The house is silent as I toss the keys into the bowl by the door. It's Saturday, so Dad must be at the university for office hours. I check my watch—quarter to one. He should be back shortly. I drop my bags by the giant dining table at the entrance and head toward the kitchen. My stomach rumbles; I need food. Stat.

I fling open the fridge door and stare at the plastic containers stacked inside. Dad's meals are packed, marked, and labeled meticulously for each day and meal. I resist the urge to heat some lasagna, and instead, grab three eggs and whip an omelette. I'll need to go grocery shopping later, or Dad will freak out when he notices an uneven number in the fridge.

By the time I've finished eating and washing the dishes, the main door squeaks open.

"Abby?"

"Dad?"

I wipe my wet hands on my hoodie and hurry to the dining room. Dad stands by the doorway, his round glasses perched on his nose, eyeing my backpack.

"I didn't know you were coming," he says, confusion tingeing his voice. "Your bed is not made... I—I don't have enough food—could you go grocery shopping? But don't take my car; I've parked it. Is that your car in the driveway?"

A smile spreads across my face. Before Dad has a chance to say more, I dart across the room and throw my arms around him. He stiffens under my tight embrace.

"It's important to park between the lines, Abby," he mutters. "Your tires are touching the lines. You should center the lines."

"I missed you too, Dad," I reply, tucking my head under his chin.

He sighs, and after holding me for three seconds, pats my back—twice. That's my cue to give him some space. Instead of stepping back, I steal a kiss, making him squirm.

Dad scrunches his nose as if he's tasted something sour. Swallowing my chuckles, I quickly wipe the wet lip mark from his cheek, then set him free.

A shy smile starts to play on his lips. He runs a hand across his thinning gray hair, pushing it aside. "It's nice to have you home."

I fight the urge to give him another smooch and rub his arm instead. "When is the dog-walker bringing Rocky back?"

"In an hour. You must cancel the dog-walker if you're planning to stay here for more than a day," he warns, peering over his glasses.

Of course.... I'll have to let the dog-walker know that he's fired. Dad hates contradictions and turning people away.

"How long are you staying?" he asks.

"Why? Do you want me out? Have you finally found a lady friend, you handsome genius?"

"You know I don't have time for lady friends," he replies mechanically. But then he sees the grin on my face, and waves me off with an eye roll. "You are complimenting me."

"I am not!" I protest. "You are handsome. And you are a genius who saves lives."

Dad becomes crimson, turns on his heels, and rushes into the living room. I can't help but chuckle as he dashes up the stairs. I made him run away!

"Go do some grocery shopping," he calls out. "Park your car properly. And when Rocky's back, don't feed him anything. He's on a special diet." His footsteps fade away. The distant creak of a shutting door makes me sigh.

Welcome home, Abby.

I collect my bags from the entrance and set off to my bedroom.

***

The next couple of weeks pass in a jiffy. I don't see Dad much, but I know he's glad to have me home from his subtle smile and the warm look he gives me over his glasses.

Roman didn't text again or call. Yes, my heart sizzles and my chest tightens when I think about that night, but I'm done shedding tears. Being one with him was magical—the most fulfilling thing I've ever felt. But I can't keep torturing myself. At least, that's what my logic says, while my soul keeps burning deep within.

So, I keep our celestial love-making a secret, even from Olga. How could I tell her when she's beaming with the purest of emotions, arranging scans, apartment hunts, and thinking of baby names? I don't have it in me to steal her thunder.

Thanksgiving is in a few days, and this morning, I lie on my bed with Rocky, shielding my eyes from the sun with my phone. We have a new group chat now, for the four of us, and it's the only thing that brings a smile to my face.

I tap on the photo Daniel has just sent and let out a chortle. Poor Rocky lifts his head, growls in exasperation, then turns away. In the image, Nate is seated behind three giant Guinness glasses. His cheeks are rosy, and his crooked smile screams 'drunk.' Olga is bent over Nate's shoulder, clearly shouting into his ear while Daniel hides behind a chair in the background.

I don't see any models in the photo. Now that I think about it, I haven't seen any women around Nate since my birthday—not in the photos, not on the gossip columns or the social media.

"I'm Olga's sponge." Nate's text appears on my screen. "I have to drink everything she can't until she finally can."

"And Daniel?" I type.

"Nate has to drink for me too, since I'm supporting my little tiger," Daniel replies.

Olga is a feisty tiger alright, now more than ever. I laugh and roll on my bed, lying face-down. Rocky lifts his head from my pillow in protest and licks my face.

