looks like the family room.

And what I see pulls a laugh to my lips so immediately that Poppy turns and shushes me; I clamp one hand over my mouth before realizing that I’m outside, so they can’t hear me in there anyway. My laughter fades, and I shoot a frown at Poppy.

“Sorry,” she hisses, flapping her hand at me and gesturing for me to crouch down. “But you’re loud and tall. We’re already creeping at the window. Don’t make it weird.”

“This was your idea!” I say, my voice indignant. I don’t wait for her to respond, though. I crouch down and look back through the window instead—just like the creeper and weirdo I felt like earlier.

There appears to be some sort of party going on inside, one I would give my right leg to be attending for real. I can hear the strains of music?—

“ABBA,” Poppy says when I tilt my head closer to try to hear. “It’s their favorite.”

I nod as a grin spreads over my lips once more. Aurora is sitting on the floor, scrolling through a phone and eating pizza, nodding along to the music. Juliet and India, meanwhile, are on the coffee table—I glance briefly to make sure it looks sturdy, and it does, a heavy hunk of solid wood—and they’ve both got pizza in their hands, too. The pizza slices appear to be functioning as microphones, and even though I can’t hear much, I can tell the two of them are singing their hearts out. Juliet is dancing with one hand in the air, but India is acting like she’s performing a ballad. Both hands are clutching the pizza, which India pauses to take a bite of—then she continues to sing while chewing simultaneously.

My grin widens as something almost overwhelming rises in my chest. Juliet and Aurora are classically beautiful, I can admit, but it’s India I can’t take my eyes off of. Her hair is flopping around in a bun on top of her head, and she’s dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt. She’s…

“Perfect.” The word slips out, so softly I almost don’t hear myself speak it. Something about the way she’s standing here reminds me of the photo I took of her at Crow Point, standing against the sunset—the photo I peeked at earlier this evening and still haven’t been able to delete.

Her eyes are a little red, though. Like she’s been crying. Juliet’s too, actually.

The balloon in my chest punctures just a bit.

“Why did you bring me here?” I say, tearing my gaze away to look at Poppy.

But I think I know. And when she speaks, she confirms my suspicion.

“Because you should understand,” she says, “that none of us will let you break India’s heart.” Her expression is kind, but her voice and her eyes are unyielding. She jerks her chin at the party happening inside. “Occasionally when someone needs cheering up, we have a pizza party. We turn on music and dance around and let ourselves be silly. India and Jules were the ones who needed it this time. Juliet can’t find a job anywhere. But India…” She shakes her head. “She says she’s fine, but she’s sad. And I know it’s because of you.”

I open my mouth, but Poppy holds her hands up, heading me off before I can speak.