We Met Like This

by Kasie West

did nothing, he looked down at his phone and walked away.

So we match again, I typed in the chat. I like your new profile pic. His response was fast: Norah! Hello. Funny. They’re the same feel, right? I laughed out loud, then clamped my mouth shut and looked around. I was alone. I mean, they kind of are, I responded. I wasn’t going to let him win on the name-forgetting front by admitting I’d been wrong. It had been three years, but I still had my pride.

“Do you remember me mentioning an Oliver? I went out with him once three years ago and have matched with him off and on ever since.” “Best-car-makeout-you’ve-ever-had guy?” “Yes!” Best makeout period. “But he was otherwise painfully boring and inconsiderate.” I cringed. I had probably said that too. “Not painfully. Okay, painfully. And yes, was rude to the waitress and didn’t ask me any questions about myself, but instead talked about something completely irrelevant. We had absolutely nothing in common.”

If we’re going to ghost each other again, let’s give a warning this time. Ghost was a strong word, reserved for someone you were interested in. Oliver and I were not that. We had established on day two of knowing each other that we would never be that. I typed: Is it considered ghosting if a warning is involved? We’ll call it a haunting, he responded. Did you have that word ready to go? That was fast. No, I’m just really clever. I narrowed my eyes. You had that word. You’re reusing banter on me? Recycled banter is unacceptable. For the record, this is the first time I’ve used it, but I guarantee fifty percent or more of my banter will be unoriginal. If that is a dealbreaker, haunt me now.

Hey, that’s not a bad idea, though. We could help each other out. There’s obviously something wrong with our banter on these apps if we both continually end up back on them. Maybe you should run all your pickup lines by me before you use them on women from now on.

My first advice to you: Wait until at least after a first date for dirty talk. Good thing we already had one of those then.

A little girl stopped in front of me, snatching the string cheese I held. She looked me up and down, then said, “Your shirt is ugly and wrinkly.” “You know what else is ugly?” I asked. My sister, obviously hearing me, elbowed me in the side. “My shoes,” I said, raising my dirty sneaker in the air. “You’re right, they really are ugly,” she said.

“What’s your favorite meet-cute?” she asked. “Out of all the books you’ve read or movies you’ve watched.” That was one of my favorite questions. “I’m a fan of the trapped together somewhere with a stranger. Or fake dating. Like in The Proposal.” Audrey scrunched her nose. “But they already knew each other in the movie too.” “True. So it would have to be more like if we showed up here today and there was a hot guy waiting outside and he grabbed me by the hand before we went in and said, I need your help. I haven’t seen all my college buddies for years and they’re all engaged or married and I’m still sad and single. Will you pretend to be my girlfriend for the morning?” Audrey raised her eyebrows. “A bunch of guys are meeting for brunch? Not believable.” “Guys can meet for brunch.” “They can, but do they?” “They should. Besides, they brought dates, remember?” “Oh, right. The dates. So you’d ditch me for this handsome college kid?” “No, he hasn’t seen them in a long time. He’s a grown man now.” “You’d ditch me for this grown man?” “Absolutely.” I smiled. “You’d want me to, right? The universe would basically be dropping my future husband in my lap. You wouldn’t deny me that.” “Never,” she said, putting her hand on her heart in a dramatic fashion. “Thank you for your support.”

“If my future boyfriend can’t love me looking like this, he doesn’t deserve me when I look like a goddess.” “You say that with so much confidence for someone who hid from a guy today.” “How do you know I hid?” She nodded toward my phone. “His message.”

So the lack of acknowledgment had nothing to do with me and everything to do with you in a cute baseball cap? I sighed, then typed: You did see me. But you were on a date. I wasn’t going to interrupt your date. I really wish you would’ve, he responded. That bad? Yes. I had a bad date today too. Oh yeah? Yes, with my sister. The second person to tell me I looked terrible. And the third? he asked. My roommate, Sloane. And to think if I had seen you for more than half a second, I could’ve been the fourth. You took that privilege away from me. I snapped a quick selfie—hat, wrinkly shirt, and all—and sent it to him before I changed my mind. His response: Terrible. I can’t believe you left the house like that. Right? No, but in all seriousness, you look gorgeous. My heart fluttered in my chest. “Down, girl, down,” I said. But to him I wrote: Didn’t I tell you no generic compliments before a first date? We’ve already had a first date. If a second date doesn’t follow within a year, the dating history gets reset. Not sure I want a reset on all my first dates.

