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Me.

I’m her home.

And God help anyone who tries to take her away from me again.

Because this time?

I'm not letting go.

Chapter 13

Amanda

“So is this guy a permanent fixture or what?”

Brielle asks the question with all the subtlety of a freight train.

I nearly choke on my coffee.

My wardrobe manager grins shamelessly as she wheels another rack of costumes into my dressing room.

We're finally back in New York.

Back home.

Well.

Sort of.

I still keep my apartment in Hoboken because, despite being a Broadway actress, I apparently remain a Jersey girl at heart.

And after the insanity of California, sleeping in my own bed with Less beside me had felt delicious, decadent, perfect—normal.

Dangerously normal.

Too good.

This morning we shared coffee in my kitchen.

He'd kissed me goodbye in the hallway.

Then walked me all the way downstairs because apparently elevators are now tactical operations.

And somehow, seeing him standing there in jeans and a black T-shirt, holding my travel mug while I locked my apartment had made my heart squeeze.

Like maybe—please, pretty please with a cherry on top—this time could be different.

But hope is scary.

Because I've hoped before.

Three years ago, I'd hoped too.

And just look how that turned out.

All that time wasted.

Left alone and wondering what I did wrong.