Seeing him tonight was a bad idea. A catastrophically awful idea, really. If you'd taken even a second to think it through — which you hadn’t, because you were currently letting your hormones do all the thinking — you'd have remembered how their your breakup had gone down in flames. The kind of messy, dramatic ending where the two of you had sworn on all that was holy (and probably unholy) that this time, it was really, definitely over.

And yet, here you were, all dolled up in a dress that hugged your curves a little too well, the scent of your favorite perfume hanging in the air like an invitation. For a talk. Just a friendly little catch-up between two adults who used to… well. No big deal, right?

What was the harm, anyway? Sure, Jason was your ex, but you could be mature about this. You were friends. Two perfectly reasonable adults capable of reconnecting over a glass of wine. It was fine. Totally fine.

Except that your heart was currently trying to beat its way out of your chest, and your hands were clammy with nerves as you checked your reflection in the hallway mirror for the tenth time. You adjusted a stray hair, then jumped at the sound of a knock on the door.

Your stomach flipped, and you cursed under youe breath. “Get it together,” you muttered. This was supposed to be casual. Just two friends. Taking a deep breath, you called out, “Coming!” and tried not to think about how your voice sounded like you'd just run a marathon. You hesitated, hand hovering over the doorknob, wondering there was still time to pretend no one was home.

But no, you were committed now. And he was already here. With one final, steadying breath, you yanked the door open.

"Hello."