“Thanks.”
“How was your flight?” I asked as we walked on.
“Okay. We had a delay in New York.”
“You were in New York? Did you see Jo?” He nodded. “How is she?”
“The same. Great. Happier than ever.” I glanced at him sideways. He looked—not sick, or unhappy, exactly, but oddly serious. He met my gaze, a twist at the corner of his mouth. “We broke up.”
I stopped walking. “Oh, Trey. I’m so sorry.”
Not sorry. I’d crushed on him for years. He was my Edward Cullen, the sparkly vampire of my teenage fantasies, the one bright spot of my biggest high school humiliation. But Jo was my sister. And Trey... He was obviously hurting. So.
I patted his arm in what I hoped was a sisterly fashion. “I’m sure you’ll get back together.”
That was the pattern, right? For the past ten years. Jo broke up with him, he buzzed around some other girl for a while, and then made a beeline back to her. Sometimes I wanted to smack my sister.
“Not this time,” he said. “It’s over. I’m done.”
I felt a little flutter like hope. Because if theyhadbroken up... If theyreallywere through... But I didn’t dare complete that thought.
We had reached my apartment. Chloe’s apartment. I was paying half her rent for the privilege of sleeping in her tiny outer room on her even tinier couch.
“Do you want to come up?” I asked.
Chloe was in, but maybe she wouldn’t mind squeezing an extra guest into a space the size of a bathroom back home. Not if the guest was Trey. She’d probably be thrilled, in a predatory sort of way.
“Let me take you to dinner,” Trey suggested instead. “What time should I pick you up?”
I did a quick calculation. “Seven thirty?”
He smiled. “See you then.” He bent to kiss me, a brief, brotherly brush of the lips, no more intimate thanla bise, the standard Parisian double kiss of greeting.
But my heart still pounded.
As soon as I got upstairs, I FaceTimed Meg. There was a six-hour time difference between Paris and North Carolina, which made it late morning back home.
She picked up on the third ring. “Amy! Is everything all right?”
Yes. Maybe. No.
“Can’t I just call to say ‘hi’?” I asked.
“Not usually,” Meg said. The picture wobbled as she wiped her kitchen counter. “What’s up?”
“Me, me!” Daisy said, reaching for the phone.
“It’s Aunt A-my,” Meg said. “Can you say ‘A-my’?”
“Mee!” Daisy said, banging her tray table.
“She wants to talk to you,” Meg translated.
“Put her on,” I said.
Chloe gave me a French eye roll and rather obviously closed the door to her room.
My niece’s face, smeared with—Cheerios?—wavered into view. “Hey, Daisy. How are you?”
