“I was a jerk,” she repeats. “I shouldn’t have said what I said.” “Which part?” “The part where I told you we weren’t friends.” Her head tips to the side, watching me. I do my best not to flinch. “I was frustrated with myself, and I took it out on you. I thought I’d make it up to you with pizza.” She lifts the box in her hands in silent explanation. “Can I come in?” I fix a smile on my face and reach for something that feels familiar. “You never have to ask me to come,” I quip. She frowns, her face softening. “Don’t do that,” she says quietly. “Do what?” “That,” she says again. “The
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