Furious knocking game from the front door. Bronte and I jumped in our skins. I swear, even Samwise jumped from the unexpected pounding.

Bronte swirled to look across the living room to the front door. Then she spun back to me, her eyes widening. "What time is it?"

Rose.

My hands flew over my pockets, searching for my phone. "I don't—" I mumbled, shooting past her to the kitchen. To the oven clock.

Nine.

"We're late!" Bronte shouted at my shoulder, her fingers digging into my arm. "Oh my God, we're so late!"

My eyes flew back to the front door. "Oh, we blew way past late, Charlotte. An hour and a half? We straight up blew her off."

Bronte shuddered. "She's going to kill us."

The pounding came again. "I see your light on! Open the door Stella, Bronte!"

Rose didn't sound happy.

Bronte hurried to the door.

I spun around, snatching Samwise from the air and moving to my bedroom door to fling it onto my bed. Then I slammed the door shut, hoping I didn't shut it through one of them. "Cyril, can you and Oliver—"

"Say no more," he interrupted, his voice low. "We'll stay in the book nook, if that's ok?"

"My bedroom," I insisted with a sharp shake of the head. "I don't know if Rose will be able to detect you—can she?"

"I think time and proximity play a role," he said. "So maybe? She's here often enough."

Bronte threw open the front door and stepped aside as Rose barreled into the room. She wore a deep-set frown beneath her Friday-night makeup. And even though she wore a floral dress with soft pink high heels, it did nothing to dampen the red-hot fury in her stance and eyes.

"Bedroom," I hissed under my breath and hurried to intercept her. "Rose! I am so sorry. We—"

She held up a hand, her eyes flashing. "I don't want excuses. You aren't even dressed yet! We were supposed to meet for dinner—what happened? No, wait, I don't want to hear it. How could you do this?"

Her eyes began to water. She let out a huff of air and then stormed past me toward the bathroom. "Great," I heard her grumble under her breath, "just freaking great. Now I'm going to smear my make-up."

Bronte stepped closer to me and we watched the bathroom door, huddling together in the living room, waiting for her to return.

When she did step out, her composure had returned. She eyed us coolly. "Noah Walker."

Bronte and I blinked at each other. Then at Rose. "Huh?"

"Noah Walker," she repeated sternly. Her hands rested on her hips. Despite the fact that she was the shortest out of the three of us, at that moment, she towered. "I've been seeing him for the past month."

I turned toward Bronte again. Her confusion mirrored my own—we'd never heard of anyone named Noah Walker before, let alone that he was dating Rose.

Rose wasn't the type to gush nonstop about her dates but she did usually tell us when they were happening. When she'd met someone, when they went out, how it went. Typical female banter but she always told us these things.

We both turned back to Rose. "What?"

"Stop doing that," she waved dismissively. "It's creepy—both of you talking at the same time. And yes, I have been seeing Noah Walker for the past month. And, tonight, I was going to introduce the pair of you to him."

"You never mentioned him before," Bronte said. "I thought tonight was supposed to be a girls' night?"

"I said that because I didn't want to two of you to ambush him or anything." Her face took on a slightly pink hue and she looked away, her posture relaxing. "And ok, yes, I do know that neither one of you has ever ambushed anyone I've dated before, but I just didn't want to risk it, you know? I really like this one. A lot." Her blush deepened.

Then, with a thought, her anger snapped back. She straightened, towering once again, as she addressed us with venom. "That's why I pushed this girls' night so hard. Because I told Noah that I wanted the three of you to meet. And what happens? We get to the restaurant and neither one of you show. I can't get a hold of you, either one of you, and I'm sitting there thinking you're both wrapped around a pole or something." Her voice waivered at the end.

She let out a shaky breath. "So I insisted we drive over here. And what do I find? You blew me off for a séance."

Bronte grabbed my arm, her fingers digging in. "A—a what?"

Rose waved at the Ouija board still on the ottoman. "What? Did you watch The Conjuring one too many times or something?"

My eyes were fixed on the board. We'd sent the invisible ghosts away, yeah, but we'd left the stupid board out plain as day. Idiots.

With an annoyed shake of her head, Rose marched past us to the front door.

"Wait—" Bronte called out, following her. "Rose, we're sorry, please don't—oh."

Rose yanked the front door open to reveal a man standing on the other side. He looked cold without a coat on, rubbing his hands together. The yellow light from the entry accented his stylish blonde hair and made his green eyes flash.

That's when I noticed what he was wearing. A loud red, yellow, and blue plaid button up shirt, the sleeves rolled up (thank God it wasn't tucked in), with khakis and boat shoes.

