Chapter 2

Jude came home at nine.

He smelled like dew off the top of Mulholland. In one hand, a paper bag from the bagel place on Larchmont — my favorite everything bagel, lox and cream cheese.

"Still mad?"

His voice was so familiar it sounded like nothing had happened. He set breakfast on the kitchen island and crossed the room to put his arms around me from behind.

I tilted my head away. His arm stalled for half a second, then he laughed it off.

“Babe, there was no 5G signal up on the mountain. I really didn’t mean to ignore you. Cleo, you know how I feel about you, don’t you?”

Of course I knew.

Jude Kane had been tender before.

I didn't eat cilantro, and every time he ordered Sweetgreen he typed *NO CILANTRO PLEASE* three times in the notes.

When my cramps got bad in the middle of the night, he would drive to the 24-hour CVS for heating pads.

When my nail salon first opened and no one walked in for days, he had gone floor by floor through every office building on the block, handing out flyers until building security threw him out. He'd just rub his nose and grin. *"It's fine. I'll hit a different building tomorrow."*

I had thought a man who would give me his time was a man who really loved me.

I didn't realize love could fork in the road.

He had drifted, slowly, into someone else's lane.

......

He opened my latte, stuck a straw in it, and slid it toward me.

“Don’t be mad, babe. I made a reservation at Bestia tonight.”

I was about to say something when his phone rang.

Speaker.

Mia’s voice spilled out.

> *"Ry! You said you were taking me to that new sushi spot in WeHo today! I already confirmed our table — "*

>

> *"Don't bail on me, I literally skipped breakfast waiting for you! "*

Jude looked at me, palmed the receiver, and smiled.

"You wanna come with?"

I didn’t answer. He seemed relieved. He reached over and ruffled my hair.

“See? Mia doesn’t mind eating with you at all. Cleo, stop treating her like your rival.”

The voice on the phone kept calling.

> *"Cleo's coming too? Even better! I'll order, I know exactly what Ry likes!"*

Jude laughed into the phone. "Okay. I'll tell her."

He hung up. Reached for my hand.

I pulled back.

"Jude."

"Yeah?"

"I want to ask you something."

I looked up at him.

"What am I to you?"

"Cleo — "

His smile froze for a beat.

"What do you mean. What I am. Girlfriend, roommate, friend. One word."

He sighed. That *here we go again* sigh.

"Cleo. You're being dramatic again."

I laughed.

Not bitter. Not even sad. Just the kind of laugh that comes out when you finally figure out a question doesn't have an answer.

That was the moment I stopped asking.

After Jude left, I opened the salon as usual.

In the afternoon, a few regulars came in for fills. They picked colors and traded gossip the way young women always do.

"Wait — you guys haven't heard about Mia Vance? @MiaOnTheGas? Like, 180K followers, racing girl?"

I didn't look up. I kept brushing top coat across my client's nails.

“Oh yeah. She’s been thirsty lately.”

“Her burner IG once posted something like, *‘Men with girlfriends treat me the best.’* So cringe.”

"She's always been like that. Remember Eli Cross? She called him *best friend,* did the whole *one of the guys* thing, had him fixing her car, and ran his girlfriend out of the scene."

“Right! Her favorite line is: *‘We’re just best friends, you’re overthinking it.’*”

My gel brush paused for half a second.

"She's done this before?"

One of the clients leaned in, suddenly more interested.

"Oh, *honey.* The whole LA car scene knows. She targets guys with girlfriends. The angrier the girlfriend gets, the more Mia tells everyone the girlfriend is the jealous one. And the guys eat it up. They think she's chill, understanding. not as much drama as their actual girlfriends.”

The salon lights hit the gel polish, sharp and a little too cold.

I kept smiling. Kept listening. Kept drawing more out of them with every coat.

And suddenly Jude struck me as something pitiful — and a little ridiculous.

His taste, it turned out, was nothing special.

So before I walked out the door — I might as well leave him a parting gift.