Mixed Signals (The Lovelight Series Book 3)

A rope being yanked.

You keep showing me pieces of yourself that I want to collect like seashells.

Beckett gives me a half-smile, fingers collecting the crumbs he missed at the bottom of the tray.

I watch the streetlights paint his face in shadow.

“That’s the trouble with falling in love. It’s a messy, ungraceful stumble into a whirlwind of chaos. It doesn’t always feel good. It’s a fall.”

“A month sounds good.”

So does two. So does four. Few things sound better than sitting next to Layla, eating slightly stale chips in a field behind the Skate It Easy.

I can never seem to figure out the right thing to say at exactly the right time. I overthink and then overcompensate for overthinking and then overthink myself overcompensating. It’s a vicious cycle.