“I'll think about it,” I lie.
“You better. I'm calling Zach if you don't.” She pauses. “I mean it, Tiff. You deserve to be happy. Not just content. Happy.”
“I know. I love you—”
I stop walking completely, my feet frozen.
“Tiff? You still there?”
Dark hair. Navy peacoat. Hands shoved deep in his pockets as he walks out of a brick building with “Student Services” above the entrance.
No. No, no, no.
“Tiff? Hello? Earth to Tiffany?”
“Jamie,” I whisper, his name barely audible.
“What?” Madison’s voice sharpens. “Tiff, what’s going on?”
“Jamie.” My voice is still barely above a whisper, but somehow it feels too loud, and I worry he’ll be able to hear me across the quad.
“Jamie?” Madison’s tone shifts from confused to alarmed in half a second. “You mean your baby daddy Jamie? What about him?”
“He’s here.”
“Where?”
“Here.” My throat feels tight. “He’s been here for a while now.”
“What?!” Madison practically shrieks through the phone. “And this is the first time you’re telling me? Tiff, what the hell—”
“I, uh, have to go.”
“Wait, don’t you dare hang up on me! Tiff—”
I end the call, my thumb fumbling over the screen. My phone immediately starts buzzing with Madison’s callback, but I silence it and shove it into the stroller’s cup holder.
Jamie still hasn't seen me. He's looking at his phone, his brow furrowed in concentration, completely oblivious to the fact that I'm standing twenty feet away having a complete meltdown.
I should turn around. I should leave before he notices me. But my feet won't move, and some traitorous part of me—the same part that fell for his whiskey eyes four years ago—can't look away.
And God, I hate that even now, even furious and terrified, I recognize how handsome he is. The sharp line of his jaw. The way his hair falls across his forehead. Those same eyes that made me forget my own name at that party.
My phone buzzes again.
Madison.
Then again.
And again.
The movement must catch his attention because suddenly his head jerks up, and those whiskey eyes lock onto mine.
For a moment, we just stare at each other across the quad. The world narrows to just the two of us—him with his hands in his pockets looking caught, me gripping the stroller handle because it's the only thing keeping me upright.
But then white-hot anger surges through my veins, burning away the shock and the fear and that stupid flutter in my chest.
I don't think—I just move, my feet carrying me toward him while my hands grip the stroller handle so hard my knuckles turn white.