“You have a boyfriend?” Miles asked. “Since when?” “They’re three years strong,” Sloane said. “You’re the worst.” I threw the pillow, which completely missed her, then shut myself back in my room. “I do not have a boyfriend.”

“True. That’s a great response. How come we haven’t been each other’s coaches for all these years?” “Because we’ve been trying to wash the taste of our first date out of our mouths,” I said. “I thought the taste of our first date was the only good part,” he responded. It was validating to hear I wasn’t the only one who thought the makeout was exceptional. “You’re right. We really should’ve just been each other’s booty calls for all these years.” He strangled out a choking laugh. “Too much?” I asked, laying back on my pile of pillows. “From you? No.” I narrowed my eyes. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” “It is,” he said.

“Has anyone ever told you that you should record audiobooks? You have the perfect voice for it.” “Nobody has ever told me that.” “I have a book you can practice with.” “Oh yeah? What kind of book?” Was it possible for his voice to get even sexier with that question? “The kind where the main characters do really bad things to each other,” I said. “Like a psychological thriller?” he teased, a smile in his voice. “There are definitely head games involved.” He let out a low chuckle. “I would like to read this book. To you.” Heat poured through my body. I feared the only person getting hot and bothered by this conversation was me. “Okay,” I breathed.

“So? Can you come celebrate with me then? Friday. Noonish?” “Yes,” he said. “Okay, cool.” “Margot?” he said. “Yes?” “I’m excited to see you again. Finally.” My heart galloped to life in my chest. “Me too.”

“Ugh, I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m usually so much better on dates. Funny and witty. Not that this is a date, but I feel bad that after all this time, this is the person you get to hang out with.” “Please stop apologizing, Margot. I already know you’re funny and witty. Also … is this not a date?” he asked. My eyes shot to his in surprise. “Oh … it’s not,” he said. “You did use the words celebration partner. I should’ve realized you were just wanting to…” He tilted his head as if piecing together my thoughts and how I had jumped him in the car. I had jumped him in the car, and my body wanted to again as I sat here under his intense gaze. But my thoughts were all over the place. “No, that’s not … It’s just our last date was…” “Terrible?” he said. “Despite my epic souvenir.” “Yes,” I said. “Exactly.” “With your talk of resets, I thought you were giving me a do-over.” “You want a do-over?” I asked. He had seemed like he hadn’t when I’d brought it up. “Yes,” he said. “Very much.”

Oliver seemed … cold? His eyes were shadowed, closed off. “Are you sleeping with your boss?”

“Oliver. Did he influence this decision?” “No. I made it all by myself, thank you very much. The only thing that came out of lunch was Oliver asking me if I was sleeping with Rob.” “You aren’t sleeping with Rob, so I hope you said no.” “I said, ‘Not currently.’” She groaned. “Less is more, Marjorie. Those are conversations you have when you know someone better.” “Probably true. You should’ve seen the way he looked at me.” It had hurt, sitting there in the restaurant after loudly quitting my job in the alley, to have Oliver close himself off, become overly polite, asking generic questions and barely answering mine with no more than a word or two. But maybe it was better this way. Our second chance proving just as much as our first one that we weren’t right for each other.

“What you should’ve said to Oliver’s question was, No, but I can be sleeping with you tonight if you want.” I gave an ironic laugh. “Believe me, after the look he gave me today, he doesn’t want to. It will probably be another three years, at least, before I see him again.” That thought twisted my insides.

