"It is."
"But also maybe good?"
"Maybe. I don't know yet."
He nodded like I'd said something perfectly reasonable.
"For what it's worth," he said, "you're the first person on this team who made me feel like I belonged here. Maybe someone's doing that for you now."
He grabbed his bag and headed for the door.
When I returned home, my apartment was the same epic mess I'd left behind. Snack wrappers on the coffee table. Laundry pile by the bedroom door. The haunted chair in the corner, silently judging me.
But it smelled different now. Adrian's soap. Faint, but there.
I pulled out my phone.
Adrian's text was still there.Last night was...
My thumb hovered over the keyboard.
The instinct to make a joke was strong. Send something breezy. I was so good at deflecting with humor.
Still, Adrian hadn't laughed at me last night. He'd listened and touched me like I was worth touching.
I'm not running, he'd said at the arena.
Maybe I could not run, too.
I sent a message:
Pickle:hey. I liked waking up after.
Three dots appeared immediately. Then disappeared. Then appeared again.
My phone buzzed.
Adrian:Me too. Even the part where I had to step over your haunted chair.
A laugh erupted out of me—surprised, relieved, and too loud for the empty apartment.
Another message:
Adrian:Want to get dinner tonight? Somewhere that isn't The Drop. I want to hear about your day without Jake interrogating you.
He wanted to see me. On purpose. In public.
Pickle:yes. but I'm picking the place. there's a Thai restaurant that has questionable hygiene standards and incredible Pad Thai.
Adrian:Sold. 7?
Pickle:7
I didn't know where this was going, how long it would last, or what would happen when Adrian's extension ran out, and he had to go back to Chicago. I grabbed my phone again.
Pickle:hey Juno. something happened. I'm not ready to talk about it yet but I wanted you to know it's not nothing.
Her reply came fast.
