I'm sitting on my bed, staring at my laptop screen, when I catch my reflection in the mirror. I'm still wearing Jackson's sweatshirt. Have been wearing it all fucking day.

The realization hits me like ice water. I grabbed it from the clean laundry this morning without thinking, threw it on over my tank top because it was soft and warm and smelled like him. But now, hours later, I'm horrified at what that must look like. What Emma must think. What Jackson thinks.

I yank it off over my head, suddenly feeling exposed in just my thin camisole. The sweatshirt still holds his scent—clean soap, something woodsy, and that indefinable smell that's just Jackson. I hold it to my face before I can stop myself, breathing him in.

This is bad. This is so fucking bad.

I've gotten too comfortable here. I'm living in their house, wearing their clothes, cooking their dinner like I belong here. Like I'm part of their family instead of a charity case who can't get her shit together.

The almost-kiss with Jackson earlier replays in my head on a loop. The way we stood there, fingers touching on that stupid wooden spoon, staring at each other like we were the only two people in the world. The heat in his eyes, the way his thumb traced over my knuckles. If Emma hadn't walked in, what would have happened?

I know what would have happened. And that terrifies me.

I need to get out of this house. Need some distance, some perspective. Need to remember who I am when I'm not drowning in Jackson Anderson's green eyes.

I grab my phone and scroll through my contacts until I find Sarah's number. Sarah was my closest friend at the clinic back in Pinewood, the one person who might not judge me for walking away from everything.

Me: Hey, are you free tonight? I know it's late notice, but I need to get out of the house.

She responds within minutes.

Sarah: MAYA! Finally! We're at The Copper Fox in Hartford. I'm visiting my boyfriend here for the weekend and dragged Jess and Kate along. Come meet us. We miss you.

Me: Be there in an hour.

I dig through my closet, looking for something that isn't sweatpants or old t-shirts. Most of my clothes are still in storage back in Pinewood, but I manage to find a black dress buried in the back of the wardrobe. It's shorter than I remember, hitting mid-thigh, with long sleeves and a neckline that shows just enough cleavage to be interesting.

I spend twenty minutes on my makeup, longer than I've spent on my appearance in months. Concealer to hide the lingering dark circles, mascara to make my eyes look bigger, lip gloss that makes my mouth look full and kissable. My black curls are a mess, but I work some product through them until they look intentionally tousled instead of just neglected.

When I look in the mirror, I barely recognize myself. I look like the old Maya. The one who went out with friends, who dated, who didn't spend her days hiding in other people's houses feeling sorry for herself.

It's almost eight when I head downstairs, my heels clicking on the hardwood. Emma and Chase are on the couch watching TV, Ethan asleep between them.

"Wow," Emma says, looking up. "You look amazing. Where are you going?"

"Meeting some friends downtown. I haven't seen them since..." I trail off, not wanting to bring up the clinic.

"That's great. You should go out more often."

Chase whistles low. "He's gonna lose his mind when he sees you in that dress."

"Chase," Emma warns, but she's smiling.

Heat floods my cheeks. "I don't care about what Jackson thinks. I just wanted to feel normal again."

"I didn't say it was about him," Chase says with a grin. "But his reaction should be interesting."

I'm saved from responding by the sound of footsteps on the basement stairs. Jackson appears in the living room doorway, and his eyes find me immediately. They widen slightly, traveling from my heels up the length of my legs, over the curve of my hips, lingering on my chest before meeting my gaze.

The air between us crackles with the same electricity from the kitchen earlier. I watch his jaw tighten, his hands curl into fists at his sides.

"Going somewhere?"

"Out with friends." I grab my purse from the side table, needing to do something with my hands. "No one needs to wait up for me."

"Maya—"

"I'll be fine, Jackson. I'm a big girl."

I head for the door before he can say anything else, before the heat in his eyes makes me do something stupid like stay. But I can feel him watching me leave.

The Copper Fox is exactly what I expected—crowded, loud, filled with the kind of people who have their lives together. I spot my friends at a high-top table near the bar, and Sarah waves me over with a shriek that could wake the dead.

"Maya! Oh my God, you look incredible!" She pulls me into a hug that smells like vodka and expensive perfume. "We've missed you so much."

Jess and Kate echo her enthusiasm, and for a few minutes, I let myself be swept up in their energy. They order me a drink—something pink and sweet that burns going down—and catch me up on all the clinic gossip. Who's dating who, who got promoted, who's been asking about me.