“I wasn’t judging you, Margot. I promise my reaction had nothing to do with you and everything to do with my history. My face sometimes has a mind of its own and it was obviously giving off dick vibes.” “What?” “Yesterday. Your boss. I was surprised and shouldn’t have asked.” “Spill. Did I call you last night or something? How do you know that I thought you were judging me for Rob? You didn’t talk to Sloane, did you?” “Your roommate? No. You left me a message.” I put my face in my hands. “I didn’t.” He laughed. “It was amazing and I will save it forever. You don’t remember?” “Not even a little bit.”

“Wow,” I said. “I’m never drinking again.” “I am here to prove I’m not a judgy jerk with a stick up his ass.” He didn’t comment on all the sex talk. Neither did I. “Drunk Margot is ridiculous. I’m sorry. The stuff about my boss, it was my shame talking. I have all sorts of…” I blew out some air because my throat tightened with emotion. “I’m not proud of sleeping with him.” “I wasn’t trying to make you feel bad at all. And besides, it’s really not my business. I shouldn’t have asked. I’m sorry. Also, was I rude to our waitress that first night?” I covered my face with my hands. “No, I mean, sort of, but it’s fine.”

“You really are going to start your own agency?” He nodded to my phone, indicating the text I’d sent my sister stating that. “I’m going to try my hardest.” “Give yourself grace and at least double the time you think it will take.” “I have no time at all.” “Then give yourself ten times that long.” “Zero times ten is zero.” He laughed. “I sense patience isn’t your strength.”

“We’re good at this,” he said, a single finger running from the inside of my elbow to my wrist, showing me what he meant by this as waves of pleasure sang through me. “So good,” I agreed. “We need to make sure we’re good at not this.” “That sounds like a terrible plan,” I said. Aside from today, we’d only hung out two times in real life. The first time was catastrophic and the second time, in the end, not much better. “You want to keep trying?” “I want to throw you on this table and taste every inch of you.” “Okay.” He chuckled. “And god, I want that feeling in a relationship. It’s been awhile since I’ve had that. But I also want something real. Something more. We need to see if we get along outside of apps … and cars.” I stepped closer to him, our chests almost bumping. “So you want to ignore the physical stuff for a while and … be friends?” Why was this man insisting on keeping the only thing we seemed to be good at together away from us? “If that’s what you want to call it.” His voice was barely above a whisper and his eyes were steady on mine. “Right. Okay.”

“Look who I found in our apartment, Margot. Your boyfriend,” she said. “Not my boyfriend,” I blurted at the same time Sloane said, “Your boyfriend is even cuter in person.” “Sloane,” I scolded. “Stop calling him that.” To Oliver, I clarified, “It was just a joke because of how long we’d been messaging each other.” He smirked my way like he appreciated that joke.

“How many people are you chatting with this round?” “On the apps?” he asked. “Yes.” “Like five or six.” “Any standouts?” His eyes met mine again. “Yes, this woman who only wants me for my body.” I raised my eyebrows. “You do have a nice body.” “She thinks we’re incompatible because we have nothing in common. Any advice for me?” I let out a sharp breath. “Tell her to give you time. You seem like the type who grows on people.” “I am,” he said, a sly smile coming onto his handsome face.

“It’s good we’re just friends, Oliver. Because I think you might be too nice for me. I could wreck you.” He closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, they were even more intense. And his voice was husky when he said, “Maybe it would be good for me.”

“I’d love to read the rest of your book,” I said. “if you still want feedback. And”—I gave a nervous chuckle—“if Rob ever retires or croaks or something and you find yourself in need of an agent, think of me.” Across the room, Sloane’s eyes went wide, like she didn’t think I’d ever have the guts to say that to Kari Cross, queen of romance. Kari gave a sharp laugh. “Call me in a few years when you’ve gotten your feet wet and we’ll see if Rob is still screwing me over.” My stomach clenched with her words. The words I was afraid every potential client was going to say. I had relationships with editors, had sold a couple books myself, even, but I’d done it all under the supervision of Rob. “Yes, of course.”

