He sticks the spoon back in his mouth and licks it clean. “See? I don’t have a problem with your spit.”

I can feel the heat in my cheeks, and I duck my head. Lance leans in close, forcing me to look up at him. “I want to kiss you again.”

I survey the crowded café.

He must see my panic, because he tugs my ponytail and sits back in his chair. “But I can wait if I have to.”

We eat our desserts in silence for a while. I’m too nervous to enjoy this the way I’d like to. I can feel Lance staring at me.

“Where’d you go to high school?” he asks.

“In Galesburg.”

“Right, because you moved.”

“Mm-hmm. My sister went to Wells for a year, though.”

“Really? Do you look alike?”

“Not much. She has brown hair and brown eyes, and she’s tall and thin.”

“Huh.” He takes a few more bites of his sundae. “Wait. What school did you go to before you moved, then?”

I knew this was going to happen eventually.

“I went to Pulaski.”

“I went there for, like, a month right at the end of the school year when I first moved here.” He sets his spoon down and leans forward. “Shit. I knew I knew you. I used to pull your ponytail in the hall. You were the only other ginger in the school. I noticed you right away. Do you remember that?”

I look down at my carrot cake, which sits mostly uneaten on my plate.

“Poppy?”

“I remember.”

“Was I mean to you? I wasn’t trying to be mean.”

“You weren’t mean.”

“Okay. Good.” His knee is going again. Rubbing against mine. “If you remembered, why didn’t you say anything before now?”

“It didn’t seem important.” Because I didn’t think you remembered me at all.

“That we went to school together? You came to my house. Did you know you knew me then?”

Oh, God. This is happening now? My whole body feels numb and like it’s on fire at the same time. “Maybe we should go.”

“Poppy?” He puts his hand over mine to stop me from grabbing my purse.

“You didn’t even really notice I was there.”

“So you did know?”

“Of course I did. Everyone knows who you are,” I say quietly.

“No one here has recognized me.”

“You’re wearing a baseball cap. It’s not like we were friends or anything. We went to school together for a few weeks, and you were two grades higher than me. I was nobody.”

“What aren’t you telling me?”

“I think we should go.”

“Not until you tell me whatever it is that’s making you all sketchy.”

“Can we not do this right here, please?” I whisper.

I don’t actually think there’s an ideal location for this anywhere, ever, but a crowded café is definitely low on the list.

“Sure, okay.” Lance pushes away from the table and comes around to help me into my jacket.

My stomach is twisting. I feel stupid already. I’m going to come across as some pining, idiot girl who’s idolized him for years—which is and isn’t the case. I mean, for a long time I romanticized that kiss, and of course, like the hopeless romantic I am, I had those silly girl fantasies about meeting him again and picking up where we’d left off.

But it isn’t like I never dated or had boyfriends. I’ve done both. I’ve had several long-term boyfriends, nice ones who treated me well. But the fire just never seemed to burn bright or long enough to sustain the initial attraction, and eventually those relationships turned into friendships.

What if he thinks I’m a stalker? No matter how sweet he is with me, there’s plenty of evidence floating around out there to prove he’s a partier with lots of willing partners. That coupled with the strangely labeled contact on his phone is enough to remind me how sideways this whole thing could go.

Lance follows me out of the café, the mood having changed from light and flirty to heavy once again.

He grabs my hand when we’re on the sidewalk. “Can you tell me what’s going on? I really fucking hate being manipulated, and that’s exactly what this feels like.”

“I’m not manipulating you.” I pause while people pass us on the sidewalk. “Can we walk and I promise I’ll talk?”

Lance sighs, but falls into step beside me. I wait until we’re back on a quieter street before I say anything.

“My sister’s freshman year, she took me to a house party. Some kids from her school threw it.”

“Okayyy.”

“I was in seventh grade.”

“Fuck. That wasn’t a good place for you to be, but what does this have to do with anything?”

“I’m getting to that.”

“Was I there?”

I nod, but don’t look at him.

He grabs my arm, gently but firmly, and pulls me to a stop. Stepping in front of me, his eyes are wide and haunted. “Please tell me we didn’t hook up at that party when you were thirteen.”

“God. No. Not in the way you mean.”

He drops his hands, closes his eyes, and releases a relieved breath. “Thank fucking Christ.”

“And I was twelve.”

“Twelve? At a high school party?”

“My thirteenth birthday was, like, a week away. My sister didn’t always make the best choices.”