“Fine. Yes. Sometimes.” I look over at my sketchbook, my fingers tracing the sketch of the Barcelona café. The outdoor tables under twinkling lights. The warm glow of votives. What can I say? It makes for a good seating plan. “I’m pathetic. It’s been six months, and I’m still trying to figure out what I did wrong.”
Jess pauses. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” she says gently.
I’m quiet for a moment, staring at the Barcelona sketch. At the memory of twinkling lights and genuine smiles and dancing like nobody was watching.
An idea hits me.
“What if…” I say slowly, shaking out the napkin. I start to fold it into something that looks like gathered petals, something blooming. Beautiful and elegant…like Barcelona.
“I think I figured out the napkin design.”
“Of course you did. Babe, I gotta go. See you at home?”
“Sure thing.”
Jess hangs up, and I smile, looking at my design. This is good. I pull out my phone and snap a picture. I catch the time in the corner of the screen. Almost nine. The January darkness is deep outside, the twinkle lights reflecting in the window.
I slide from the booth and pack up my things—sketchbook, laptop, fabric swatches that are now covered in eraser shavings, colored pencils that are mostly broken. I leave cash on the table and grab my coat, juggling everything while trying to check my phone one more time. Maya’s text glares at me as I walk toward the door.
Maybe I just ignore it, pretend I didn’t see it…
I’m so focused on my screen that I don’t see the door opening.
Don’t see the person walking in.
Don’t notice anything until I’m walking straight into someone and suddenly there are hands on my elbows, steadyingme, and my phone is flying and my sketchbook is hitting the floor and I’m making an undignified squeaking sound?—
“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t?—”
“No, that was my fault, I?—”
We’re both talking at once, both reaching for my scattered things, and I look up?—
And everything stops.
It’shim.
Barcelona Brody.
He’s staring at me with the same expression I probably have on my face. Recognition. Shock. And then that…that smile. That devastating smile that made my brains leak out of my head six months ago.
What? No?—
I make a sound. Not quite a word. Not quite a breath. Something between a gasp and a wheeze.
And of course, those eyes are just like I remembered, deep and stormy.
And all I can think is…run.
So I do.
four
brody
I probably should have listenedto the voice in my head telling me this was a bad idea. Because if there’s anything that says “I want nothing to do with you, dirtbag,” it’s having the girl of your dreams literally flee at the sight of you.
“Chloe!”