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” Rob said as I finally got the head of the key wedged beneath the first layer of metal. I twisted it around the circle. Everything in me wanted to say, You’re right, it doesn’t. We can figure something out. I need this job. I need you to help me succeed at the next stage of my career. My life. But I swallowed down that fear and that anxiety and accepted the truth. “I think we both know it does.” I held the key out to him. He took it from me. “Thanks for not…” His words trailed off. Not what? I almost screamed. Not telling the other agents that we slept together? Not making a scene? Not demanding better? Not slapping you right now? Thanks for not about covered everything, didn’t it? “Yeah,” I said. “The Margot that doesn’t is over. I’m ready to.” “To what?” he said, obviously confused. “To everything.”

“It needs to be right, perfect, because it’s going to be forever.” “Commitment issues,” Sloane coughed. “You’re the one who said you didn’t like Love Lit.” “I changed my mind,” she said. “Because we’re allowed to do that.” She looked between me and Oliver like she was making a point. “Love Lit. It’s perfect.”

Me: Hey, Website Designer, when should we do this? Considering how much I’m paying you for this service, I have a very long list of demands. Oliver: Demanding clients are my favorite. Friday night? Me: You don’t have a hot date? Oliver: If you’re calling it a date, then yes, I do. Me: I’m calling it a business transaction. Oliver: Then I have a hot business transaction. “Oh my gaaaawwwd,” Sloane groaned, pulling me out of my phone. “Good luck keeping horny Margot at bay.” “What?” I asked, confused. “The look on your face right now while you’re reading texts from Oliver. Good. Luck. Keeping. Horny. Margot. At. Bay.” I pointed to my face. “This isn’t horny Margot. This is mildly amused Margot. Horny Margot has been suppressed, replaced by getting-shit-done Margot.” “If you say so.” “Me and my self-control will be perfectly fine.”

“What would you like?” he asked. “I’d like to mess up your life a little,” I teased, moving a beer to the lemonade row and a water on its side. “This is why you were shocked by the state of my bed and clothes chair, isn’t it?” “I was not shocked.” “Shocked,” I repeated. “I had next to no reaction,” he said. “That’s what you think, but your face is very expressive.” He gave me an amused look. “What am I thinking now?” “You’re wondering why you agreed to help me,” I said. He laughed. “You’re terrible at this game.”

“I know. It’s cold and impersonal, but working from home, I had to make my office feel like a different place or I was less productive.” “That makes sense.” I’d never thought about it before, but there probably was some psychology behind that. I pointed to the walking pad. “Do I have to walk while we design the website or do you?” “One of us does, that’s how I power the computer.” He said it with such a straight face that for a split second I thought he was serious. But the slight crinkles at the corners of his eyes clued me in to the fact that he was kidding. “I mean, you are an engineer, it wouldn’t surprise me.” “You have no idea what I do for a living, do you?” “All I know is there are ones and zeros involved.” “I take it back, you know exactly what I do for a living.” I bowed like he was being serious.

“What are your dealbreakers?” I said, realizing I’d never asked him that question. “Someone asking me to model shirtless for their website.” I laughed. “Seriously, nobody will know it’s you.” “You will. And you’ll tell Sloane. And she’ll tell everyone.” “I swear on my life I won’t tell her.” “Margot, come on.” “Yes, come on.” I took his hand in mine, always looking for an excuse to touch him—I’d been wanting to all night—and met his eyes. “Not even with those eyes,” he said, squeezing my hand. “But your idea is good. What about a bright room with a messy bed in the distance. It would be less in-your-face. Perhaps a step classier.” I rolled my eyes but smiled. Maybe he was right. A dark hall, a lit bed in the distance? “What’s your bedroom look like?” “I was thinking we’d use yours.” “I want a man’s bedroom. Is your bedroom as cool as the rest of your house?” His fingers tightened around mine as if he was talking himself through all the possible outcomes of having his bedroom posted online. He came to some conclusion, because he stood. “You tell me.”

“Want to help me mess this up?” “Margot, I…” “With all our clothes on, friend. Where did your mind go?” “You’re in my bed. You know where it went.”

