The November air is crisp, a nice contrast to the stifling heat of the yoga studio. I toss my sweatshirt over my head and lead Brooks down the street. The entire block is lined with organic shops, quirky vegetarian bistros, and coffee bars.

We sit at a small café with blue umbrellas down the street from Go Zen. Specialty is Vegan Greek. Brooks will hate it. Something I find amusing. Our table is across from a group of hipsters that thinks wearing beanies and vaping as a group is mad cool. No one has told them it's not.

"Falafel and ice coffee. Lunch of champions." Brooks says. The look on his face is priceless.

"I try." I take another sip from my straw and put an almost empty cup back on the table.

Brooks drinks his own hoity-toity chai tea latte coconut milk concoction. I recommended it.

"This is candy milk," he says, almost spitting it out.

"Good candy milk."

"I'll never know how you drink it like this." Brooks is shaking his head.

"So why are you here? How are you here?" I ask, cutting to the chase.

"You invited me." Brooks takes a bite of his falafel. "Honestly, this is trash. It's like I'm chewing a rubber burrito."

"I didn't invite you!" I say, finishing my coffee.

"You said 'OK' to my recommendation about visiting..." Brooks looks dumb.

"That's –I was saying 'OK' to maybe thinking about it." I say, exasperated. "I'd hardly call that inviting you."

"I'd call it inviting me," he laughs.

"Well, after how you acted on Halloween, I'm not sure how you could think the invitation still stood. Or did you forget?" I roll my eyes.

"I said sorry, Em." Brooks pauses. "Like 20 times."

"And I heard you. Like 20 times. Also heard the girl," I say, complete with a condescending fake smile.

"Emmy, I don't know what to say–" Brooks starts.

"Nothing." I hold up my hand to stop him from speaking. My mind is alive with images of Trevor on Halloween. The revenge bang really did help.

"Nothing? I want to explain," Brooks says, watching me.

"You don't have to," I say, shrugging. I play with my straw between my teeth. Brooks just shakes his head.

"I will try to behave while I'm here," Brooks laughs.

"Good. You know, it gets kind of hard. Keeping up with your on/off switch."

"Ha-ha," Brooks fake laughs. "Like your mood is any easier to read!"

"Mine may swing, but at least it's not gonna give you whiplash," I say, narrowing my eyes. Challenge me.

"Fine, fine. Do you want me to leave?" He smiles.

I bite my lip to keep from smiling back. Damn it.

"Just say the word and I'll leave." Brooks stretches back in his chair.

I stare at him. That is all. I finally roll my eyes.

Like I'd ever ask him to leave.

"Back to why you're here. No other Thanksgiving plans? Nothing else to do?" I fiddle with my sad empty coffee.

"I'd rather do you." Brooks leans in, licking his lips.

He kisses me so lightly on the lips that I can hardly feel his. His breath is soft and sweet. The kiss of death. "That OK with you?"

"One more time. That's IT." I laugh. I'm dead after all.

"Just once."

He cups my chin in his palm and kisses me again. He smiles and I can't help but return it.

I walk him back to my studio. We pass 100 more hipsters on the way. We stand in the tiny corner of my studio I call a kitchen. New trashy tabloids are sitting on the counter next to an open bag of vegan chips.

"This is it." I wave my hand, introducing my apartment.

"This is your place?" Brooks looks around. Takes in my one-room studio. The messy sink. My white duvet. Flamingo lights hanging around my closet.

"This is my place." Thank god I made my bed this morning.

We walk further into the room. I yank yesterday's yoga top off the edge of the couch. If you call it a couch. I stuff it into the makeshift laundry basket in the corner next to my closet.

Brooks looks around amused.

"Very you. Just as I expected."

"You often imagine what my studio looks like?" I raise my brow.

"Studio, no. Bed, quite a bit." Brooks turns.

I roll my eyes, but can't help but smile.

"That was quite a workout." His eyes linger on mine.

"You'll be a pro in no time." Not a chance in hell. "Do you want to shower?"

"Shower?" Brooks leans in to me. "Let's. I'll help you out of this top."

He slides his hands under my tank. Still sticky from my back sweat. Fuck.

"I meant would you like to shower? Alone." I nod to the bathroom door. His hand drops from under my yoga tank.

"Right."

We both shower. Alone. I do have some self-control. I went first. I was VERY much aware of the sexy half naked man in my bedroom. I mistook every water drop for him cracking the door. Fuck I wanted him to join me. I wanted him. Period. But he didn't come in. He went next and it took everything out of me to avoid the door.

It was driving me wild. Knowing he was there. Knowing he was right there and that only a single five-dollar Target shower curtain separated us. That's it. I could rip it to shreds with my bare hands. I'd rip Brooks to shreds. Suddenly the hot girls on his story are years away. They were never there. I don't care what Brooks has been doing (or who) these past months. It only matters that he is here now, in my studio, in my shower.

He emerges wearing a towel around his waist. Nothing else. His hair is dripping wet. I'm reminded of months ago –when we were trapped in the rainstorm on Higbee beach. He waltzes out of the bathroom cloaked in white like he's some fucking marble statue chiseled in the likeness of an ancient god.

He is.

A god.

I look away long enough to twist my hair into a low bun. I sit on the edge of my bed in black panties you can't see because of an oversized T-Shirt.

"So how long do you intend to stay?" I ask.

"Friday. I have to be in L.A. around noon." Brooks shrugs. His mood so very nonchalant.

"Another promotion deal?" I ask him. I know it is. That or he's meeting some supermodel social influencer wannabe. My stomach drops at the thought.

"Something like that."

"That's great, Brooks." My voice catches on his name.

"It is. It also means we have to make the best use of the next 48 hours." He stops in front of me at the bed.

"What about Thanksgiving?" I ask him.

"What about it? Oh shit, did you have plans?" He sounds suddenly worried. Like he may have said something wrong. "When you said your parents were going abroad again –I just assumed."

"I don't have plans." I tell him. "I just figured maybe you did?"

"No. Mom and Brody agreed to visit my dad in Florida," Brooks says. "I sort of was allowed to skip, since I have to be in LA on Friday."

"Right. Of course." My voice sounds childish to me, like I'm suppressing a squeal of delight but poorly masking it as disinterest.

Brooks is spending Thanksgiving here, in Seattle. With me. We are spending Thanksgiving together.

THIS IS ME RELAXED.

"Is that OK with you?" He asks, interrupting my silent party. And now he's suddenly playful.

"I'll allow it," I laugh.