“No,” he says forcefully. He sets the pot down on the counter and pushes it away. Seconds later, he’s walking out the kitchen door, slamming it shut with enough force to cause me to flinch. My eyes are stinging with tears, a sensation I’ve fought off for years. I stand there stiffly and hold my breath, trying to stop them from forming—almost willing my eyes dry. When I hear the low rumble of Cody’s truck, I let a single tear fall down my face. Seconds later, I hear Trevor’s steps coming down the nearby stairs, and I take a deep breath and tuck whatever-that-was deep inside.

I had planned on making a romantic dinner for Trevor and me, but after my encounter with Cody, I wasn’t up for cooking much. I didn’t like that every interaction I had with him left something behind—like a scratch I had to tend to and just couldn’t seem to leave alone.

If I was being truthful with myself, Cody was starring in my thoughts more often than Trevor since the night he joined us for dinner. I know it isn’t right, but I also know it’s an innocent crush. I’ve never really had a crush, a distraction that helps me miss Trevor less while he’s away. Cody is just a checkbox in life I need to get through.

But tonight, I belong to Trevor—I wasn’t allowing myself to entertain any of my distractions. I pulled out my best puppy-dog eyes and begged him to take me out, which he was more than happy to do. If he had his way, we’d be at a different bar or club every night, meeting other couples, networking and partying until dawn. Trevor is an extravert, always the life of the party. I guess that’s why he’s done so well in school, and with his apprenticeship interviews—he knew the right people, and when he didn’t, he knew where to find them so he could get them in his corner early.

I, on the other hand, am more comfortable at home, tucked away in some nook, curled up in a chair like a cat. It was probably from the years of living with Mac and spending nights at home on my own. Even when Mac and I really started to connect, we still didn’t go out much. Maybe a celebration dinner at the burger joint or a backyard party at one of his cop friend’s houses, but that was about as formal as it got.

Nothing about me was flashy—not my wardrobe, not my hair, not my makeup. I worried a little that I might not fit in if we ended up moving to Washington. I didn’t have that polished look that I imagine everyone else in a big city had. I’m presentable. I would even admit that I could be pretty. But I was forgettable—floating through my relationships with people like a ghost. Trevor was the first person to really see me. And I was learning from him just how important things like mingling could be—making an impression. And I had gotten better at it.

We decide on a cute little seafood spot by the river. It’s one of my favorite restaurants—we went there a few times when we first started dating. The place has dancing on the pier, and Trevor holds me close after dinner for a few songs, swaying me under the stars.

Being close to him, breathing him in, reminds me of why I fell in love with him in the first place. Trevor has this power to make me feel safe—my worries completely dissolve. When we first started dating, I was struggling with some of my core classes like political science and philosophy, and he just took charge, tutoring me and quizzing me on pre-test nights, sometimes until two in the morning. I always felt guilty, and would tell him to go home and get some rest, but he insisted he stay until I knew my material—all of it. And he never left me feeling vulnerable or unsure of myself, even though it meant he’d be sleeping without a pillow in a dorm-room study lounge.

He’s filling me with the same sense of security tonight, and I find myself melting from it. The wooded smell of his cologne, the feel of his hands and arms against my body, the way his biceps look wrapped tightly in his black button-down shirt—has me full of desire. I’m dizzy with lust by the time we get home, ready to rip his shirt and tie from his chest the moment he puts the car in park. But my heat quickly cools as soon as I register the shear number of vehicles surrounding us in his parents’ driveway.

“Shit!” Trevor says, as he swings the car door open, and flings it shut.

I climb out slowly, my ears registering the thumping sounds coming from the garage, and the unmistakable noise of people, probably dozens, laughing and talking inside. Trevor is nowhere to be seen, so I start to make my way closer to the garage. I’m about to climb the stairs up to the carriage house when I hear Cody’s voice. It halts me—the chill I’d managed to rid myself of tonight is back the second he speaks.

“You looking for Prince Charming?” he asks, snarky and condescending. I decide to ignore it, and instead just treat him as I always would.