"Abby?" Dad calls from downstairs.

I crack my door open and stick my head out. "Yeah? Do you need something?"

"Can you please come to the dining room?"

I toss my phone on the bed. Rocky grumbles before settling down once more.

"What is it? Are you hungry?" I call, trotting down the stairs.

But then I hit the brakes as if I'd hit a wall.

Roman. Is here. In our dining room. In Philadelphia!!!

My fingers grip the hem of my white t-shirt. Am I seeing right?

I blink a few times.

Yep, he's still here.

He is standing by the door, looking sharp in a white shirt and gray suit pants. A beige raincoat is slung over his arm.

Roman's frown softens as a strike of pain shadows his eyes. He takes a deep breath to speak, but then presses his lips into a tight line and gives me a nod instead.

I try to swallow the lump in my throat. My face is burning. In fact, I'm burning from head to toe. "What... How?"

"This is the address on your business card," Roman explains dryly.

Dad's shifts uneasily, like he always does when he meets someone new. He approaches the staircase and touches my arm. "This gentleman claims to work for a men's magazine."

"It has nothing to do with your field," I say. "Their content is mainly sports, muscles, and tips for getting laid." Why do I sound bitter?

Dad's brows arch up in question as he turns to Roman.

Roman clenches his jaw. "As I told you, Dr. Shepherd, I'm here to invite you to a charity ball—"

"You should take your invitation to the faculty department," I say.

"That's what I told him," Dad exclaims defensively. "The faculty decides the events I'm attending." His cheeks flush as he looks at me through his glasses with a begging stare. "Abby?"

I'm sure my face is just as crimson as Dad's right now. "It's okay, Dad," I say softly. I can reject Roman on his behalf. "Go to your study. I'll talk to the gentleman."

Dad sighs in relief and sends Roman an apologetic smile before heading upstairs. Once he is gone, I turn to face the bane of my existence.

"Why are you here, Roman?"

"Can we sit down first?"

When I nod, he hangs his coat behind a chair and takes a seat around the dining table. Drawing in a deep breath, he brings his his fingers together to form a cage in front of him. His tightly shut lips don't even twitch. He has the perfect poker face.

What do I do? Do I start shouting? Do I cry? Do I hear him out?

"Would you like something to drink?" I ask, because honestly, I don't know what else to say.

"Coffee would be nice."

I edge along the wall into the kitchen. What is he doing here? Is he here to see me? My gaze falls to my stripy pajama bottoms and wool socks. I wish I was wearing something more appropriate right now.

With a quick tie of my hair into a pony tail and smoothing of my bangs, I wait for the coffee to brew. Then I carry the mugs back to the dining room, and sit across from Roman.

He takes a sip from his coffee, and even though there's a wide table between us, I swear, I can sense his body heat.

Focus, Abby.

"What brings you here?" I ask him after clearing my throat.

"The ball—"

I sigh, circling my finger around the rim of the mug.

Roman sets down his coffee and wets his lips. "Each year, Rhode and Carter families host a charity ball, the largest in the tri-state area and a tradition our grandparents had started. This year, we are raising funds for Alzheimer's and Dementia patients beyond treatment."

"Ah..." I lean back in my chair. Now I get it.

"Since your father has won the Nobel Prize for his research on neurodegenerative brain diseases, I personally wanted to invite Dr. Shepherd to the ball."

Fumes hover above Roman's mug and cloud my vision. "AI see," I say softly. This visit wasn't an excuse to see me. He really came here for my dad. The lump in my throat feels bigger now. No matter how much I try to play the hero when we're away, I'm nothing but a pitiful bitch who craves to be held when Roman is near.

Roman leans forward to grab his mug, and his oaky smell hits me. God, I missed him so much.

I close my eyes. "I—hmm."

His hand twitches when I hum, and hot coffee spills on his arm. "Fuck."

"You okay?" I jump up, but Roman reaches across the table and grabs my hand.

I freeze—Roman's white sleeve is covered in coffee stains.

"It's only a couple of drops," he says... But it's not. This is the same image I dreamt on my birthday.

My breathing gets heavier. My heart throbs in my chest.

"Sit, Abby," he orders, and I sink back into my chair.

It's just a stupid dream. I can't see the future. This doesn't mean anything...

After a couple of blinks, I pull my hand from Roman's grasp. "I, umm... You should ask the faculty. They schedule Dad's events for him," I say.

