** Paige’s POV **

If someone had told me eight months ago that the thing most likely to end my mates would be a jar of pickled onions and a tub of vanilla ice cream, I would have laughed in their face, yet here we are.

Ryder stands in the kitchen doorway like a man staring down an active crime scene. His hair is a mess, his T-shirt is inside out, and he’s holding a spoon in one hand and a jar of pickled onions in the other, looking like he’s trying to decide which one is more ...