“WHY IS HE AT SEATON BAKERY?” I asked. Beckett slumming it in Seaton didn’t exactly match the image of him I’d built in my head. And why Tuesdays? It didn’t make sense. “Was he with someone?”

“No clue,” Zara said, shaking her head as I drove us over cragged streets past rundown factories and apartment buildings. “I’m as curious as you are.”

The plan was for her to take off with Callie and Ginger while I went in the bakery and pretended to study. Well, I actually would study, but that wasn’t the reason I’d come here. In fact, I hadn’t been in Seaton for a long time. This suburb of Emerson was mostly low-income housing and warehouses or manufacturing plants. There was a pier that was nice, but the one near Brentwood was nicer. Still, the website for Seaton Bakery belied its location with stunning photography of desserts and drinks that made my mouth water.

We met the other two at a gas station a couple blocks from the bakery, and we all got out of the car.

At the sight of me, Ginger’s mouth dropped open. “Holy crap, Zara, can you do that to me next?”

Zara’s grin was smug. “Anytime, girl.”

Callie touched my arm. “You look amazing, Rory.”

At least I already had blush on my cheeks. I wasn’t used to being complimented and definitely didn’t know how to accept them.

“Okay,” Zara said, “here’s the deal.”

“Wait!” Callie said. “I told Jordan I’d video call her.” She tapped over her phone screen, and we waited until Jordan’s face appeared. She looked

like she was in a mansion but was wearing a polo that said JJ Cleaning Service.

“What’s up?” she asked. “Where is he?” “A bakery,” Ginger said. “In Seaton.”

“Seaton Bakery?” Jordan asked. “It’s so good! I live just a few blocks away from there.” She froze then, like she was ashamed of sharing that information.

“We’re sending Ror in,” Zara said, oblivious to Jordan’s revelation. “Any last-minute advice?”

“Try one of the cupcakes,” Jordan said, then at Zara’s expression, said, “Oh, about Beckett. Um, my boyfriend likes it when I graze my fingers over his arm.” She adjusted the phone and ran the back of her hand over her bicep. “Like this.”

“That’s good,” Zara said. “Touch his muscles, just lightly, if you get a chance.”

“What?” My stomach squirmed at the thought of touching Beckett’s toned arms.

“Don’t be creepy about it,” Zara said, exasperated. “Just a light touch to let him know you’re paying attention.”

“And be sweet,” Callie added. “You’ll be the total opposite of Merritt.” “True,” Ginger said. “And maybe make eye contact with him?”

The list was already getting longer than I knew what to do with. “Won’t that be creepy?”

She shrugged. “I read online that guys like girls who make eye contact.

There’s science behind it and everything.”

“So,” I said. “Eye contact, muscle touching, and be nice. One and two should be easy, but you know me…”

They laughed, and I smiled at my joke. It had been a long time since I’d had friends, especially ones who got my humor.

Then I reminded myself this wasn’t friendship. They were helping me reach a goal and stick it to Merritt for curvy girls everywhere. This wasn’t about me at all—it was about the cause.

The thought sobered me, and I nodded. “Should I head over there in case he leaves soon?”

They nodded.

“Text us and let us know how it goes,” Jordan said.

We all exchanged numbers, and Callie sent a smiley face in a Sermo group text. My heart stuttered. It was the first message I’d received in the chat app.

I put my hand on my car door, feeling nerves flutter through every part of my body. “I’ll see you soon?”

“Definitely,” Jordan said. “Good luck!” She clicked out of the call, and Callie stuffed her phone in her purse.

Zara put her hands on my shoulders. “You look great. Own it.” My mind flashed to what Aiden said, and I smiled. “Thanks.”

We parted ways, and I was on my own, butterflies dancing in my stomach and nerves making my chest tight. The drive to Seaton Bakery only took a minute, but I sat in the car for at least five trying to psych myself up.

Beckett’s car—the latest Mercedes on the market—gleamed from just a few spots over, a stark contrast to the older cars in the lot.

Window paint advertising the local high school’s homecoming and the bakery’s breakfast deal blocked any chance I had at looking inside. My heart stuttered knowing, for whatever reason, Beckett Langley could be behind the handwritten messages. And for the first time, it would be him and me, away from the expectations of Emerson and the Academy.

I took a deep breath. I wasn’t making any progress sitting in this car.

Getting out, I grabbed my purse, locked the doors, and went inside. I couldn’t see Beckett in any of the tables or booths in the bakery. Maybe he was in the bathroom?

I went to the counter and took in all of the treats behind the glass. Jordan was right. The cupcakes looked amazing with all colors and flavors of frosting.

“Hi there,” said a woman behind the counter. She smiled so wide wrinkles formed around her eyes. “I haven’t seen you in here before.”

I smiled at her and practiced my rehearsed line. “Trying to find a new study spot.”

“This is your place,” she said. “I’m Gayle. Hope I’ll be seeing you around here.”

