“What are you thinking, buying a house with her and fixing it up together like she did all those times with Oliver?” Tension ripples through my body. “This isn’t like that.” He stares. “Do you have something you want to get off your chest?” My question comes out sharp. “You’re making a mistake,” he grumbles. “I don’t expect you to understand.” No one can, no matter how much they try. Dahlia and I have a complicated history of antagonizing each other into being the best—and sometimes worst—versions of ourselves. That kind of connection doesn’t go away no matter how many years I spend wishing it
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