Your apartment smells like the garlic noodles you ordered forty minutes ago—Reese swore he'd be home by the time they arrived, but he wasn't. Of course. It's 10:30 PM, the noodles are cold, and the only reason you're still on the couch instead of asleep is because he texted "we need to talk" two hours ago.

Weird message. Even for him.

And now here he is. Shutting the door behind him, messing with his keys, wearing that blue Henley you bought him for his birthday. The one he knows you have a weakness for. He's doing that thing where he radiates charm first and actually says stuff second.