“Why don’t you do that,” she says. “Then get some time in my diary in a couple of weeks, and we can talk about it. There’s no pressure, so if you decide that going to law school is not for you, that’s fine. I can still support you in your current role, if that’s what you want.”
“Thank you.” I kinda want to hug her. Just the idea that she’d look at me and think I was worth having a meeting with about my career is more than I could have ever hoped for. The fact that she wants to mentor me and thinks I have potential? I can’t rememberanyoneever thinking I had potential. At school, I was constantly compared with Katherine, and I always came up wanting. With my parents it was the same. I’m sure at some point or other they tried to be supportive and encouraging, but I just can’t remember. Sharon picking me out of my colleagues and saying I get to be the one feels slightly uncomfortable—like a gorgeous dress you find in the sale that’s slightly too small. You know that if you just lost five pounds you’d look like a million bucks. But right now, I want the dress, no matter the extra five pounds. I’m excited-slash-terrified. But my heart is full of hope.
Chapter Twenty
Hunter
It’s almost six thirty and I still haven’t heard back from Lucy. Does she have me blocked or something? We were on good terms the last time we saw each other. Or so I thought. I’ve been slammed at work the last few weeks. Not that thoughts of Lucy haven’t crossed my mind. They have. Every day. I just haven’t acted on them. The stakes haven’t changed. We can’t start what we can’t finish.
As I head down the fire escape stairs of my building, my phone starts to vibrate in my hand, and Lucy’s name flashes up. Thank God.
“Lucy! I messaged you hours ago.”
“I’m at work. I have actual work to do at work. I don’t spend the day playingCandy Crush Sagalike you.”
God, I’ve missed this girl. I can’t shake the grin off my face. “Good to hear your voice, Lucy.”
“Anyway,” she says, sounding slightly flustered, “I just got the message about Katherine and Ed being in town. Did you know about this?”
“Heard the same time as you. You know we’re on a group chat.”
“Wait, that’s a group chat?”
My smile only grows at her increasingly hysterical tone. I get to the bottom of the stairs and open the door into the heat of the New Yorkafternoon. It’s bright, and I have to shield my eyes with my hand, like I’m a mole seeing the sun for the first time.
“They decided to fly down tonight so they could have dinner with us and a full day tomorrow for ... some wedding-related thing. I glaze over as soon as she starts talking about wedding prep.”
“We need a plan,” Lucy says. “We should meet before. What time is it?”
I turn around and look up at the building Lucy indicated she worked in when we bumped into each other at Stranger than Fiction. “When are you getting off work?”
“Just now. I’m heading out. We have to meet them at seven, right?”
“And we wouldn’t want to be late,” I say under my breath. “So what’s your plan, Lucy Jones?”
At that moment, I see the woman herself come through the revolving door in the building next to mine. I stand and watch as she raises her face toward the sun, like she’s hoping to photosynthesize or something.
“You look cute,” I say.
She snaps her head around and sees me immediately. I don’t hate the way her smile fills her entire face as we lock eyes.
She wanders over, and I have time to take in her hourglass shape and the way she can make corporate-wear look sexy as hell.
“Hello, stranger. How long have you been standing out here waiting for me?”
“Just three or four hours.”
She laughs, and I can only stand and take it all in. She’s just beautiful.
“So how often have we seen each other these last few weeks?” she asks.
For a moment I’m stumped, then I realize she wants to create a cover story. “I’ve been busy at work. You’ve been busy at work. Maybe we grabbed lunch a couple of times.”
“Good,” she says. “That works. Katherine’s asked me a few times whether I’ve seen you. I’ve been pretty vague, but I mentioned lunch, so that tracks.”
We grab a cab, and as I slam the door shut, I’m reminded how small these cars are. Lucy and I haven’t been this close since Martha’s Vineyard.
She sweeps her hand down the skirt of her dress. “So,” she says. “How have you been?”
