“This is our last chance.”

My eyes roam over Icing on the Cake, hands on my hips. We’re loitering just outside the faded brick building on a quiet, tree-lined street near the main drag of downtown Napa. The noontime sun is perched high above us, bleaching the sky around it.

This place isn’t as fancy as Sucre, but the cheerful yellow door, matching awning, and sweet display of desserts in the window have raised my hopes despite attempts to claw them back down to earth. The disasters that have befallen us this week put our odds somewhere in the gutter, but I can’t give up with Adam and Grace’s eternal happiness on the line.

Eli’s standing a few feet away with his hands in his pockets, wearing an indulgent look.

“What’s that face?”

His expression turns innocent. “It’s not a face.” “It’s a face. You’re making a face.”

“It was just a good line, that’s all,” he says. “Extremely dramatic, but solid.”

“I’m serious,” I groan, removing the clip holding my hair in a messy updo. “We’re going to have to do whatever it takes to get this cake.”

Eli watches avidly as I throw the clip into my bag and rake my fingers through my hair. “I’m drawing the line at sexual favors, but I’m down for almost anything else.”

I give him a look, and he flashes a little smile in return. “We’re out of options, Eli. If you need to get on your knees, so be it.”

His smile turns into a full grin. “I love Adam and would do anything for him, but I won’t do that.”

“Okay, Meat Loaf,” I mutter.

“That’s not to say I’m opposed to the position under other circumstances,” he continues. “Just not for Adam.”

I don’t dare look at Eli, but my mind immediately flashes with memories: him pressing me against our front door, kneeling in the foyer as he pushed up the hem of my dress, laying open-mouthed kisses up my thighs while I wound my fingers into his hair; the way he’d drag me to the end of the bed by my ankle, laughing, so that my legs dangled over the edge and he could insinuate himself between them to pepper sweet kisses on my stomach.

The way he would’ve knelt for me this morning if I asked him to. If I’d let that timer spin out of control, if Cole and Cal hadn’t interrupted us and then pulled Eli away to survey the damaged cottage.

We spent the morning apart after that, and I was so busy with Aunt Julia that I didn’t see him until it was time to go. The distance felt necessary, a bucket of cold water over my head and a chance for me to remember the list of reasons I can’t put my hands on him again:

1.

Because we did this before and broke it

2.

Because after five years of barely talking, we’re finally in a better place and I need to protect that

3.

Relatedly, because of Adam and our inextricably tied friendship

4.

Because, yes, Eli quit his job, but he’s already got his sights on something new, and old habits die hard

5.

Because even if something were to happen, I’m likely leaving for Seattle

6.

Most importantly, because I can’t afford to be distracted this week

And I am distracted, torturously. My body’s been edgy since he left my bed, a feeling that only got worse during the car ride over here, which was filled with surface-level conversation—nothing about what we did this morning or Eli’s confession last night. Our back and forth still managed to feel like the weight of his body on mine, and now I’m stuck with the sexual version of a held-in sneeze. I desperately need relief.

But that relief would come in the form of an Eli-gifted orgasm, and I can’t. No matter how much I want it.

And god, I do.

I bite back a groan at my circular thoughts, nodding toward the bakery. “We should go in.”

“We’re twelve minutes early,” Eli says, dodging a stroller-pushing dad as he follows me to the door.

“I’m not taking any chances.”

He stops me, his gaze assessing, and then amused. “Margot traumatized you.”

“You’ve got some burn marks from the dragon, too, buddy,” I say, flicking a finger at him.

“Buddy, huh?” he murmurs, fighting a smile. “What happened to

shithead?”

“You’ve graduated since you’ve been such a good boy,” I say dryly. “I thought my shithead was an endearment.”

“Derogatory, I’m sorry to tell you.”

The smile wins as he reaches past me for the door handle, putting our bodies in torturous proximity. “I knew it.”

I tip my chin back, adjusting to the way he looms over me. If I pressed up on my tiptoes, I’d be tasting him right now. “Don’t be smug about it.”

“Not smug.” His mouth softens into a tender little curve. “I just like that I knew.”

The moment quiets and stretches out, and I hold my breath, not wanting to break this spell. Knowing we have to for so many reasons.

His gaze skims my face before landing with intention on my mouth. “I…”

When he doesn’t continue, I whisper, “What?”

His eyes find mine again and he lets out a breath that touches my lips the way I wish his mouth would. The way I know it can’t.

