Arnold's POV

Scout's head snaps up from his bed the moment I walk in the door, but he settles back down when he sees my expression. Even my dog knows when I need space to think. I drop my keys in the bowl, forcing myself not to check my phone again. She's back—Harold texted me yesterday. And I knew that was her walking out with Rhonda the other night.

But if I'm being honest?

I saw her before that. Just once. In passing. And I pretended I didn't.

Because acknowledging her would've meant acknowledging everything else, and I wasn't quite ready for that.

Not when I knew she'd chosen to leave.

Now I guess she's back from Philadelphia, from that guy, from whatever she was looking for there, and I can't ignore the fact that she didn't call or text.

But here I am in my home office, ignoring a message from Lila. Figure I'll speak to her soon. I crank open my laptop, going through unread emails. Right now, I need to think about everything but the opposite sex.

The next morning, I find myself at The Green Tea House, more for Lila's company than the tea. She's arranging pastries behind the counter, humming something that sounds suspiciously like a love song.

"You seem happy," I note, accepting the green tea she slides my way.

"Arnie's back." Her smile is cautious but genuine. "We're... trying again."

I must make a face because she laughs. "Oh, Arnold, you're ever so transparent when you're worried."

"Just don't want to see you hurt again."

"I know." She busies herself with wiping down the counter. "Speaking of matters of the heart... I heard you had a night out with what's her name, Krissy."

I groan. "Not you, too. I met her at the clinic. She's a newbie, and I showed her around. That's all."

"Mmhmm." Lila's eyes twinkle. "And the fact that she's blonde and wears leather had nothing to do with it?"

"She's nothing like—" I stop myself, but Lila's already grinning.

"Nothing like who?"

"You know who's back in town," I say instead of answering.

"I do." She straightens her apron. "Which is why you should come to my get-together this weekend!" Her voice squeaks like always when she gets excited. "Just a small thing, very casual."

I eye her suspiciously. "How casual?"

"Oh, you know. Just buddies catching up. Maybe some organic snacks..."

"Lila."

"Okay, fine. Yes, Helga will probably be there. But so will everyone else. It would be awkward if you didn't come."

I hesitate. For half a second, I consider asking Krissy to come with me.

It's not like we've gone on a real date or anything—just-drinks. Just conversation. She's new and nice enough.

But that's the problem, isn't it? She's nice enough. And I don't want to bring someone into this mess when I already know where my head's at.

And where my head's at? It's still tangled up in someone else.

My eyes meet Lila's pleading ones. "Alright, I'll be there."

Saturday evening, I'm standing on Lila's porch, watching my cousin help her greet guests. The way Arnie looks at her—like she's the answer to every question he's ever had—almost makes me forgive him for the last time he disappeared. Almost. When our eyes meet, I let him see the warning there. His slight nod tells me he understands.

The party's in full swing, bodies crowded into Lila's cozy living room, the scent of organic snacks and wine mingling in the warm air. That's when I hear it—that laugh that's haunted me since college. Helga walks in with Sid, both of them cracking up about something, their voices carrying over the soft indie rock playing from the corner speakers. She's wearing that jacket that makes her look like every bad decision I've ever wanted to make.

Old instincts kick in—memories of Sid's competitive streak, of him pursuing every girl I've shown interest in since high school like it's all still some game to him. It shouldn't bother me. Sid and I have been friends for years. But watching him with her now?

I hate how easily Helga falls into conversation with him, how effortless it looks. Sid's always been quick with a joke, sharp with his words, just reckless enough to make people lean in. The kind of guy who doesn't second-guess himself.

The kind of guy Helga usually goes for.

Even though I'm irritated by this all, I can't help but notice her.

There's something magnetic about the way she moves through the room, commanding attention without trying. The kind of energy that always made me wonder how long someone like her could be content with someone like me. Not Sid, not her ex, not someone with a streak of danger—but me.

Kind, reliable Arnold. The guy girls date before finding someone more thrilling.

Now everyone's watching without watching. Gerald, just like a pro, immediately pulls them into a story about his latest web development disaster, but I see Phoebe corner Helga by the drinks table. Their conversation looks intense, and for once, Phoebe appears to have the upper hand, but the music drowns out their words.

Sid intertwines himself between them just when it begins to get a little heated.

Helga and Phoebe turn away from each other, but both laugh at the same time at something Sid says. He gives Helga a jab to her side before going to grab a soda from the table next to them.

"They're just platonic, you know." Lila appears at my elbow, following my gaze.

"I know." But my glass is empty somehow.

"Arnold..." Lila starts in her maternal tone, but Rhonda's already swooping in, wine slightly sloshing as she leans in, lips curved in that way that means she's about to stir up trouble. Some girlfriends pull Lila into a different part of the party before she can interject.

"Did you hear?" She stage-whispers, the flush in her cheeks suggesting this isn't her first drink of the evening. "Sidney and Helga have been having lunch dates all week."

I hear someone suck their teeth. "Not true. We had noodles once." Sid says from behind us, making me jump.

