Caught off guard, I blinked. In stunned silence, I thought about how I would love nothing more than to spend more time with him. To get lost in him for a little longer before having to go back to real life. Before we had to talk, have that conversation that would consolidate—or not—every single thing that had changed between us.

A conversation I feared more and more with every passing minute.

I wanted to take the leap. Badly. But my experience told me otherwise, warning me of not making the same mistake twice.

And I knew deep in my bones that recovering from that—from losing Aaron, or from possibly dilapidating years of hard work under dirty and unfair accusations, if history was to repeat itself—would not be easy. It would be the hardest thing I’d have to do in my life. I already knew.

As all that swirled in my head, I watched something that looked a lot like trepidation, fear, dance in Aaron’s features.

“Come with me, Lina.”

My eyelids shut briefly.

“I’ll feed you, make sure we stay awake so the jet lag doesn’t last for the rest of the week. Tomorrow, early in the morning, we’ll drive to your apartment, so you can grab whatever you need, and then we’ll head to work.” He paused. “Together.”

It sounded like a dream.

Just like him. He had to be if he thought he had to convince me to go with him anywhere. I wanted to, so badly. I’d follow him anywhere if he asked. But …

But … there was always a but, wasn’t there?

“Aaron,” I breathed, “I’m going to be very honest with you.” I owed him—and me and us—at least that. “I’m … scared. Terrified. You are going to be promoted. To my division leader. And that’s going to change things.”

I inhaled through my nose, averting my gaze to his chest. There was too much in his eyes. They distracted me, stole away my sanity.

“We are not in Spain any longer. This is real life. And this”—I waved a hand between us—“is going to complicate things.” Or perhaps it was the other way around—him being promoted to a position above me would complicate whatever this could be.

He snatched my hand and brought it to his chest. So warm and firm, so full of all the things I wanted but was terrified to reach for. “We’ll talk about it. Later, once we have cleaned up and I have you comfortable and relaxed.” His other hand came to my chin, tilting my head back so he could peer into my eyes. “And tomorrow, we’ll talk to HR. We will ask Sharon, if that gives you any peace of mind.”

Why? Why, world? Why did he have to be so thoughtful? So fucking perfect?

“But before doing that, you’ll have to give us a chance.” It was his turn for a shaky breath to leave his lips. “Do you trust me?”

My hand, which still rested over his chest, right above his heart, fisted the fabric of his shirt. Unable to do anything else but hold on to him. “Take me home, Aaron Blackford.”

Staring at the screen of my phone, I deliberated for the hundredth time if I should reply to the message with the truth.

She’s gonna flip. She’s going to kick my ass so hard that she’ll send me right back to Spain.

Lifting my gaze off the screen and looking at my reflection in the mirror—Aaron’s bathroom mirror—I didn’t like what I saw. It had nothing to do with the bags under my eyes or the messy knot that had been promoted to chaotic probably somewhere across the Atlantic Ocean. What bothered me wasn’t something I could point out with a finger or fix with a shower, a few hours of sleep, and a brush.

Turning away, I leaned on the edge of the impressive and enticing bathtub. Large enough to accommodate two Aarons, just like everything else in his apartment. Spacious and luxurious in a very sober and tasteful way. It suited him so perfectly.

I peered down at my phone again to reread her message.

Rosie: Are you back? How bad was it? Tell me everything in front of a coffee. Or two? Maybe three? How much is there to tell?

Just as I finally worked up the courage to answer, three dots started dancing on the screen.

Rosie: I can come by your apartment, bring the caffeine to you. In one hour? Thirty minutes? Now?

I could picture my friend batting her eyelashes at me. Rosie had never drilled me so hard for a story.

Lina: I’m not at my apartment.

Rosie: Still at the airport? I can come by later. Just give me a time.

Taking a deep breath, I typed my answer.

Lina: I don’t think I’m going back to my place tonight.

Those three dots bounced back to life on the screen. She typed and typed and typed. For a stupidly large amount of time. I frowned at my phone, bracing myself.

Rosie: I KNEW IT.

A strangled sound climbed up my throat. That’s all she was typing?

Rosie: SO? Spill it. Type it, so I can tell you that I saw it coming.

I chuckled under my breath. Had I been that blind?

Lina: …

Rosie: SAY IT. SAY IT OUT LOUD. Say. It.

Lina: Chill, Edward Cullen.

Rosie: Catalina, if you don’t start talking, I’m going to get pissed. And I never do. You still don’t know what a pissed Rosie looks like.

Lina: Aaron’s. I’m at Aaron’s apartment.

Rosie: Of course you are. I want to know the rest.

Lina: The rest?

Rosie: A condensed version—for now.

Lina: We sort of kissed. Kinda slept together.

Rosie: SORT OF? KINDA? What does that even mean?

Lina: *eye roll emoji* We did. Kissed. Had sex.

Rosie: AND?

And so, so much more, I was about to type. But my thumbs froze above the screen. Ugh. Then, they worked at breakneck speed.

Lina: … and I’m a mess. I’m scared and giddy. Stupidly happy too. And he’s so good to me. So good that it feels like a dream I’m going to wake up from with cold sweat sticking to my skin. And you know how much I hate when that happens. Remember when I dreamed that I was getting raunchy with Joe Manganiello and the fire alarm in my building went off right as he was unclasping his belt buckle, and I was cranky for a whole month?

Lina: This feels a million worlds better than that dream. Galaxies better.

It was, and I wasn’t just talking about the way my body seemed to come alive under his touch. Hell, that was the smallest part of all of this.

Lina: I don’t want to wake up, Rosie.

Rosie: Oh, sweetie.

I could almost feel the hug that would have followed that.

Lina: Anyway, I’ll tell you everything about it tomorrow.

This wasn’t a conversation we should be having via text anyway.

Rosie: You’d better do that. Otherwise, I’ll kick your ass.

A knock came from the door.

“Baby?” said a deep voice from the other side. The word traveled right to the center of my chest. “I’m going to start thinking that you are hiding from me.”

God, I sucked so much.

Aaron continued, “Come out, and let’s go get something to eat. You pick.”

My jet-lagged stomach grumbled at the thought. “Even fish tacos?”

“Especially fish tacos.”

Dammit. He was really going after my heart.

“Okay, one minute!” I called as I typed another message to Rosie.

Lina: Gotta go. We are picking up takeout.

Rosie: Okay. But tomorrow, you and I. We’re talking.

Lina: Sí, señorita.

Rosie: And, Lina?

Rosie: It doesn’t have to be a dream you need to wake up from.

With that thought—no, with that hope because that was exactly what I felt as I read my friend’s message, foolish hope—I left my luscious and tiled hiding spot and went hunting for Aaron.