“This isn’t our last chance,” he says, and for a second I think he’s talking about us, until I remember: we’re at the bakery. For the cake. Because Adam and Grace need a cake for their wedding. “But I recognize that it’s our best one, so if this place is up to your standards we’ll make it work. Even if I have to get on my knees.”

“I thought you crossed that option off the list.”

The corners of his eyes crinkle. I have to curl my hands into fists to stop from touching those time-worn lines. “I will if it comes down to it, for you.”

He’s teasing, of course, but it still makes my heart drop into my stomach. “Don’t tell Adam that. You know he gets sensitive about being our number one.”

Adam has always claimed the number one best friend spot in both my and Eli’s brackets; to this day he jokingly refuses to acknowledge a lower spot. I’ve held on to that small token of belonging, but I can’t help wondering where we all honestly sit now. Grace is his Person, and he’s introduced other friends into his life, too. Soon they’re going to have an infant to focus on. The more phases he leapfrogs ahead of us into, the further away the number one days feel.

“If Adam finds out about this hypothetical and bizarre sexual-favor scenario, you can support my lie and tell him it was for him,” Eli says, interrupting my thoughts.

I exhale as he finally opens the door, nudging me inside. “Deal. Let’s hope we won’t have to pull that lever, though.”

“Afternoon!”

We turn as a tall Asian woman with close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair steps out from behind the L-shaped counter. The space doesn’t gleam like Margot’s shop, but it’s much warmer. The front room is small and crowded

with a few other customers roaming around, the floor a slightly faded black- and-white checkerboard. One wall is full of floating shelves holding trailing Pothos plants and stacks of love-worn baking cookbooks.

“Are you my two o’clock?” the woman asks as she reaches us.

“We are.” I take her offered hand, stepping aside while Eli does the same. “I’m Georgia and this is Eli.”

“Hey, you two, I’m Tai.” She runs her palms down the white smock tied around her waist, splitting her gaze between the two of us. “Usually I like to meet with the couple for—”

She keeps talking, but my brain blanks out. All I can think of is Margot kicking us out of her bakery because we were on time instead of early and because she hated our vibes. Grace and Baby Song-Kim not having a cake to enjoy on Saturday. My spot in that bracket.

“That’s us,” I blurt out. “We’re the couple.”

Eli turns to me, eyes wide, and I hold out my hand. He stares at it, then at me. I wiggle my fingers. This is your kneeling moment, dude.

After a beat, he takes my hand. It’s tentative at first, like we haven’t done this a million times. But when his fingers wind through mine, it’s with a confident pressure. Tendrils of attraction and an old, familiar comfort wind through my blood. Our eyes meet. It’s that lock-click, even under false pretenses.

“That’s us,” he echoes, eyes on me.

I smile, adrenaline pouring through me as I turn to Tai. “Thank you for taking us on such short notice.”

“That’s perfect, then,” Tai says. “Let’s get started.”

Eli gives me a look I can’t decipher, but follows me without a word.

“I like getting to know my couples as we’re doing the tasting, but tell me if I get too nosy,” Tai says as she sets two square white plates in front of Eli and me. There are six slices on each, delectable little triangles of flour and sugar my roiling stomach can’t handle right now.

“Sounds good,” Eli says beside me. His knee bobs underneath the wood table, his bare skin brushing up against mine over and over.

I wish we hadn’t both worn shorts. I wish I could read any thought or emotion on his face to determine if he wants to strangle me for this latest pickle I’ve gotten us into, but it’s blank. He held my hand until we sat down, then placed it on my leg, his palm grazing my thigh as he let go. Now his hands are clasped between his legs, his fingers tangling and untangling.

Tai describes each of the flavors to us as she takes a seat in the chair across the table. “Why don’t you try the vanilla first?”

“I’ve got this one, just to check it off our list,” Eli says, giving me a pointed look. “Georgia has a vanilla allergy.”

My response is immediate, exasperated, and years old. “It’s not an allergy, I just sometimes can’t tolerate it.”

“Every time she eats it,” he says. “Not every time.”

“It’s every time,” Eli whispers to Tai conspiratorially. She raises a questioning eyebrow at me.

“I— okay, that’s true, but it’s an intolerance.” I nudge Eli’s knee. “Why don’t you and your mouth do something more productive than spreading slander?”

His amusement turns heated. “Sure, I’m taking requests.”

“Noted for later,” I play along, and god, I wish. His eyes spark, like a true fiancé’s would. “But for now I mean the cake.”

