I find the dining room easily enough. It’s through a huge set of double doors I’m embarrassed to say I never bothered to open. The room’s about what I would have expected given the house: lots of dark wood, and a long wood table that’s the perfect combination of formal and rustic charm.

There is a stack of table linens on the table as promised, but wisely Lindy didn’t go all clichéd and formal with anything white and prissy. Instead there are merlot-colored placemats and cream-colored cloth napkins with contemporary silver napkin rings. Instead of fussy china, there’s a stack of the usual everyday dishware.

I set the table quickly and take a step back to make sure everything looks right. The table lacks a centerpiece. Flowers would be perfect, but since we don’t have any, I rummage around in cabinets until I find a bunch of pillar candles. They’re all mismatched in size and color, but I’ve arranged enough charity fund-raisers in my life to know that once they’re lit, it’ll look classy and modern, not hodgepodge.

I fuss with the candles as long as I can, knowing full well that I’m stalling. It’s decision time.

Am I going to play whatever game he’s setting up? Or am I going to do what he would do and lock myself in my bedroom, refusing to come out and be a pawn?

In the end, it comes down to curiosity. I’ll play along. But only because I’m dying to know who could motivate Paul to willingly end his own solitude.

It’s not likely his father—Lindy would have known if Harry was coming in.

So who?

Kali? No, she would have mentioned it. Wouldn’t she?

It had to be someone from his former life.

Oh God. What if it’s an ex-girlfriend? What if he’s trying to torture me that way? One hand flies to my damp ponytail as I glance down at the admittedly ugly sweatshirt Lindy frowned at. Maybe a little primping isn’t a horrible idea.

I race up the stairs, but once in the safety of my room, I take my time getting ready. My shower is long and hot, and I finally get around to shaving legs that have been just a wee bit neglected the past couple of weeks. I not only blow-dry my hair but also take a flat iron to it, giving it that extra bit of sleek shine. The ends are looking a little ragged, and I smile as I remember Bella’s concern about my hairdresser being inaccessible while I was on my Maine hiatus. It’s been only two months since my parents threw me that going-away party, but it feels like another lifetime.

My smile fades a little as I realize I haven’t heard from Bella in days. She’s dating some guy named Brian, who’s “a little short but makes up for it in every other way.” Apparently he keeps her very, very busy.

But as much as I try to tell myself that it’s just her new love life that has us drifting, I suspect it’s more than that. Our lives are never again going to overlap as effortlessly as they have in the past.

I pause in putting on mascara as it hits me that this is a part of post-college life that nobody ever warns you about. Your social life is no longer dropped into your lap by virtue of shared classes and extracurricular activities. Relationships, whether with friends, family, or romantic partners—from here on out, they’re going to take a lot more work. No more built-in friends at the sorority, or hollering down the stairs when I need my mom. It’s certainly not going to be as easy to meet guys now that I’m done with school. It’s not like I can just chat up the cute guy in econ class anymore.

Thinking about my romantic future inevitably leads my thoughts to Paul, and I make a little growling noise at my brain for even going there.

He’s not for you.

Going back to my makeup, I add more eyeliner than usual, going for a subtly smoky look. I also add lip gloss and blush, even though any guests of Paul the bastard barely deserve deodorant, much less makeup.

I have no idea when his guest is coming, so I sit down on the window seat and pretend to read my book. Really, though, I just do a lot of staring at the water and thinking. All the while I’m braced for a knock at the bedroom door. Surely Paul will tell me himself that my presence is expected, or even mandatory?

The knock never comes. Lindy’s order to freshen up is apparently the only invitation I deserve.

I tense when I hear the doorbell, but force myself to relax. It’ll be fine. My parents hosted more parties in a month than most families do in a lifetime. I can small-talk strangers in my sleep. With one last glance in the mirror, I open the door to my room.

I hear voices, but they’re too muffled to make out whether they’re male or female. As I descend the stairs, I listen more carefully. There’s Paul’s familiar timbre, but I can’t hear the other person.

Seriously, if it really is an ex-girlfriend, I—

I freeze when I hear it. A male voice. I know that voice. Why do I know it?

Recognition takes my breath away. Oh my God.

Somehow, even as I register the familiarity of it all, I’m not fully prepared for what I see when I round the corner into the foyer. I’m not sure anyone could ever be prepared.

My eyes lock on the dark-haired guy still standing in the doorway. The heated longing on his face when our gazes collide feels like a punch in the face. I close my eyes to block it out, and take a deep breath.

I swallow. “Michael.”

He smiles. “Liv.”

Kill me. Kill me kill me kill me. This is not happening. The very guy I’m trying to escape is standing in the house that’s supposed to be my hiding place.

I tell my manners to override my panic, but fail miserably. “What are you doing here?”