I spend most of the evening hidden in my bedroom after I race through the hallway, hoping not to have to see Enrique while my emotions are swirling so close to the surface. I love him? What was I thinking, admitting that when I'm still supposed to be leaving this month? I mean, I want to stay, but I hadn't told him that yet. What if everything changes?

I turn the lock on the door and lay down in bed, running scenarios through my head until they're supplanted by memories of his lips on mine, his fingers threading through my own.

I'm not going to sleep like that, so I silently open my laptop and set it on the bed beside me to watch some people make a collection of items into a complete gourmet meal.

Great, now I'm hungry.

I don't know how long I bounce around the room, but when I wake the next morning, my hair is caked to my face from the tears I cried over the romance film I ended up watching at two in the morning.

My watch says it's after nine, which means I'm very late for work (huge negative) and Enrique has definitely left and will not expect to discuss this with me (huge positive). I test the waters, slowly opening the door, but the only proof their is of Enrique's existence is a note pinned to the wall outside my door.

See you later. Have a good day.

He's followed it up with a little heart and when I make it downstairs for breakfast, there's a container of food in the fridge with a similar note.

Kindly get lost, butterflies. I have things to do!

The day passes at a crawl as I'm dragged into three meetings that could have been an email. And despite my best efforts, they are not distracting me from last night's bathroom door confession. They are making me exceptionally bored, though, and having to feign interest is making me wish I weren't the team leader.

My coffee cup is getting an excellent workout today.

Carla, true to form, has managed to distract me, sending me several hilarious pictures of her throughout the day, holding up various signs with random pictures or words on them. By the time she sends the last one, I'm finishing up work for the day and Carla is standing beside Lorena outside their apartment building.

Is this some kind of secret code? I send her.

I cannot believe you're asking me that, she replies. And then she goes silent.

A whole hour passes and I still have no idea what's going on with the pictures when they pull into my driveway and hop out of the car.

The door is barely open when I race out to greet them, completely forgetting that shoes are a thing that exist. "I can't believe you guys are here!"

"And I can't believe you didn't tell us your husband is a millionaire."

"He's not."

Lorena looks at Carla and back to me. "How far into denial have you swum, my friend?"

"I haven't! It's a long story but he's not a millionaire."

"That ring," Carla begins.

"And this house?" Lorena finishes. "Man's got money."

"Enrique is a teacher, guys. Don't get weird when he gets home, please."

"Fine," Carla sighs. "But only because we like you."

"Does this place have its own postal code?" Lorena asks, inviting herself inside and throwing her shoes off into a pile near the door. "This is massive."

"You haven't even seen the best part," I tease, racing over to the base of the stairs.

"The staircase?" Lorena asks.

"Ooh, the bedroom?" Carla adds, wiggling her eyebrows.

"No! Eww. This way." I grab them by the hand and pull them around to the small bookcase near the fireplace, pushing it open to their great delight.

"If there's a secret hotel down here, I'm not even going to be surprised," Carla squeals, pushing past me and down the narrow staircase.

I can tell when she reaches the bottom because she shouts "Oh, my God, Bianca it's huge!"

And then, when no one takes her up on the joke, she adds, "That's what she said."

Leave it to Carla.

"It's the coolest part of the house, isn't it?" I can't help but smile. "And, check this out. I've been practicing."

"What have you been practicing? Ballet? Karate? Oh, oh! Cooking!"

"You watch your mouth or I'll make you a burnt special."

"Wouldn't be the first time she had to eat burnt food. She's very good at creating that special all by herself."

"You two are very funny. Now, Bianca, what have you been practicing?"

"This," I say, pressing only one button on the console.

They do not understand the gravity of my success, but no Christmas lights are flashing, so I do.

The screen rolls up and the glass doors slide open of their own accord.

"I could get used to this," Carla says, stepping out onto the grass in her socks. "This is amazing. Fully amazing."

"Pretty cool, right?"

Lorena isn't moving, looking out over the picturesque landscape much as I had the first time I'd witnessed it.

"It is beyond cool," Carla calls out, spinning around with her arms outstretched. "I am so glad we came out here to you. The drive was kind of sucky, but this is definitely worth it."

"I'm glad you think so." I glance over at Lorena who's still staring out at the mountains, motionless. "You okay, Lor?"

"Yeah, yeah. Fine. I'm just admiring." She turns toward me and forces a smile. She's not just admiring. But I've known her long enough to know when I can't win.

"So, how's work been for you? As boring as it's been for us?"

"Us?" Carla waggles her eyebrows.

"My company, Carla. My team."

"Mmhmm, of course. Well, work's been fine. Not exactly prime bikini season, as you know, but work is good. We booked a photoshoot and things are going well, I guess."

"That's good. And you survived burning dinner." This small talk is irritating even me, but Carla is her usual self, completely willing to roll with whatever punch I throw at her.

"I did! I did. Not sure Lorena survived me burning dinner, but she was polite as always."

"I wasn't polite. I believe I called it charcoal."

"Which was actually quite the compliment given what it looked like."

We're laughing like old times. And for the first time since I moved here, I feel like this house could maybe be mine. I feel like it fits.

"So, who wants to get started on hilariously bad manicures, some snacks, and a movie?"

It doesn't take more than that to get them bounding up the stairs to grab supplies.

Halfway up the stairs Lorena turns around and stares at me, Carla still bouncing up ahead and talking about how we're going to have the best backdrop down there for girls' night.

"Are you sure everything's okay? You seemed a little sad."

"I'm settling in, Lor. Everything will be fine."

She looks me up and down, crossing her arms across her chest. "You seem different. More open, maybe. But also more scared, and I— Oh, my God, you love him!"

Carla, of course, materializes faster than I can blink. "She what? Why am I never around when people share these things?" Carla's pout might be larger than my ring.

"I didn't say anything," I protest.

"She's right. I said it." Lorena turns to Carla. "But I'm right. And she's going to admit it one of these days. Now let's go. I was promised snacks."

And just like that we fall back into our usual routine of gossiping about the neighbours and providing exceptionally unprofessional manicures to each other that we will have to redo if we hope to wear them outside the house.

We're barely half an hour into the manicure ritual when the front door slams closed. Enrique isn't supposed to be home for hours, so my heart leaps into my throat. Did I forget to lock the door? Who's wandered into my house? At least it is unlikely to be a bear, given that the door is still on its hinges.

The girls notice my worry and stare at the staircase with me, none of us even attempting to close the giant glass windows that would provide any barrier between us and the outdoors.

"Wait here," I say, steeling myself to greet the stranger with only a small bottle of nail polish. Hopefully it was just Mrs. Gallagher again.

Creeping up the stairs, I clutch the nail polish like it will be able to protect me. I know it will be even more useless than my fist, but it makes me feel better.

"Bianca?" Enrique calls before I get to the top of the stairs. "Bianca are you here?"

Sure enough, his bag and shoes are sitting in a pile near the door. "I'm right here," I call, relaxing my grip on the nail polish. "I'm sorry I didn't know you were coming home for supper."

"I wasn't," he admits, leaning in for a kiss. I'm so shocked that I wind up awkwardly grazing his cheeks with my lips.

The look on his face when I pull back shifts from confusion to worry faster than I can blink.

"I didn't know we had guests."

I knew we had guests, I just didn't know they were here to watch me awkwardly not kiss my husband.

"You have a lovely home," Lorena says finally, crossing the floor to stand beside me. "Thanks for having us."

"Of course," he pushes a smile onto his face. "I did say you could come if Bianca wanted it. But if you'll excuse me I'd like to shower and change before dinner."

This isn't just regular tired. Something isn't right.