“This is fun,” Tai says, splitting a smile between us. Eli grins over at her. “I agree.”

Unfortunately, I do, too.

“So, how’d you two meet?” Tai asks.

My brain goes offline as I unfold a napkin in my lap. For a second, I forgot we’re supposed to be faking. “Uh…”

“At a Halloween party,” Eli steps in, pressing his fork into the slice. I watch as he takes a bite, licking his lips with a soft, satisfied hum that sounds like the noise I licked off his tongue this morning. It buzzes through

my body like a sugar high. “Georgia was singing karaoke and tripped over the tip of her pepperoni pizza costume as I was passing by. Knocked me flat on my ass.” He glances at me. “Literally and figuratively.”

I blink at him, my mouth parting. In return, his mouth curls around his fork as he takes another bite.

Ohh-kay. He’s not going to strangle me, but he is going to play with me as payback. Amusement and something smokier curl through me.

“Thankfully you were wearing that blow-up T-Rex costume, so it broke our fall,” I say.

He lifts an eyebrow, cutting into the next slice, which is passion fruit. “Yeah, until your crust punctured one of my arms.”

I lift an unapologetic shoulder. “Hazard of the costume, I’m afraid.” Tai laughs. “What song were you singing?”

“It was—”

“Celine Dion,” Eli says. “ ‘It’s All Coming Back to Me Now.’ I thought someone was playing a clip of a dying cat on the speaker system until I turned the corner and saw her standing on the coffee table.”

“I don’t stand on tables!” I cut in with a defensive laugh.

The gold in his eyes is lit up like stars. “Anymore. But you did as a pepperoni pizza.”

I take a bite of cake. “Also, my singing isn’t that bad.”

This is a patent lie, and the dying-cat comparison is Eli being generous. He used to sneak into the bathroom when I was performing shower concerts; I’d find him leaning against the counter when I pulled back the curtain, wearing a tender grin.

“Buddy, come on,” he laughs quietly and the curve of it makes it sound like he’s calling me Peach. There’s so much affection in it. If I didn’t have five years’ worth of evidence that he’s good at playing roles, I’d sink so deep into this that I’d never come out.

This isn’t our old role-playing, though. It’s softer, like we’re doing this in support of one another, not in defense of ourselves. There’s a heat, too, though it’s surely just left over from our slip-up this morning.

“The passion fruit is good,” I say, nodding at his nearly gone slice.

“Delicious,” he agrees, eyes on me.

“It’s funny,” Tai muses, “I’ve been doing this for twenty-three years and I’ve discovered it’s usually the imperfections that make people fall in love. Bad singers, would-be chefs who burn every meal. My partner snores like a freight train, but when they travel for work, I can’t sleep. Go figure, right?” She gestures between us. “Now back to you two. Are we talking love at first sight?”

“No,” I say in unison with Eli’s, “Yes.”

I gape at him, shocked he’s weaving such an integral part of our story into this moment. He must be saying it because it’s familiar, which makes it more believable.

Tai clocks my reaction and leans in. “Very juicy. Try the peach bourbon next and then tell me all about that.”

The cake might as well be cardboard in my mouth. Every sense is locked on Eli, waiting for his answer.

“She had fake pepperonis all over her face, and she was still the most beautiful person in the room. She rearranged everything in my body when she ran into me. Again, literally and figuratively.” His voice is quiet, eyes on Tai, but I can feel his awareness of me like a tether between us. One corner of his mouth picks up as he takes a bite of cake. “Mmm. This one’s my favorite.”

Tai beams. “I’m so glad you love it. I have a bias toward peaches.”

“Me, too,” Eli says with a brilliant smile. “That wa— it’s my nickname for Georgia. Peach. I called her that the night we met, and she called me Ninety-Nine because I was the ninety-ninth person to try that nickname on her. I wasn’t very original.”

The line between real and play is blurring, and I scramble to keep up. “Not original, but far superior to Pepperoni Face.”

His laugh is soft in volume and rough in tone; it feels like his palms moving over me this morning.

“And for you it was later?” Tai asks me.

I can’t find my words at first, too busy thinking about Eli’s. I watch him fiddle with a long strip of paper he must’ve peeled from his napkin. False

scenarios float through my mind, but in the end, there are some things you can’t fake.

