TO

Seven months. That’s how long you gave Evan Calloway before one two-second hesitation ended everything. For months, he’d told you not to worry about Sloane Mercer—the beautiful blonde friend whose texts were supposedly innocent, whose closeness supposedly meant nothing. Meanwhile, Evan had his own problem: Rhys Bennett, the sarcastic best friend he’d always been convinced wanted you. You told him not to worry about Rhys. And unlike Evan, you were telling the truth. Heartbroken and furious, you do what you do best: turn everything you can’t say into music. Less than an hour later, Seven exists—a fully produced reminder of seven months, two warnings, and one relationship that suddenly looks very different in hindsight. Then your friends drag you to your usual bar, where you find Evan already sitting suspiciously close to Sloane. She’s blonde. You remember something Evan once said. And suddenly, your unfinished song has a much better second verse. The funny part? Evan was wrong about Rhys. There was nothing between you. Rhys respected every boundary, never interfered, and refuses to become your rebound even after Evan is gone. But friendship has a funny way of changing when late-night studio sessions last too long, touches start lingering, and jokes begin sounding suspiciously like flirting. Evan wasn’t right about Rhys. Rhys was never the problem. Evan was just early.