The doorbell rings and I have to talk myself into walking toward it. Because I know who’s on the other side. Gwen. Airport Gwen. Beach Gwen. Tripp’s Gwen. Gwen, who Tripp never so much as mentions. I scoff, shaking off the way that thought makes my stomach turn and stride toward the door. As my hand wraps around the handle, I steel myself because every time I lay eyes on her, it’s this full-body, visceral reaction. I freeze up like a fucking teenager. My heart pounds. My hands get clammy. And I have to clamp my molars together to keep from sighing like an awestruck little boy. Because Gwen
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