I nod slowly, taking a long sip of my drink. "Sure."

Sid exhales, shaking his head. "Come on, man. Don't listen to Rhonda when she's wasted. I'm not trying to get with Pataki."

There's something in his tone that makes me think he's being honest. But that doesn't mean I like it.

Rhonda smirks at Sid, then looks at me. "Just looking out for my girl," before retreating with her drink.

Sid exhales through his nose, shaking his head. "One lunch, and suddenly, I'm writing her poetry. Unbelievable," Sid says, rolling his eyes. His tone isn't defensive, just tired, like he's had this conversation too many times because of his womanizing habits.

I expect him to make a joke, to brush it off with some cheeky remark—but he doesn't. He just takes a sip of his drink, uninterested in proving anything.

It's almost... odd.

"You're not going to bust my chops or make a crack about Helga for once?" I launch, half-expecting him to slip up, to make this something it isn't.

"No." Sid just shrugs, swirling his drink. "And she's already got enough people up her ass about life decisions. Doesn't need me adding to it."

I blink. That's… not what I expected him to say.

He doesn't look at me when he adds, almost offhand, "Not everything's about chasing someone, man. Sometimes people just need space to breathe."

I try to respond, to say something casual and unbothered, but Helga chooses that moment to look over. Our eyes lock, and years of unsaid things pass between us in seconds.

Her gaze softens just enough to make my pulse race, but I can't handle this here—not now, not with everyone watching.

"I should go," I hear myself state, the words leaving my mouth before I've fully decided.

"I need a ride," Helga announces, almost simultaneously walking away from a stern-looking Phoebe. We navigate through the crowd of party-goers, the warmth of Lila's house giving way to the cool night air. My bike sits waiting in the driveway, gleaming under the streetlights.

The drive starts in silence, but I can feel the storm building, both in the gathering clouds above and in the tension between us.

When we reach her apartment, neither of us moves to get up.

"You could have called," I begin once I kill the engine outside of her place. "When you got back."

"And you could have just told me you were going out with someone."

"Huh? I'm not going out with anyone."

She scoffs. "Right."

Helga rolls her eyes, huffing, and walks a few steps away in that dismissive way of hers.

"At least I didn't run back to my ex." The words come out sharper than intended.

"So that's all it was?" She turns to face me fully. "I just ran to be with Simon? And what, now I'm with Sid? Are you really that dense?" her laugh comes out harsh.

"Well, what am I supposed to think? You leave, come back, and suddenly you're having dates—"

Her laugh cuts me off. "Dates? With Sid? I mean, he's a cool guy. But we're talking about the same guy who wore white go-go boots until high school and used to chase every girl in sight. Are you serious right now?"

Well damn. I feel like an idiot. Some heat creeps up my neck. Put that way, it does sound ridiculous.

I exhale, running a hand through my hair, suddenly feeling more foolish than frustrated. "Okay, maybe I jumped to conclusions."

"Now. Let's talk about that skirt," She pushes. "That girl's been hanging all over you."

"So? We hung out a few times. I showed her some apartments," I counter, deflating slightly. "That's all. She's new in town and—"I rub my temple, exhaling. "It wasn't like that. I—I was just trying to help her settle in."

Thunder cracks overhead, and suddenly, the sky opens up. Rain comes down in sheets, drumming against the building's roof.

Damnit, I love the rain, but that was the worst timing.

I should leave. But my hands are still gripping the wheel, and my pulse won't slow the hell down.

She's standing there, rain plastering her hair to her face, glaring at me like she'd rather get struck by lightning than admit I might be right.

And damn it—she's still the most frustrating, impossible, breathtaking person I've ever met.

But something breaks, and her expression falls as her eyes lower to her drenched shoes. "I don't know how to do this." She slowly shakes her head and then straightens up to look me intensely in my eyes. "But neither do you."

The rain is relentless now, soaking us both in seconds. I swallow. "Go inside, Helga."

Her mouth opens and closes, and I watch her scurry to her door, fumbling with her keys, her leather jacket unrecognizable.

The rain lightens, and for a second, I almost move to get off my bike. Almost.

But what would I even say? What could I say that she wouldn't just throw back in my face?

I exhale sharply, gripping the wheel instead, and drive off.

In my rearview mirror, I catch a glimpse of her silhouette in her window.

But the image of her standing in the rain stays with me, that wicked laugh still echoing in my head. Her words had been sharp, her tone cutting, but the truth was in her eyes—the flicker of something raw and unguarded. Vulnerability.

She thinks she's hiding, but I see it now. She's scared, just like I am. Terrified of what it means to stay, to trust, to risk being open completely.

I've always held back a little, afraid of pushing too hard or asking for too much. Maybe that's why it's always felt like people leave—because I never fought to make them stay. But this? It's settling in that Helga's not running because she wants to go. She's running because she's fearful of what happens if she doesn't.

The rain slides down my bike, matching the rhythm of all the words we still haven't said. My phone feels heavy in my pocket, but I keep driving, too lost in the storm inside my head.