Already I felt more relaxed. This place felt more like home than my own house did at times. “I’m Rory.”

“Nice to meet you.” She smiled and then gestured toward the display. “Can I get you something, babe?”

My eyes landed on a pink cupcake with pearlescent sprinkles, and I ordered it along with a hot chocolate. My mom would have cringed at the sugary food and drink, but it didn’t matter. I’d been on her diet all summer and somehow managed to gain weight. I might as well eat what I wanted if I was going to be fat either way.

Still, Gayle gave me a big smile and told me to enjoy it.

With the treat and drink in hand, I walked to a table and sat down. As I sipped the hot liquid, I scanned the café. The place felt warm, comfortable, with couples and friends sitting together, chatting over food and drink. I could see why Beckett would want to visit a place like this, especially if he was alone a lot.

A hinge creaked on the swinging doors behind the counter, and there stood Beckett, a camera hanging around his neck. Instead of his Emerson uniform, he wore a tight T-shirt and well-worn jeans that hugged his hips.

My mouth watered, not just from the cupcake. When did the muscle- touching start?

He didn’t notice me as he pulled a cupcake from the glass, set it on a small plate, and began snapping photos of it from every angle.

He was a photographer? I’d never seen him use a camera at school, and he wasn’t on the yearbook committee. Why would he come all the way out here to take pictures? And if he liked it so much, why wouldn’t he want someone to know?

I watched the determined look in his eyes as he judged each shot and made adjustments to his camera accordingly. He was every bit as focused on this as he was with a football. Were the photos on the bakery’s site his?

He glanced in my direction, and I immediately turned my gaze down.

Had he caught me staring?

Then I remembered what Ginger said. Eye contact. I looked back at him, and he was walking my way. Holy crap. Holy crap. Holy crap.

Just a few feet from me, he smiled, one corner of his full lips rising just a little more than the other. This close, I noticed the slight crook in his nose. Had he broken it before?

He lifted the camera strap over his head and then twisted it around his wrist. “I didn’t know anyone from Emerson came here.”

They do if they’re stalking you, I thought, then realized I probably couldn’t say that. I had to come up with something that didn’t include the

word “um.” If um was a word.

What did he say, again? And when did the touching start? Would it be awkward if I did it sitting down?

Oh God, I was rambling. In my head, but still.

“That cupcake is perfect,” he said, lifting his camera. “Do you mind if

I?”

“I, um…” Strike one. “Go ahead. Do I need to move?” He shook his head. “No, you’re perfect.”

Me? My stomach swooped. He didn’t even bother to correct himself.

He snapped a few shots and turned the camera around so I could see. I

barely tore my gaze away from the depths of his hazel eyes to take in the crisp shot of the cupcake with the colors of my school uniform blurring in the background.

“That looks better than the one sitting in front of me,” I said in awe. “Can I have that cupcake?”

“Thanks.” He chuckled. “You know, I usually don’t have any models.

Would it be okay?”

His question didn’t quite register. “Would what be okay?” “If I took some more shots with you in them?”

My cheeks flamed, and I thanked God and Zara for blush. At least it wouldn’t be such an intense contrast to my pale skin. “I’m not exactly model material.”

“Nonsense.” He put his hand near my cupcake, then glanced at me as if asking permission.

“Sure.” I nodded. That boy could touch my food anytime…and more than that, if he wanted to.

That thought just made me blush even harder. I needed to get my thoughts together before they started coming out my mouth.

He placed the cupcake near my hand, then gently moved my fingers to cup the decorative wrapping. His touch was so soft, I wondered how this was the same guy who commanded a football field with such power and control.

I was still absorbing the shock to my system as he snapped a few pictures. When he showed me the screen, my hand didn’t look pudgy, but like it belonged next to the brown wrapper and pink frosting. Accented it even.

I glanced up at him, my eyes landing on the bare skin of his throat. I chewed on my bottom lip. “It looks amazing.”

He smiled. Was that a bashful expression I saw? “Your lips would be perfect by it.”

Did he just use my lips and the word “perfect” in the same sentence? Without a “not” between the words? Remind me to have Zara and Kim do my makeup every day for the rest of my life.

“Just, hold it up?” he said.

Awkwardly, I picked it up and held it in front of my freshly painted lips, puckering awkwardly.

He laughed, the sound rolling off his lips and caressing my heart.

I smiled at the sound and relaxed my lips. I was actually having fun, in front of a camera no less. How was that possible?

After a few snaps and adjustments, he held the screen out to me.

I gasped. My apple-shaped lips and the pink shade brought the photo to life. “It looks like a magazine ad.”

His grin was earnest. “You think?” I nodded.

“Thanks.”

The watch on his wrist flashed. As he looked at the message, he frowned. “Sorry, I have to get home. My dad’s actually in town tonight.”

I smiled and nodded.

“See you around, Rory.”

My name sounded perfect on his lips.