Page 17 of Izzy and Her Off-Limits Love

“You know, just the usual—thinking about spreadsheets.”

Izzy grins as I open the door for her, and it lights up her whole face, tugging at an invisible string attached directly to my heart. “Not entomology or a side-by-side comparison of torque in American-made cars?”

“Oh my gosh. How do you remember all that?”

“It’s hard to forget when you spent entire summers talking about whatever snagged your interest. Bugs, cars ...” I groan again, but Izzy snags my hand, giving it a squeeze. “Don’t groan. I loved that version of you. I hope some of him is still in here somewhere.” She reaches over and pats my chest, leaving her hand pressed against my shirt.

Her words are nothing but kind, and they’re doing strange things to my heart. At times, I feel self-conscious remembering who I was when I was younger. Or more like, who I was pre-Camden.

When he and Mom got together, something shifted in me. I didn’t lose the serious, intense part of me that fixated on topics until I researched them to exhaustion. Or my love of talking about said topics ad nauseam. But having Camden’s quiet, steady influence shaped me in ways I’m still thanking him for.

Izzy’s touch must be infusing me with an uncharacteristic boldness because I lean forward until our foreheads are only inches apart. “Just so you know,” I say, my voice low and rough. “I still obsess over things. I’ve just gotten better at keeping it to myself.”

“You can always talk to me,” Izzy says, her hushed voice a mirror of mine. “What are you obsessing over now?”

You, I don’t say, though a part of me wonders what that one word would do to her expression.

Would it make the corners of her lips tilt up in a smile, or would her mouth drop open in shock?

Would her brown eyes widen or go hazy and dark?

It’s too much for now, but I decide to take a risk and push the envelope a little. “Put a pin in this discussion,” I tell her. “And we’ll talk about it the next time we have dinner.”

“Next time, huh?” she asks, looking amused. “You really were serious about reconnecting.”

And with an intensity I didn’t intend but absolutely feel, I say, “You have no idea how serious.”

But she will. Soon.

SIX

Izzy

“This has to be a mistake,”I say, staring at my apartment. It looked normal a few hours ago when Liam and I dropped my car off.

Now? There’s a giant yellow fumigation tent over the entire building. The kind I’ve only seen in movies or TV shows.

“I’m so sorry,” Sadie says, her voice a little crackly. Reception on Oakley isn’t always great, and she and Ben might be on his yacht, which doesn’t help. I have the call on speaker so Liam can hear. “We barely had any warning. The company said they contacted the tenants, but they must not have had your info. Still, we should have called to make sure you knew the second we heard. I’m so sorry! I assumed you were packed and out. Benedict and I are just as surprised as you are.”

“So, Mrs. Hartley got out okay?” I don’t know all the other tenants, but every few days, I check in on the elderly woman who occupies the other half of the first floor. I hate to think of herwith nowhere to go. She’s very active for being in her eighties, but if this is an inconvenience for me, it’s got to be worse for her.

“She’s totally safe,” Sadie says. “Unfortunately, it seems like you’re the only one who didn’t get notice.”

I glance at Liam, and he gives me a tiny eye roll and a shake of his head. So I’m NOT the only one who finds this highlysus, as Liam’s little sister Mandy would say.

“What am I supposed to do?” I ask. “I’m literally standing outside in a cocktail dress and”—here, I barely stop myself from saying Liam’s suit coat, which would unleash an entire case of Pandora’s boxes— “I don’t even have a toothbrush. Or underwear.”

Oops. Probably shouldn’t have saidthateither.

“I mean, I’m wearing underwear. I just don’t have any extras. It’s not like I carry panties in my purse.”

No.

I. Did. Not.

But yes—I actuallydidjust say all that. Proving Liam isn’t the only one who can say too much when he’s nervous.

I glance at him, and he’s clearly trying to hide his smile as he looks down at the sidewalk. On the edge of the curb, someone carved their initials when the cement was wet. It’s a spot I sometimes step on for good luck. Maybe I should have been stepping over it instead. Luck definitely isn’t on my side tonight.

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