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Work has always been the thing to redeem my life. To make the noise of lonely fade into the background a bit. I’ll turn up the volume on work so I can get rid of him forever. He can go back to Boston and I can pretend anything north of Manhattan doesn’t exist. Sorry, Vermont, but you’ve got to go.

I blow some breath out as the lush trees jostle in the temperate breeze. I stare straight ahead at the brownstones and stoops lined with families and people laughing. They’re joyous and I hope they’re not pretending for my sake—putting on a show to prove to me that carefree can exist on the other side of whatever the fuck I’m feeling. I catch myself rubbing my thumb across my lip the way he did.

I don’t regret my actions. I made the first move by vaulting at him and assaulting him with my tongue, but he sure as fuck finished it by bending me over the counter. I’ve had hot sex, unfortunately, always finishing myself off, but fucking Hayden was death row sex. I don’t want a last meal or rites, have sex with him one more time. I’m squirming in my seat thinking about it. I don’t want to talk to him, work with him, or sort things out, but sex—um, yes please.

High school sex is very different than adult hate sex. I’m surprised we didn’t combust.

We have three weeks to sort this out. The job, not each other. There’s no sorting that. I called and texted on prom night and the next day, but everything bounced. I was a shell, and my father was thrilled to step in and take over again. He got me into Berkeley last minute. I was a zombie. I don’t even remember picking my classes. It wasn’t until the end of sophomore year when I was sitting through yet another Melville/Hawthorne literature class, holding a transfer transcript to Stanford, that I woke up to the life my father designed. I dropped the class, my advisors and my major. Then I joined a sorority. He tried to pull me out of Berkeley. That was the day I stopped doing anything he said. That’s when I started advertising classes and sleeping around. I wanted to write. And it was the fastest way I could think of to get away from California.

I never understood his pathological need to control my mom and me. It was so complicated, so detailed. There was so much to engineer and then the upkeep, if he did break us up. My father was a fucker, but I hope he didn’t do this. There’s a chance he did this. Fuck, did he do this?

I pull my focus back to the market research I’m reading through. We need to come up with a pitch that will decide who gets this fucking job. And us working together to best each other makes no kind of sense.

I haven’t done much at this café but eat eggs or almond croissants this week. I sip wine and pine for Paris. And now he’s ruined Paris all over again for me. He can keep it.

I turn my head to catch more sunlight on my face. I’ll take my Buvette and try to… fuck me. He’s here. I saw him when I glanced back through the front window that I’m leaning against.

He’s been here for at least an hour because you can’t get in the door without seeing me. He’s at a little table off the bar. Ok. I’m going to peek at him. I slink down and turn to look through the window into the restaurant. There’s a person seated in the solo window seat inside, and I peer through their legs. I’m grateful it’s a woman in jeans, not a skirt, or some dude who could catch me checking his package. This can NOT get worse.

It got worse. He’s laughing free and easy with a brunette. He’s on a date and I’m the creatively blocked girl drinking wine alone. At a table designed for one. I have extra bread and a bottle perched on my tiny singlet table and he’s warming up a chick to take her back to our fucking hotel suite. OH MY GOD. He’s going to sully our home with this tawdry and cheap affair.

I slam my wine and shrink down on my little bench so he doesn’t see me. I’ve gone completely insane. My palms are sweaty and my heart is racing. I want to walk away and leave a wad of cash on the table, but I don’t have money. Who carries paper money? I have to get the attention of the waitstaff, pay, and sneak away before he sees me.

I don’t think I’m ready to talk to him again and certainly not meet his new fiancée. You only laugh that free and easy with a seasoned lover. Five days and they’re free and easy. They’re too happy for them not to be engaged. He’s completely moved on. I saw his genuine laugh. He picked up a woman since we had sex. Only explanation.

A panic bolt zings down my stomach. What if he got married in the last five days?

She’s not drinking wine. She probably conceived on their wedding night at another hotel. Then he covered up his perfect wedding, returning to our hotel suite that night to keep the charade going so we could work together civilly. I heard him come in late last night. Ok, I was listening to see when he came home. Home. It’s a fucking hotel.

I’m spiraling, and now I’m losing feeling in my left arm because I crouched down on it to hide from the glow of their newlywed bliss. I’m going to die alone. Do I get them a gift?

I’m waving at the staff while squatting in front of my tiny bench. I start flapping both arms and it’s not working. I slide out, hopefully clearing the window. I start whispering to the staff as they pass me on the sidewalk, trying desperately to get the attention of a striped-apron server. I wildly wave like I’m a carwash dancing blow-up man. But my gesticulations aren’t garnering the attention I need.

Without moving my head, I quickly side-eye inside and he’s staring at me. I jerk my head back towards the street as if that will undo everything. I attempt to grab my bag and run. I’ll throw my credit card at Annie, the server, and come back for it later. My bag knocks the wobbly little red café table and now everyone is watching. I laugh like I meant for the table to make that loud scraping sound and crash on the sidewalk. The table falls and there’s nothing I can do but bask in the humiliation as my glass shatters and a baguette rolls down the block.

Hayden bolts from the café and sets the table back up.

“You ok?”

These are the eyes I dream about from long ago, wide and open.

I nod. He takes my hand and my body reacts as if something has shifted in this moment. As if nothing else matters but his touch. He nods to the staff and gestures inside. The men and women all nod and swoon as he gives them that million-watt smile. Then he turns it on me and my innards become goo. I’m a gooey lunatic with no sense of where my horizon is. I can’t seem to get my equilibrium.

My father made me a sensible girl, but what I’ve discovered over the years is that I’m ridiculous mess. I’m good at hiding it, usually, but not today.

He grins and rubs his thumb over the back of my hand, and I exhale. I didn’t realize I’d been holding my breath. He tightens his grip and pulls me inside. I reluctantly go, mostly because I don’t want to stop holding his hand.

“Why are you being nice to me?”

He winks. “We can’t let the West Coast team win. We need a nice day. And I like to keep you guessing. Trust me.” I follow as my stomach attempts to return to its normal place and stop flipping.

He stops again and turns towards me. “Because we need to lay down our swords for a moment. Can you be in this with me? You can go back to hating me later today. But can you be here with me, please?”

He looks so much like my Danny. I want this so badly, but I’m terrified to trust him and helpless to stop myself.

“Yes. I can play nice.”

“I remember.” He smirks and my fucking resolve is toast. I’m a puddle of lust and confusing emotions for him. I bite my lip and then lick the spot where I bit it.