“We’re not supposed to touch,” I said softly. “Friends touch,” he returned. I closed my eyes and listened to our breathing sync up. In and out. “You can trust me, Margot. I see you,” he said. “I think you might. Three years ago, in your car, I would’ve sworn you had been handed a study guide on my body. It was impressive.” “You know what my study guide was?” My hands felt weightless in his grip. “No, what?” “You. The way you moved against me when I hit the right spot, the noises you made when my mouth was on you. And that was in a car, Margot.” A slow fire had started in my belly with his words and was slowly expanding through all my limbs. “I know. Imagine how much better it would be here, where we have full access to each other.” “I have,” he said. I bit my bottom lip trying to tamp down my desire. “Is this how you talk to all your friends?” I said, mimicking what he’d asked me earlier. “Yes, all of them,” he said, copying me. We stayed that way for several minutes, holding hands, perfectly still, not looking at each other, just breathing.

The website header was a backlit man, the shadows in front of him spelling out my agency name like we’d talked about. His features were too dark to make out any details, just like I knew they would be. But he looked amazing. His chest, despite the shadows, defined and muscular. The messy bed shone bright behind him, and images of being in that bed with him rushed into my mind along with the emotions attached to them. “You hate it?” he asked. “No … I…” I tried to slow down my racing heart, the throbbing between my legs, with two deep breaths and said airily, “You did all this after I left?” “Yes. I had some energy I needed to burn off,” he said, that sparkle returning to his eyes. “You didn’t?” “Wish you would’ve done this while I was still there.” I nodded toward the shirtless pic. He let out a throaty laugh. “Then you like it?” “It’s definitely worth a coffee, maybe two.” “I have an option with just the bed too,” he said. “No, I like half-naked men,” I teased. “And so will the rest of the world.” “Right,” he said, his voice tight. “No, but really. It’s great.” I studied his face. His unreadable expression was back. “You didn’t … I hope I didn’t … Did you feel guilted into doing that? If so, just the bed is fine. I don’t want you to…” Feel pressured into putting yourself online was how I almost finished that sentence, but instead I trailed off, letting him fill that in however he wanted. “No, I didn’t. The more I looked at the empty image with just the bed, the more I real...

“I’ll get it. You concentrate on driving.” “I can do both at the same time.” I slapped his hand away and picked up the bag, then reached in to reveal his first offering. A bag of veggie straws. “What in the healthy-living hell is this?” “They are healthy and delicious.” His other options were similar: raw almonds, banana chips, and coconut granola clusters. “This is how you keep your body looking like it does, isn’t it? My website thanks you.” He chuckled. “How do you explain how yours looks so good?” My cheeks warmed with the compliment. “You haven’t seen me half naked, and until you do, you might want to keep those compliments to yourself.” “I’ve felt a lot of you and I stand by my compliment,” he said in a low voice. My eyebrows popped up. Oliver had obviously decided to put all his worries about us away for the weekend or maybe he worked something out in his head over the last couple days, took his mom’s advice, because flirty Oliver was back. This thought made my chest expand.

“I’ll get my own room.” “What? No. Why? Kari Cross is paying. We can handle a room together, can’t we? I’ll keep my hands to myself,” I said. If you want me to, I added in my head. “I’ll get my own,” he insisted. I held back my frustrated sigh. So much for thinking he’d figured out how he felt. “I’ll pay you back.” “No, you won’t,” he said. I was waiting for the woman behind the counter to tell us there weren’t any rooms left and we would, in fact, have to share one. But the universe wasn’t in the habit of granting my storybook fantasies, because she handed us two keys. I pocketed mine. “Are you from around here, Bree?” I asked, reading her name tag. “Or know this area well?” “Yes, born and raised,” she said. “Is there anywhere around here where the internet is bad? Like famously bad? Somewhere off the beaten path where people might go to hide out, make out, or bury a body?” She just stared at me, her expression going slack. “It’s for research,” Oliver added. “For a book. She’s not planning to bury a body.” I smiled. “I mean, I was, but now you’ve found me out.” “She’s kidding,” Oliver said. I wondered if I was making him uncomfortable or if he was just feeling sorry for the wide-eyed Bree. “Yes, actually,” she said. “Lots of teens hang out at the abandoned silos just north of here because it’s a cell phone dead zone back in the hills. Their parents can’t track them.” She pulled a paper map out of a plastic holder on the counter and pointed to where I assumed these silos e...

