“You were ruthless, and you caught popcorn like a seal, and you made some chocolate squares with coconut, and you said, ‘Try it.’ And it was amazing, and I told you so.”

“Were you just blowing smoke up my skirt?” The question is sarcastic, but there’s confusion under it. Does this new wrinkle in our story change everything that came before it?

“No! I fucking meant it. I’m not a liar. But maybe you see me that way.”

“No, I don’t. I swear I don’t.” My voice sounds desperate, but I’m desperately trying to reenter the data of our friendship and process it anew.

“That was the night I knew I was in love with you, and I didn’t know how to stop it.”

My heart expands, and yet it turns the other way at the same time. It’s wonderful and weird simultaneously to learn that his feelings started a decade ago, not a few weeks.

“Does this freak you out?”

I nod. “A little.”

He takes my hand and squeezes. “I could give you a million reasons, Lulu, but they all add up to this—love isn’t rational. I don’t even know that it’s reasonable or makes any sense at all. You were vibrant and funny and daring. The more time we spent together, the deeper I fell. Your heart, your humor, your you-ness.”

I want to fling my arms around him, smother him in kisses, and say, Let’s go home and revel in this.

But it’s also like watching a giraffe unzip his clothes and underneath he’s really a . . . snow leopard.

Both are lovely creatures.

But the change takes some getting used to.

“I don’t know what to say,” I whisper, since Leo’s not a giraffe anymore. “Do you even like Lady Gaga?”

“I do. Please don’t tell anyone. Especially Dean.” His crooked smile hooks into me, a momentary bit of levity.

“I won’t say a word. I have a great . . . poker face.”

His lips quirk up, and in that second, I feel we’ll be fine.

Still, there is so much I want to understand. Because he does have a great poker face. Well, maybe not to RaeLynn, maybe not to someone determined to find the soft underbelly, but he bluffed with me for years. I understand why—self-preservation. But I don’t entirely understand why he’s never mentioned a word in the last few days.

“Why didn’t you tell me last night?”

“You made it clear you wanted this all to be new.”

“Were you going to tell me at all?”

“I wanted to.”

“But you weren’t sure exactly?”

He scrubs a hand over the back of his neck, staring at the Dakota, the scene of the crime many decades ago. “I was going to at some point. I just wanted us to go forward.” He drops his head in his palms. “I didn’t want it to come out like this.”

“Did anyone else know?”

Lifting his face, he answers, “My mother suspected it, and she said something the day your mom came to her shop before her symposium. But we never talked about it in detail. Only Dean truly knows.”

“Not Tripp’s mom?”

He shakes his head.

“No one else?”

He raises his face and squeezes his eyes closed, and dread weaves through me. I know what’s coming. I try to will it away. But it comes anyway when he opens his eyes. “Tripp.”

The world becomes a wind tunnel sucking all the air from my lungs, from the sky. “Tripp knew?”

“He suspected. I never admitted it to him. But one night, he came over after you split and made me promise if I ever pursued something with you, I’d tell him first.”

My jaw tics. Out of nowhere, a monsoon of fury swirls inside of me. “And did you? Did you promise him that?”

Leo swallows like there are nails in his throat. “He was relentless that night. And yes, he made me promise to tell him if I ever went for it with you.”

“He made you?”

“And I’ll never be able to honor it.”

I shake my head, angry at him, angry at Tripp, angry at the freaking Dakota too. “It’s not his goddamn choice.”

“I know, but I still feel like shit that I can’t say anything to him, whether he made me promise or not. Because that’s the right thing to do—to give him a fucking heads-up. To tell my best friend, Hey, I’m in love with your girl and I’m going to make a move.”

“I’m not his girl. It’s not his choice.” I tap my chest. Hard. “It’s my choice who I get involved with. It’s your choice who you get involved with. It’s not his choice.”

Leo’s eyes brim with resignation. “Lulu, try to understand. He was my best friend.”

“I’ve literally never been confused about that. I understand it completely, but you’re acting like we’re doing something wrong.”

“I don’t think we’re doing something wrong.” But his defeated voice says otherwise, and my heart hurts.

In this moment, Leo is a wrecked man.

He’s not the man who made love to me last night.

He’s not the man who held me close and whispered all his odes.

He’s not the one who kissed me in front of a Klimt, who slipped me postcards, who ate birthday cake naked in my bed.

And in this moment, I don’t care if he’s a snow leopard or a giraffe. I don’t care if he’s loved me for years or for days. I’m fine with either option.

All I care about is that he’s not all in.

And I am.

I’m so far in already.