DAKOTA

The clinking of forks against expensive ceramic plates felt like a series of small explosions in Tiffany's fairly large dining room.

I sat there, staring down at a mountain of spaghetti and meatballs that usually would have had me drooling, but right then, it felt like the little I'd eaten was stirring uncomfortably in the pit of my stomach.

I felt like I was going to implode.

And no, it wasn't just Conrad’s presence.

It wasn't even the memory of that kiss—though “kiss” felt like a mild word for the way he’d basically rebranded my soul in the span of three minutes.

That kiss had been super delicious, a...