“You didn’t seem nervous, by the way,” I said. “On our second first date.” “You make me nervous,” he said softly.

“What were you going to tell me in the car the other day? I stopped you, not wanting to hear it. But I need to know. Why don’t you like me back? It seemed like you did at one point or at least wanted to try. Am I too messy? Do you need me to be perfect before giving us a chance? Because I’ll never be perfect. I’m not my sister. If you want someone like that—” “I don’t,” he interrupted. “At all. But it’s complicated.” “How? What is it? My past? My boss?” “It’s my past,” he shot back. “Your exes really screwed up your ability to trust, didn’t they?” I asked. “My exes are definitely screwing me over here.” His eyes looked sad. I wondered if there was anything I could say to convince a guy who had been cheated on twice before that it wouldn’t happen again. That I was a safe bet. “The past is in the past, Oliver. You can’t let it dictate your future.” “Do you really believe that?” I nodded. “So what…” He looked around the dark circular space where we stood. “You want me to take you right here, right now, in this bug-infested silo?” He stalked toward me, a new intensity in his eyes. My heart pounded heavy in my chest. I waited with bated breath for him to collide with me. I wanted him so badly. I was more sure about that than I was about almost anything in my life right now. But then he stopped, his mind taking over, doubt clouding his face. “I can’t … We can’t.” I crossed my arms in front of me, suddenly feeling vulnerable and embarrassed. Because right now, I was leading with ...

“If you don’t like me back, you have to stop saying things like that. You’re sending me mixed messages.” My statement was followed by silence, and I wished the lights were on so I could see the expression on his face. But they weren’t, and I was literally left in the dark, wondering what he was thinking. He put me out of my misery by saying, “I do like you, Margot. A lot.” My eyes stung in confusion. “But?” “But I don’t know if I’m right for you,” he said. “You are. So right. I think what’s really stopping you is that you don’t know if I’m right for you.” Another stretch of silence passed where he didn’t deny my statement. His voice finally cut through the darkness, deep and scratchy. “I need to tell you something about my past relationship.” “I honestly don’t care about your past relationship. I meant what I said in the silo. We need to leave our pasts in the past. We can’t let the people who hurt us still have such a strong hold on us now.” “No matter who they were?” “Even if we were engaged to them or if they were our bosses,” I said, covering both of us with the statement. “I think we have to live in the moment. Do what feels right now because what if nothing feels this right again?” “You feel right,” he said. “You always have. From night one.”

Oliver was drunk. Even though he kept insisting he wasn’t. “I’m not drunk,” he said again. “I’m just expressing valid thoughts.” “Very valid,” I said, taking hold of his hand because he kept slowing down to peer in store windows. We were heading to Boots and Spurs, the last stop of the night. “I want to hear all your thoughts. It’s nice that you want to take care of me.” That was the last thing he’d said. “But I know you don’t need to be taken care of. You can take care of yourself. I’m a feminist, you know.” I held back a laugh. “Yes, you keep telling me that.” “Because I am. My mom did the same exact job as my dad, probably did it better, in fact, and made less money. It was maddening to see.” I squeezed his hand. “I’m glad you’re still a golden retriever even when you’re drunk.” “I’m not drunk.” “Where is your dad now, by the way?” “No idea. It was an ugly divorce. Hard for all of us to live through.” “I’m sorry,” I said, pulling his hand in front of me and running my other one up his arm. “It had been bad for a long time before that. Lots of pain, lots of tears.” He paused. “Probably another reason I’m still single.” “Are you? Still single?” I teased. “Good to know. I might know someone who is interested.” “Oh,” he said, as if the reality of his relationship status just dawned on him. “Do I have to officially ask you to be my boyfriend? Would you like me to ask in note form with multiple-choice answers you can circle?” He squeezed my hand. “I’m supposed to ask.” “I tho...

comforter on the bed back and helping him beneath it. “I just realized something. The past can’t be left behind because it’s still your present.” “You’re my present? Is that what you’re saying? You’re adorable.” I kissed his cheek. “You can have me now,” he said. “I’m yours.” “You’re drunk, babe,” I said. “I’ll take you tomorrow. Promise.” “You like to take care of me too,” he mumbled. “I do,” I said, a warm feeling spreading across my chest. I really did. I kissed him, his lips salty from the potato chips, and then pulled the sheet up over his shoulders. His breathing went heavy again, and as I stood there staring at him, I realized something that scared me more than anything ever had—I was falling in love with this man.

“You dated my sister? She was the one who cheated on you in college?” I pointed toward the backyard even though she was no longer standing there. I wanted him to deny it. To say, Who’s your sister again? And realize in real time the horror of our shared past. But the look on his face let me know that he already knew this fact. “You can leave too,” I said, my blood running cold. He didn’t move. “Can I explain?” “Now!” I screamed.

“I don’t want you dating him,” she called to my back. I lifted my hand in the air, turned, and said, “Don’t worry. If you’ve had him, I don’t want him.” I knew that was mean, hurtful, even. But she hadn’t thought about my feelings once in anything she’d said. It was time to stand up for myself. “You always want what I have.” I took two steps closer to her. “What?” I may have been jealous of my sister at times, but I didn’t want what she had. I looked around, looked her up and down, then said, “There is nothing about this life I want.”

You have no idea how sorry I am. Nothing I say can possibly justify why I didn’t tell you, but if you will give me a chance, I would like to try to explain. If you’d rather just ghost me, I deserve it.

“Wait, is that why you came here? To make sure I wasn’t dating him?” “I came here to try to make things right.” “Okay, well, things don’t always happen just because you want them to. I need some time.” “I don’t understand why you’re so mad at me,” she said. “I think that’s the main problem,” I returned. She stood. “Maggie, you don’t have to get a job. I’ll let you borrow some money. Help you develop a plan for your business.” “Absolutely not.” “But you were going to let Mom loan you money?” “Mom wouldn’t hold it over my head. Tell me exactly how I need to spend it.” “I run a successful business.” “You know nothing about publishing and yet you still think you would do a better job than me. You don’t believe in me. Only in yourself. That’s why I’m mad, Audrey. That.”

“You’re really not going to forgive him?” I plopped the popcorn bowl on the table and sat on the floor. “Even if I wanted to hear him out, Sloane, it’s complicated. Audrey and I may be fighting but I don’t want to hurt her.” “Why would this hurt her so bad? I’m having a hard time understanding.” “Because…” I tried to think of reasons to fill in after that word but was coming up blank. “I guess because he was hers at some point in the past.” Her eyebrows popped up as if to say exactly. “For six months,” I said. “Eight years ago.” “That was a tiny amount of time in the grand scheme of things.” “And yet she still thinks she has some sort of claim on him.” “But…” she said, seeming to know there was more. “But I’ve known Oliver for over three years. She can’t hold him hostage over a six-month relationship. He’s mine to call dibs on, not hers.” “Damn straight he is.” “I guess I need to talk to her. Tell her how I feel. And then give Oliver the chance to explain himself.” “How do you feel?” she asked. I picked up a stray kernel of popcorn from beneath the coffee table and turned it slowly in my fingers before depositing it into the bowl. Then I met her expectant stare. “I love him.” She smiled and let out a small squeal. “But love doesn’t always conquer all,” I said. She rolled her eyes. “You can no longer rep romance.” “In romance books, everything works out. In real life, I’m not so sure.”

Oliver: Margot, I know you aren’t speaking to me, but when you get clients, if you want me to add them to your website, let me know. I didn’t teach you how to change things. I should’ve taught you how to change things. I should’ve done so many things. I’m sorry … