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I pick it up too fast. Way too fast for a guy pretending he's not waiting for exactly this.

It's Quinn.

One picture. No words.

Pickles is sitting there in a tiny jersey I definitely did not buy for him, paws splayed wide on what looks like my coffee table, tongue lolling out like he's just been crowned king of something. The caption reads: Look who's celebrating the win.

I smile before I can stop myself.

But then I see it.

In the mirror behind him, barely there, just a sliver of the room reflected back, is her.

Quinn.

She's sitting cross-legged on the floor, phone in hand, dark hair falling loose over one shoulder. She's wearing an oversized sweatshirt I'm ninety percent sure is mine, the sleeves pushed up past her elbows. There's a mug on the table beside her. Her face is angled down toward Pickles, caught mid-laugh, soft and unguarded in a way she never is when she knows someone's watching.

I don't think she meant for me to see that part.

I stare at it longer than is probably normal. Longer than I'd admit to anyone, including myself.

7

QUINN

Houseguest Privileges

The mail is scattered across the counter beside his keys, and I gather it into a pile without even thinking about it.

I catch myself halfway through.

Seriously?

Three days in this apartment and I’m already tidying up after him.

Somehow, I’ve also figured out which cabinet has the mugs, where he keeps the extra paper towels, and that Pickles will tear through the apartment like a maniac for a while before suddenly collapsing on the rug like someone pulled his batteries out.

I’ve gotten weirdly comfortable here.

Probably something I shouldn’t examine too closely.

My phone buzzes on the counter.

Wyatt:

Landed. See you soon.

My stomach does a stupid little flip at the last three words.

See you soon.

Obviously. He lives here. I’m in his apartment with his dog. Seeing me soon is pretty much unavoidable.

Still, I glance around the kitchen and notice a glass beside the sink. I pick it up, rinse it, and put it in the dishwasher.

Then I straighten the throw pillow Pickles knocked onto the floor earlier.

Okay. Apparently I’m cleaning.