“We were best friends for a long time and that felt like winning the lottery to me, so I was scared to mess with it.” Eli’s devoted attention is a touch, like fingers framing my face. “We used to work at our friend’s family’s winery every year and the last summer we were there, things changed. We were going to be at the same school after a couple years of distance, and once we were there, I just…” I stare down at Eli’s fingers, frozen on that strip of paper. “He bought me a cupcake for my twenty-first birthday in October. Chocolate, of course.”

Tai laughs, but is otherwise rapt, and I think back to that night two months into the school year. I watched Eli climb the steps to my off-campus apartment, a familiar blue box from a local bakery in one hand, his other palm moving down the thigh of his jeans. He looked at the door, not knowing that I was looking at him, taking in every detail of his face because I knew I’d want to remember what he looked like the moment before we tipped over. We’d been dancing around it, him tentative and me terrified, even though I knew it was inevitable. The previous weekend we’d nearly kissed in the dark hallway of a frat party, the tang of beer burning my nostrils, his breath on my mouth. Someone had interrupted us, and I’d lived in that suspended moment the entire week, my heart somewhere in my throat. In his hands.

I still remember how carefully he lit the single candle, his palm curved protectively around it afterward. I wanted his hand exactly like that against my neck, cradling it before he kissed me. He sang “Happy Birthday,” eyes on me, that deep, beautiful brown lit up with flame. I was so scared. I wanted it so much.

“I wished for him,” I admit, my heart in my throat again. “Then I blew out the candle and the wish came true. That’s how it’s been ever since.”

Eli’s eyes finally meet mine, dark and sparking, and he keeps me there.

He remembers, too. The memory is so alive between us it’s touchable.

Maybe I didn’t give him all of me, but I gave him more than I ever gave anyone else, and instead of taking it back I locked it up. Now saying

anything about how we used to be, how much I loved him, feels like unlocking it again. I’m scared he’s going to see what was left over when we broke up. What’s starting to spark again with a little bit of oxygen.

It’s that thought that straightens my spine. “I love the peach, too, but passion fruit might be the winner.” I raise an eyebrow at Eli. “Don’t you think?”

Remember it’s Grace’s favorite and we’re here for her and Adam, not us? Remember that we’re playing a role?

He straightens, too, as if I’ve yelled it at both of us. The strip of napkin wrapped around his fingers is nearly dissolved, too flimsy to keep any kind of shape, if that’s what he was trying to do.

“Right,” he says. “The peach bourbon is my personal favorite, but passion fruit’s the winner.”

Tai nods with a smile. “It’s a great decision, though there’s not a bad decision you could make in the bunch. My cakes are delicious.”

“They’re incredible,” I say. “We would be so grateful if—” She waves me off. “Say no more. The cake is yours.”

A flash of guilt hits me knowing we’re getting it under false pretenses, but it’s quickly replaced by relief. “I’m not going to, but just know that I could seriously kiss you right now. You have no idea what this means to us.”

“It’s my pleasure,” she says. “Let’s talk through the rest of the details and then we’ll be all set.”

The rest of the appointment flies by, and by the time we’re finished I’m an exhausted, elated mess.

Once we get outside, I pull up Venmo so I can send Adam a payment request, just so he can see we’ve crossed an item off the list.

“A win, finally,” I say, darting a glance at Eli.

He’s watching me, hands in his pockets, his expression unfathomable, but he flashes me a smile when our eyes meet. “Quick thinking with the fake-fiancé thing.”

I groan. “I’m sorry. That was a very impulsive thing to do.”

“I mean…” He lifts his shoulders and a thousand unsaid words fill the silence. In another life, it could’ve been real and we both know it. “It worked, right?”

“Thank god she didn’t ask for a proposal story,” I joke, and he laughs, but it’s soft and strange. He wipes a hand across his rough jaw.

“Yeah, well. I probably could’ve come up with something,” he says faintly.

Our gazes tangle. We played a dangerous game in there, and I only realize it now with my heart still racing. With Eli looking at me the way he is, full of memories.

He opens his mouth to speak, but his phone starts ringing in his back pocket. It’s a flick on my forehead, a reminder made more urgent when he smiles wryly and says, “It’s the boss.”

“The boss?” I echo, confused.

“Adam. He’s FaceTiming,” he clarifies, and I get it, because this is our job. Not staring at each other thinking about the past, but staying firmly in the present to make sure Adam gets the best start to his future.

Right.

I go to Eli’s side, making sure to keep enough distance between our bodies that I won’t be tempted to curl into him. “Let’s tell him the good news.”