I snort. “Brat.”
She taps her nails on her knees. “She isn’t the only one who has a crush on Thorne. So does her mom. And my other friend’s mom.”
“Wow, he has quite a fan club.”
“Are you jealous?”
I tilt my head. “Are you trying to make me jealous?”
“I’m trying to get you to admit you still like him. That you want to get back with him.”
My skin prickles. “Still playing matchmaker, are you?"
"Duh. Obviously."
I shake my head, but I’m smiling. “When does Tracy want to go?”
"Now! Well, after I change." She's already standing, heading for her room. “I told Thorne we'd be there by four, so we need to leave in like, twenty minutes.”
"Madison, wait—"
But she's gone, feet pounding up the stairs, leaving me alone with paperwork I can no longer pretend to read.
Thorne's back. For good.
My phone is under a stack of papers. I could text. My thumb hovers over his contact still saved as "T" with that bourbon glass emoji Madison added months ago. I press call.
After two rings, he answers. “Ivy.” The way he says my name, like warm honey mixed with expensive bourbon, makes me a little drunk.
"Hi." Why do I sound breathless? "Madison said she texted about swimming?"
"She did. Four o'clock works. Do you need my driver to come and get her?”
“No, I’ll bring her.”
Something clatters in the background, like he’s setting something down. "How are you?"
“Great. Busy with the firm opening." I twist the lease document between my fingers. "Madison mentioned bringing her friend Tracy. Is that okay?”
"Also fine. The more the merrier." Another pause. "Would you want to come over with them? Stay for a bit? We could celebrate your firm opening. I have champagne."
My heart does that stupid flutter. I nearly shout, “Yes!” but manage to bite my tongue to keep the exclamation in.
He must take this as hesitation because he adds, “We could catch up properly, not over email about EPA paperwork or on the phone. I've missed talking to you in person.”
I close my eyes. We've been texting semi-regularly. He asks how the firm prep is going, and I ask about his trip to Quebec to pack. Last week, I sent him a photo of Marley sprawled across my lease documents with one paw covering the signature line. Caption: Someone thinks I work too much. He responded hours later with his own desk—stacks of half-filled boxes behind his laptop, which displayed what looked like a remediation report. Caption: Someone else might have the same problem.
Small steps. Careful ones. But steps forward.
"Okay. I’ll stay for a bit." A thrill runs through me.
“Perfect.” His smile carries through the phone. "I'm looking forward to it.”
I grin. “So is Tracy.”
“Why? Does she like swimming a lot?”
I suck my lips between my teeth, holding in my laugh. Let them go, and say, “She has a massive crush on you."
