“Tragic.” Jessa leans against the counter. “But also? Not the biggest problem. You’re viral, Chloe. Thousands of comments. And they’re mostly positive.”
“Fantastic,” I say, opening the cabinet to confirm: no coffee. Just empty space where coffee should be.
“You’re being…very weird about this.” She sets her phone down. “What aren’t you telling me?”
I close the cabinet and lean back against the counter, the gray surface cool through my sweatshirt.
“Remember Barcelona guy?”
Jessa’s eyes go wide. “Mystery man who disappeared? That Barcelona guy?”
“That would be the one.” I wrap my arms around myself. The apartment is cold, the radiator doing its best but not quite keeping up with the single-digit temperatures outside. “Turns out Barcelona guy is Brody Kane.”
The silence that follows is so complete, I can hear the building pipes creaking.
“Brody Kane,” Jessa says slowly. “Brody ‘Candy’ Kane. Number seven. Defenseman for the Blue Ox. That’s your Barcelona guy?”
“That’s the one.”
“How did you not know who he was back in Barcelona?”
“I don’t follow hockey! I didn’t recognize him. He was just this guy. This normal, sweet—very handsome—guy, who chased down a purse thief and then spent the evening with me. We talked about everything except hockey. He never mentioned it…well, actually…” The memories I’ve been trying (not trying) to get out of my head come crashing back. “He talked about playing hockey in high school. And I talked about hockey players…and how much I can’t stand them…” My words trail off as the horror sets in.
“And then he disappeared,” she says.
“And then he disappeared.” The words still sting.
Jessa crosses to where I’m standing and pulls me into a hug. She smells like sleep and her coconut shampoo and that particular Jessa scent that means safety and home. “I’m sorry, babe. I wished I’d known.” She pulls back. “So what happened last night?”
“I was ambushed. We just ran into each other, and someone took our picture. They assumed we were an actual couple.” I drag a hand over my face. “Which we’re not. Obviously. Because he ghosted me six months ago, and I’ve spent all that time convinced there was something wrong with me.”
“There’s nothing wrong with you.” Jessa’s voice is firm. “If he disappeared, that’s on him. Not you.”
“I know that. Logically. But”—I gesture at my phone—“feelings aren’t logical.”
My phone buzzes.
We both look at it.
Brody
I’m outside. Can I come up? I want to talk about the deal.
Jessa’s eyebrows shoot up. “How does he know where you live? And more importantly…what deal?”
My face heats. Here it comes. “I gave him my address so we could talk. It’s not a big deal. It’s just, last night he mentioned an arrangement. Something about the photo. Helping each other out with—” I stop, suddenly mortified. Because how do you say He wants to fake date me for PR purposes without sounding completely pathetic?
You don’t.
“An arrangement?” Jessa looks at me like I’ve grown a second head. “What kind of arrangement?”
“I don’t know!” I shrug dramatically. “That’s why he’s here. To explain.”
“Oh, I can’t wait to hear this.” She heads toward the door.
“What are you doing?”
Jessa glances back at me. “I’m letting him in so he can explain.”