"Can I leave this invitation with you?" he asks, summoning an envelope from his coat. "I'll email the dean and invite him too."

"Sure." I slowly rise to my feet.

Roman follows my lead and heads toward the door. "Walk me to my car?"

My brain still feels numb after the deja vu I've just had, but somehow, I still manage to grab Dad's wool cardigan and pull my Uggs over my pajama bottoms. Roman puts his coat on too, and stays close as we step outside.

The footpath is slippery with yesterday's rain. Our breaths are leaving fumes in the air. The smell of wet grass and dews fizzle in my nose.

"Your dad can bring a plus one," Roman says, keeping his icy gaze ahead.

"I'll let him know."

"I'm talking about you, Abby."

I sigh and open the iron fence for him. "Why do you want me there, Roman? To introduce me to your fiancé?"

"Yes," he says, and I whip my gaze at him. His caramel eyes glow like headlights under the overcast sky. "I want you to see how insignificant she is. She doesn't compare to you—no one does."

"Then you know what to do." I shrug, trying to look away.

"I need you to trust me, baby..." He wets his lips and steps closer. "You can be my number one. You are my number one." His knuckles trace my jaw, stealing my breath. He is inches away. "I thought we had something special. Was it all in my head?"

"No," I say softly, and he exhales with relief. "Roman, I can't..."

"I love you," he whispers against my lips.

I step back to put some distance between us, but the world feels shaky under my feet. Is there an earthquake? I keep backing away until my hips graze his black Audi.

Roman steps forward and tilts my chin up. God, he has faint gold lines in his caramel eyes. Nothing else matters when we are this close. Nothing... I tug on his lapels to find my balance. His perfume consumes me and I lose my sight.

"Imagine, baby." His hands dip into my cardigan as he nuzzles my hair. "I'll come home to you on the weekends. We'll travel—The Amalfi Coast, Hawaii, Singapore... You name it. I'll find you a better apartment, somewhere close to my office."

I can't tear my blurry gaze from his chest rising and falling against mine. My head spins. Images of our naked bodies flood my mind. In the sea, on a private jet, on a bed with black satin sheets, and on countless other beds around the world... His arms, his breath, his warmth...

"Give me a chance," Roman whispers, his arms tightening around me. His coffee breath heats my nose, my chin, my ear... My skin shimmers.

"Will you marry her?"

"You don't have to worry about anyone else."

Can I be the other woman? Can I be the hand that waits in the shadows until it shatters someone else's dreams? I shake my head and face the empty road.

I can't.

Roman cups my cheek and turns my head to face him. His caramel eyes sear into my soul. "Let me make your dreams come true," he whispers, then crashes his lips over mine.

His shiny black car bounces as my back presses against the passenger window. I can taste the coffee on his cool tongue. A soft moan escapes into our kiss. Our lips only part briefly for breath before they unite again. My heart is about to stop. My mind is a mess.

I want him. I love him.

But what if Roman makes my dreams come true? The ones I fear the most... The ones that end at the edge of a cliff...

My fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, then push him away. "No," I gasp. "You have to stop. This needs to stop!"

Roman smirks as he leans in for another kiss.

"No, Roman." I shove him again. "You either walk away from that marriage or from me."

"Can't do either, baby."

"Then you should go."

His eyes turn amber with rage in the split of a second. I gasp when his hand whizzes by my face and his palm slams against the roof of his Audi. "We're not over, Abby. We'll never be over."

My entire being shivers when Roman's heat leaves my body. He strikes the roof once again, then backs away. His footsteps crunch the damp autumn leaves as he circles his car.

I push away from the vehicle. My knees feel weak and my lips are still wet from his kiss.

Here I am, standing on the corner of my childhood house. My soul is floating above me like a kite and I'm trying to decide if I should hold on to it or let it go. I know the right thing to do is to cut it loose, because my kite is tangled. It's crooked. It has holes all over and it's kind of ugly. But my kite is still an extension of me. And no matter how hard I'm trying to cut loose, Roman still holds some of my strings.

I must hate him for this. I really must. Maybe I will.

Maybe I won't.

"Roman?" My voice cracks.

He stops as he opens his door and whips me a glance. There's hope in his eyes.

I part my lips to tell him goodbye, but the words are stuck. They're tangled somewhere between my soul and my mind, just like my kite.

My hand grasps my necklace. The rubies on the heart pendant feel cool under my burning touch. I either fly into Roman's arms, or...

Without a second glance, I cross the gate, and run the pebble path that takes me home.