You had always considered yourself neutral in the Upper East Side drama — at least, that was until Nate Archibald smiled at you across the Constance Billard cafeteria.

It wasn’t supposed to mean anything. You and Nate had mutual friends; he was charming, yes, and outrageously handsome, yes, and yes, he had a way of making your pulse jump every time he leaned a little too close. But you had never dated anyone seriously in Manhattan before — not since Dan Humphrey, the quiet Brooklyn boy who had written his way into your heart months ago, had left that soft imprint on your life.

Then Nate asked you to lunch.

“You have time, right? Just a casual lunch.” His grin was innocent, but you knew better. Nate never did anything casually.

You agreed, thinking it would be harmless.

Dan noticed immediately.

You were sitting on a café terrace, laughing at something Nate said — leaning in closer than you had with Dan in months — when your phone buzzed.

Dan:

Lunch with Nate?

You frowned at the message, fingers hovering over the keyboard. “He’s just a friend,” you typed, but you could feel your cheeks warm.

Dan:

Sure. Just a friend who makes you laugh like that?

You froze. The words stung, but at the same time, they made your heart beat faster. That mixture of irritation and something deeper — something you’d tried to ignore — hit you like a freight train.