Chapter 4

We ended up at a twenty-four-hour diner two blocks from the agency. Sitting in a vinyl booth across from my own face was an out-of-body experience I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy.

Especially when my face was scowling in sheer misery at me, wearing an exquisite dinner dress that was now severely wrinkled and faintly reeking of exhaustion and sweat.

“If you keep drooping like that, you’re going to give me a double chin,” Tim complained in my high-pitched voice, attempting to smooth down the front of my gown.

“I am eating a mountain of pancakes because your stomach sounds like a malfunctioning generator,” I replied in his deep rumble, sliding another forkful of syrup-drenched food into my mouth. “Besides, you’re the one who looks like a frantic flamingo.”

The waitress set down two coffee cups, giving us a lingering, bewildered look before quickly walking away.

A massive guy in a baggy tracksuit eating three breakfast platters next to a woman in a ruined evening gown at eight in the morning was certainly a sight.

“So,” I said, resting my giant elbows on the table and leaning forward. “The notes.”Tim pulled his golden parchment out of my purse and laid it flat next to mine.

They were identical. Same glowing script, same absurd instruction: To return to your body, you must kiss Timothy Cullen.

“It’s totally ridiculous,” Tim muttered, crossing my arms over my chest. “Who even writes something like this? Is this some twisted fairy tale curse? Why do we have to kiss?”

“Because the universe clearly has a sick sense of humor,” I grumbled. “And before you get any bright ideas, no, we are not kissing right now. I need to mentally prepare myself to pucker up to my own face, let alone your personality.”

“Believe me, Kingston, the feeling is entirely mutual,” Tim scoffed. “Kissing you—even if it's technically my own lips—sounds like a cruel punishment.”

He took a sip of black coffee, winced, and immediately dumped three packets of sugar into the mug. I cringed. I drank my coffee dark, but Tim’s taste buds were ruining my sacred morning ritual.“

So what’s the plan?” He asked, resting my chin on his hands. “We have six days off. I can’t go to my family’s house, that’s for sure.”

I paused, fork halfway to my mouth. “Why can’t you go to your family’s house?”

Tim let out a dramatic, soul-crushing sigh through my nose. “I tried last night after you ditched me! I took a cab to my parents' place in the suburbs. My mom answered the door, saw me standing on the porch in a fuchsia dinner gown, and refused to let me in!”

I stared at him, processing the image.“She thought I was some delusional stalker girl!” Tim whined, slapping my hands against the table. “I tried to convince her it was me by telling her my middle name and childhood dog’s name, but she just yelled at me to get off her lawn and sprayed me with pepper spray through the crack in the door!”

A sudden, uncontrollable cackle burst out of my throat—or rather, out of Tim’s deep, booming chest. It resonated so loudly that two elderly patrons three booths down jumped in their seats.

“Pepper spray?!” I choked out, wiping a tear from my eye. “Your own mother pepper-sprayed you?!”

“It’s not funny, Stella!” Tim hissed in my voice, my cheeks flushing bright pink. “My eyes burned for two hours! I had to sleep in my car outside our office building like a homeless stray!”

“Oh, it is hilarious,” I wheezed, leaning back in the vinyl booth. “In fact, Cullen, watching you suffer through basic human consequences in my body is so satisfying, I might just delay the kiss altogether. I’m thinking of keeping your body for a few extra months.”

“Don’t you dare!” Tim gasped in horror. “You wouldn’t!”

“Try me,” I smirked, flexing his giant biceps under the grey hoodie. “I have high ceilings now. I can reach the top shelves without a stool. It’s glorious.”

“You are evil,” Tim grumbled, though a tiny, reluctant smile twitched at the corner of my lips on his face. “Pure, unadulterated evil.”

“I’m practical,” I corrected. I looked at him—or rather, at myself—looking pathetic, disheveled, and completely abandoned.

As much as I enjoyed his misery, I couldn't let my body sleep in a Sedan for a week. My posture would be ruined forever.

“Look... since your family thinks you're a crazy stalker and you have nowhere else to go, you can stay at my apartment.”

Tim blinked, my large eyes widening in genuine shock. “Wait. Really? You’re letting me stay at your place? What would you do if I trashed your place?”

“Only under strict supervision can you stay,” I warned, pulling out my phone. “And only if we set ground rules. Hand over your number.”

We both pulled out our respective phones and typed our numbers into each other's contact lists. I saved his entry as Timothy Cullen (My Body), while he tapped away on my screen and saved mine as Stella Kingston (The Hostage Driver).

“Rule number one,” I stated firmly, setting my phone on the table. “You touch nothing in my apartment without permission. Rule number two: we stay in constant communication for the next six days so we don't blow each other's covers. And rule number three...”

I paused, looking at my own face staring back at me across the table. “We try to spend this week actually trying to tolerate each other,” I said softly. “Because if we can’t even stand being in the same room, how are we ever going to bring ourselves to do what that note demands?”

Tim stared at me for a long moment, then a slow, genuine smile softened my face.“Deal, Kingston,” Tim agreed, his eyes twinkling.

He slid out of the booth, clutching my purse. “Starting right now... but first, you're going to give me your credit card so I can buy sweatpants, because if I stay in this dress one more minute, I'm setting the whole world on fire.”