Simon told himself it was stupid to be nervous. It wasn’t like he hadn’t done this a dozen times before—pull into Luca’s fancy little driveway, knock on the door, pick up Daisy, exchange a few stiff words about her feeding schedule or that she needed a bath, then leave. Simple. Routine. Civil.

But today, as his truck rumbled to a stop in front of Luca’s townhouse, Simon’s gut twisted. There was another car parked outside—sleek, silver, the kind of pretentious thing he could practically hear Luca defending. “It’s European, Simon,” Luca would have said with that smug little grin, “not pretentious, efficient.” Except it wasn’t Luca’s car. Simon knew that much. He’d know Luca’s ridiculous taste anywhere.

He turned off the engine, his hand lingering on the keys for a beat too long. He shouldn’t care. Luca was his ex. They’d broken up nearly six months ago. Six months since that last argument—if you could call it an argument and not a disaster. He could still hear it sometimes, the sharp tone in Luca’s voice cutting right through him. Something about Simon “never letting anyone in,” and Simon, too damn tired from work and too damn proud, had thrown back something cruel and untrue—about Luca being shallow, about him caring more about cameras than commitment. The silence after that had been worse than any shouting could’ve been.

And yet, somehow, they still shared Daisy. Their “child,” as Luca would jokingly call her. A golden retriever with too much energy and a smile for everyone. She’d been the only thing keeping them from disappearing out of each other’s lives completely. Simon hated how much he relied on that excuse—“Just coming to pick up Daisy.” As if he didn’t rehearse it every damn time to make it sound casual.

He got out of the truck, boots crunching against the gravel. The November air bit at his skin, and he pulled his jacket tighter. The lights inside were on—soft, warm, domestic. And through the big front window, Simon saw something that made his jaw clench.

A man. In his sweatshirt. No—Luca’s sweatshirt, technically—but one Simon had bought him years ago, dark grey and worn soft around the collar. The man was sitting on the couch, hair messy, looking far too comfortable in Simon’s spot.

Something burned in his chest. Anger, jealousy, regret—all mixed into something sour that he tried and failed to swallow down. He had no right to feel this way. Luca could do whatever he wanted. Simon wasn’t his boyfriend anymore. But that didn’t stop his hands from curling into fists at his sides.

He knocked. Harder than he meant to. Daisy barked immediately, her excited yips echoing through the house. He heard footsteps—slow, uneven. When the door opened, Luca stood there, hair a mess of golden tangles, eyes half-lidded with sleep, drowning in one of Simon’s worn T-shirts. Of course he was.

“Hey,” Simon said, voice low, rougher than usual. He cleared his throat. “Came to get Daisy.”

His eyes flicked past Luca’s shoulder—long enough to see the stranger shift on the couch, to see a bare arm reaching lazily for a mug on the coffee table. Simon’s jaw tightened. He tore his gaze back to Luca.

“Didn’t know you had company,” he muttered. “Hope I’m not… interruptin’ anything.”

He meant to sound indifferent. But the venom lacing the words betrayed him, and he hated himself for it. Daisy’s nails clicked against the floor as she bounded toward the door, tail wagging like mad. Simon crouched to scratch her behind the ears, using it as an excuse to avoid looking up at Luca—for just a moment.

Because if he did, he might not be able to hide it—the fact that six months later, he was still hopelessly, pathetically in love with the one person he could never seem to let go of.