Bronte and I exchanged a quick look. A frat boy? Our bohemian queen was out on a date with a frat boy?

And it was serious?

He strolled into the room and flashed us a well-used, suave grin. "Hello ladies—it's wonderful to meet you. My name is Noah Walker."

"Likewise," Bronte whispered on instinct, her eyes still wide as she took in the man standing just inside our front door.

I couldn't even get my mouth to do that much.

Speechless. I was speechless.

The ghosts hadn't even left me speechless.

At that thought, I lost it. Laughter bubbled up from my gut. It pinched my sides and tickled the back of my throat. I bit down on my lip to trap it but it escaped in sharp snorts through my nose.

Noah's smile faltered. Rose shot me a glare that could have killed.

I slapped a hand over my mouth.

"She's sorry," Bronte said, stepping to my side. "She's had a very long, very exhaustive day. Please—ignore her." She moved toward Noah, her hand outstretched. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Bronte. That's Stella."

He shook her hand, his smile lighting up again. "Bronte. Rose has talked about you." He looked past her toward me. "And Stella, of course. I was warned to watch out for that forked tongue of yours."

Behind me, beyond the closed door, I heard the ghosts laugh.

Then time slowed as three things happened at once.

Rose moved toward Noah, mouth opened to say something.

Bronte's hands flew toward her mouth to cover her shocked face.

And Noah's eyes slid past me toward the bedroom door. Pulled in the way like when you hear something unexpected and you try to find the source. Instinctually.

My eyes widened.

Then his eyes slid back to meet mine.

Time snapped back to normal. Noah's lips pulled down into the smallest frown…full of…I couldn’t place it. But he was—something. Not upset, not surprised, not confused. What I saw in his eyes could have been a mixture of all three. Or something else entirely.

"No, you meant sharp tongue," Rose said, taking his hand and looking up at him with a smile. She turned back to me. "Sharp tongue, Stella. But only when you're caught off guard—I warned him it might happen considering he was supposed to show up at dinner without you knowing."

His eyes turned toward her but then fell on something behind her. On the coffee table. The Ouija board.

He stared at it. His face impassive—impossible to read.

Rose let out a nervous laugh and squeezed his hand. That jerked him from the board and he looked down at her and smiled. "See? I told you they were fine."

Rose snorted and rolled her eyes. "If you count having a séance as—"

"We weren't," I snapped.

Three sets of eyes turned to me. Two surprised. One suspicious.

"We were just goofing off," I said, aiming for nonchalance. I moved toward the board and scooped it up. I felt his eyes on me, following every move I made. Watching like a hawk. It took everything I had not to panic, to act calm and composed. "You're right—I've watched The Conjuring one too many times. We just wanted to try it out. See what happened."

"I'm surprised you managed to get Bronte to go along with it," Rose said as I moved to put the board in my bedroom. She turned toward her. "I thought you hated those things."

Bronte shrugged. "I was convinced to try it."

Rose giggled and lowered her voice in mock suspense. "Did you summon anything?"

"Stella—" Noah called out as I reached for the door handle. He sounded concerned. Unsure.

I froze, my fingers tightening on the board. I turned around as casually as I could. Our eyes met. "Yes?"

His eyes moved toward the board. "Um, I'm sorry. Sharp, I meant to say. Not forked. I'll make it up to you, if you want. I'll buy dinner tonight."

"Tonight?" Bronte frowned.

"Why not? We haven't eaten yet," he said, sparing a quick glance at Rose. Then he looked back at me, his eyes shooting past and lingering on the bedroom door. "What do you say?"

Bronte answered for me. "We aren't exactly dressed for a night out," she said, looking down at her work skirt and cardigan. Then her eyes darted to my jeans and Hogwarts T-shirt. "Give us a minute to change?"

"You're fine," he snapped. Then he let loose a shaky laugh to try and lighten his tone. "You're fine. It's just dinner—I think you two look fantastic. And who doesn't love Harry Potter, am I right? But we should go now, before the late dinner crowd really sets in."

Rose and Bronte exchanged a curious look but Rose finally brightened. "You know, that sounds perfect. I am starving. And this'll give everyone a chance to get to know each other."

"Exactly," he said, giving me a tight smile. "Just drop that on the table and we can get out of here."

He didn't want me to go into the bedroom.

He knew what was in there.

He knew.

"Sure thing," I said, sliding the board onto the kitchen table just at my side. "But you're buying."

Relief washed over him. His tense, rigid posture relaxed and he slid an arm around Rose's shoulders. "Absolutely. How does Italian sound?"

"Perfect." I moved toward the front door, the only thought on my mind getting him out of the apartment. Away from Cyril and Oliver.