Love on the Brain by Ali Hazelwood

            Of course, when I say “lifelong dream” I mean until a couple of years ago. Once I realized how life-alteringly cruel humans can be, I scrapped the family part from the dream. The house lingers, though, at least according to the pang in my heart when Levi pulls up the driveway. First thing I notice: he grows hummingbird mint in his garden—nature’s hummingbird feeder, and my favorite plant. Grrr. Second: there are no cars in the driveway. Weird. But some lights inside are on, so maybe his wife’s is just in the garage. Yeah, that’s probably it.

            I jump out of the truck—which is unjustly tall—with already-sore muscles and already-itchy legs. “Are you sure this is okay?”

            He gives me a silent look that seems to mean Haven’t we been over this seven times already? and leads me up his driveway, where we’re surrounded by a delightful amount of fireflies. I’m explosively jealous of this place. And I’m about to meet Levi’s significant other, who probably has a nickname for me, her husband’s ugly former lab mate. Something like FrankenBee. Or Beezilla. Wait, those nicknames are actually pretty cute. I hope for their sake that they came up with something meaner.

            The inside of the house is silent, and I wonder if the family is already asleep. “Should I be quiet?” I whisper.

            He gives me a puzzled look. “If you want,” he says at regular volume. Maybe the walls are soundproof?

            Either Levi is a very strict dad, or he and his wife are pros at picking up after their kid. The house is immaculate and sparsely furnished, no toys or clutter in sight. There are some engineering journals, a handful of sci-fi posters on the walls, and an open Asimov book on the coffee table—one of my favorite authors. How is this man I hate surrounded by everything I love? It’s the ultimate mindfuck.

            “There are three unused bedrooms upstairs. You can pick the one you like best.” Three unused bedrooms? How big is this house? “One’s technically my office, but the couch pulls out. Do you want to shower?”

            “Shower?”

            “I didn’t mean to—” He looks flustered. “If you want to. Because you ran. You don’t have to. I don’t mean to imply that—”

            “That I smell like the sweaty crotch of a trout?”

            “Uh . . .”

            “That I’m as dirty as a gas station restroom?”

            He’s definitely flustered, and I laugh. The blush makes him almost endearing. “Don’t worry. I smell gross and I’d love a shower.”

            He swallows and nods. “You’ll have to use my en suite. Soap and towels are in there.”

            But isn’t his wife—?

            “I can wash and dry your clothes if you want. Give you something of mine in the meantime. Though I don’t have anything that will fit. You’re very . . .” He clears his throat. “Small.”

            Wait a minute—is he divorced? Is that why he doesn’t wear a ring? But then he wouldn’t have pics of his wife in his office, would he? Oh my God, is she dead? No, Guy would have told me. Or would he?

            “You have an iPhone, right?” He exits the living room and comes back holding out a charger. “Here you go.”

            I don’t take it. I just stare up at his irritatingly handsome face, and—God, this is driving me nuts. “Listen,” I say, perhaps more aggressively than I should, “I know it’s rude, but I’m too weirded out not to, so I’m just going to ask you right out.” I take a deep breath. “Where is your family?”

            He shrugs, still holding out the charger. “It’s not rude. My parents are in Dallas. My eldest brother lives on the Air Force base in Vegas, and the other recently deployed to Belgium—”

            “Not that family. Your other family.”

            His head tilts. “Does my father have a secret family you want to tell me about, or . . . ?”

            “No. Your kid, where is she?”

            “My what?” He squints at me.

            “There’s a picture of her in your office,” I say weakly. “And Guy told me you two babysit together.”