Page 144 of How To Not Need You

Jake kisses me back, his hand sliding to the back of my neck, and for a few seconds I forget that we’re sitting on a verandah step, that Gary is probably still watching, and that somewhere inside the house is a five-year-old who will become absolutely unbearable if she discovers her plan worked this well.

Then something digs into my hip. I pull back.

“Ow.”

Jake blinks. “What?”

I reach into my pocket and my fingers close around a small piece of metal. Oh. The key. I pull it out and stare at it. I took it off my keyring after I got home that day. I’d made it less than twenty-four-hours as a person with a key to Jake’s house before spectacularly fucking that up.

Possibly a record. Jake looks down at my hand.

“I took it off.”

“Okay.”

“I hated looking at it.”

“Okay.”

I narrow my eyes. “Stop saying okay.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“I don't know. Something useful.”

“You took it off.”

“Excellent observation skills.”

“Thanks.”

I roll my eyes, but my fingers close around the key. Because now comes the part where I have to decide what to do with it. Which is ridiculous. It’s a key. A tiny piece of metal whose primary purpose is opening a front door, not triggering an existential crisis.

And yet. I look at Jake.

“Is the offer still good?”

He doesn't ask which offer. “Always.”

Fucking hell. I look away before my face can do anything embarrassing and dig my keyring out of my other pocket.

Apartment. Harper’s studio. Bottle opener that has never once fulfilled its intended purpose.

And now Jake’s.

Again.

I work the key onto the ring and let it drop beside my apartment key. Click. There. Done. Jake watches me with a level of smug that briefly has me debating smacking him.

“Don't.”

“I didn't say anything.”

“You're doing the face.”

“What face?”

“The one where you're making this a big thing.”