"Dr. Martinez has been asking about you," Kate says with a meaningful look. "Like, a lot."

"David?" I picture the resident from cardiology—tall, dark hair, kind eyes. We'd flirted a few times in the break room, but I'd never been interested enough to pursue it.

"He wants your number," Jess adds. "I'm pretty sure he wants to take you out to dinner."

"I'm not really looking to date right now."

"Why not? You're single, he's single, he's gorgeous and a doctor. What more do you want?"

Jackson, I think, but I can't say that. Can't explain that I'm hung up on a man who's completely off-limits, who lives in the same house as me, who makes me feel things I shouldn't feel.

"I'm just not in a good place for dating."

"Maya, you can't hide forever," Sarah says gently. "I know losing Lily was hard, but you can't let it ruin the rest of your life."

"I'm not hiding."

"Aren't you? You've been ignoring us for weeks. Plus, when's the last time you went on a date? Or did anything for yourself?"

I want to argue, but she's right. I have been hiding. Using my grief as an excuse to avoid living, to avoid taking risks. The realization stings.

"Fine," I grumble. "Give him my number."

Sarah grins and immediately starts typing on her phone. Within minutes, my phone buzzes with a text.

Unknown Number: Hi Maya, this is David Martinez. Sarah gave me your number. I was wondering if you'd like to have dinner sometime? - David

I stare at the message, waiting to feel something. Excitement, nervousness, anything. But all I can think about is Jackson's hands on mine in the kitchen, the way he looked at me in this dress.

Me: That sounds nice. Let me check my schedule and get back to you.

It's a polite blow-off, and we all know it. But my friends don't push, just order another round and change the subject.

Three drinks in, I'm feeling loose and warm, the edges of my anxiety blurred by alcohol. The bar is getting crowded, bodies pressing close, and for the first time in months, I feel almost normal. Like maybe I can do this—go out, have fun, be a person instead of a ghost.

But even as I laugh at Kate's story about her disastrous Tinder date, part of my mind is back at the house. Wondering what Jackson's doing, if he's thinking about me. Wondering what would have happened if Emma hadn't interrupted us.

"I should probably head home," I say around eleven, when the room starts to spin slightly.

"Already? Come on, the night's still young."

"I'm not eighteen anymore. And I haven't had this much to drink in months."

Sarah insists on calling me an Uber, and I don't argue. The last thing I need is to try navigating public transportation in heels while tipsy.

The ride back to Emma's house takes twenty minutes, and I spend most of it staring out the window, watching the city lights blur past. I feel better than I have in weeks—looser, more like myself. But underneath the alcohol-induced confidence is a growing awareness of what I'm going back to.

Jackson.

The house is dark when I get home, except for the porch light Emma always leaves on. I fumble with my keys, the alcohol making my coordination sloppy, and finally manage to get the door open.

The living room is empty, TV off, no sign of anyone. Emma and Chase must have gone to bed hours ago. I kick off my heels, sighing with relief as my feet hit the cool hardwood.

"How was your night?"

I jump, spinning around to find Jackson standing in the kitchen doorway. He's changed into gray sweatpants and a black t-shirt, his hair mussed like he's been running his hands through it. His eyes are intense, focused entirely on me.

"Jackson. You scared me." My voice comes out breathier than I intended.

"Sorry. I was getting some water." He holds up a glass, but he doesn't move to leave. "Did you have fun?"

"Yeah. It was good to see everyone." I move toward the stairs, but something in his expression stops me. "Why are you still up?"

"Couldn't sleep."

"Everything okay?"

He sets the glass down on the counter, taking a step closer. "You tell me."

There's something in his voice, something dark and possessive that makes my pulse quicken. "What do you mean?"

"You look beautiful tonight. In that dress."

The compliment makes heat flood my cheeks, and I have to resist the urge to look away. "Thank you."

"Where did you go?"

"The Copper Fox downtown. Just a bar."

"Meet anyone interesting?"

There's an edge to the question that makes me study his face. Is he... jealous? "My friends tried to set me up with someone."

His jaw tightens. "Did they?"

"A doctor from my old clinic. His name's David."

"And?"

"And what?"

"Are you going to see him?"

I should say yes. Should tell him I'm moving on, that I'm not going to spend my life pining for a man I can't have. But standing here with Jackson looking at me like he wants to devour me, I can't bring myself to lie.

"I don't know."

He takes another step closer, close enough that I can see the flecks of gold in his green eyes. "Maya."

"Yeah?"

"You shouldn't go out with him."

"Why not?"

"You know why."

My heart pounds against my ribs. "No, I don't. Tell me."

He reaches up, brushing a curl away from my face. His fingers linger on my cheek, thumb tracing along my jawline. "Because you don't want him."

"How do you know what I want?"

"Because I know you. Better than anyone."

"Jackson..."

"You want me," he whispers. "Just like I want you."

The admission steals the air from my lungs. I stare up at him, searching his face for any sign that this is just the alcohol talking, that I'm imagining things. But his eyes are clear, intense, filled with a heat that makes my knees weak.

"You can't say things like that."

"Why not? It's true."

"Because it's complicated. Because of Emma, and the house, and—"

"Fuck Emma. Fuck the house. Fuck everything except this." His other hand comes up to frame my face, tilting my chin up. "Tell me you don't feel it too."

I do feel it. I feel it in every cell of my body, in every breath, in every heartbeat. But admitting it feels like jumping off a cliff with no idea what's waiting at the bottom.

"Jackson, we can't—"

"Can't what? Can't want each other? Because that ship has sailed, Stardust. I've wanted you for years."

"Years?"

"Since that day you wore that yellow sundress when you came over to go to the beach with Emma. You were nineteen, and Mom was fussing over sunscreen, and you laughed at something she said. I'd known you for years as Emma's best friend, but that day..." He shakes his head. "I took one look at you in that dress and knew I was fucked."

The confession makes my head spin. Years. He's wanted me for years, and I never knew. All this time I thought I was imagining the tension between us, the stolen glances, the way he seemed to see right through me.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"Because you were Emma's best friend. Because I was supposed to protect you, not want to corrupt you."

"I'm not that nineteen-year-old girl anymore."

"No," he says, his voice rough. "You're not."

He's so close now that I can feel the heat radiating from his body, can see the pulse beating at the base of his throat. His thumbs stroke across my cheekbones, and I find myself leaning into the touch.

"Maya." My name on his lips is a prayer, a plea.

"This is crazy."

"Yeah. It is."

But neither of us moves away. We stand there in the dim kitchen, breathing each other's air, teetering on the edge of something that will change everything.

Slowly, so slowly I could stop him if I wanted to, Jackson leans down. His eyes never leave mine, giving me every chance to pull away, to end this before it begins.

I don't.

His lips brush against mine, soft and warm and perfect. It's barely a kiss, just the whisper of contact, but it sends electricity shooting through my entire body. My eyes flutter closed, and I rise up on my toes, seeking more.

But just as his mouth presses more firmly against mine, just as my hands fist in his t-shirt, reality crashes back in.

This is Jackson. Emma's brother. My best friend's brother, and I'm living in their house, and this is exactly the kind of complication I swore I wouldn't create.

I jerk back, breaking the contact, my hand flying to my lips. Jackson's eyes snap open, dark with desire and confusion.

"Maya—"

"I can't. We can't." I back away from him, shaking my head. "This is exactly what I was afraid of."

"What you were afraid of?"

"Getting too comfortable. Crossing lines. I'm living in your sister's house, Jackson. This would ruin everything."

"It doesn't have to—"

"Yes, it does." I'm backing toward the stairs now, putting distance between us. "This was a mistake. I'm sorry."

"Maya, wait—"

But I'm already running, taking the stairs two at a time, my bare feet silent on the hardwood. I reach my room and shut the door behind me, leaning against it like I can physically keep him out.

My lips still tingle from that almost-kiss, my body still humming with want. But the panic is stronger, the fear of what this could cost me.

I can't lose Emma. Can't lose this family that's become my anchor. And getting involved with Jackson, no matter how much I want him, feels like the fastest way to destroy everything.

But as I slide down the door to sit on the floor, I can't stop touching my lips, can't stop replaying the way he looked at me, the way he said my name.

I've wanted you for years.

The words haunt me as I finally drag myself to bed, still wearing my dress, still tasting him on my lips.

Tomorrow, I'll figure out how to rebuild the walls between us. Tomorrow, I'll go back to being just Emma's friend who's staying in their guest room.

Tonight, I'm going to lie here and remember what it felt like to almost be kissed by Jackson Anderson.

And try not to think about how much I want it to happen again.