The next day Clara was sprawled across my bed with a pile of dresses when I came out of the shower, wrapped in a towel.

“You’re acting like this is a royal ball,” I muttered, eyeing the mess.

She propped her chin on her hand. “It’s not a royal ball. It’s your first date, with a man who has jawlines sharp enough to commit crimes. Priorities, Zoe.”

“It’s not a date,” I said automatically, but even to my own ears, it sounded weak.

She grinned. “Right. That’s why ...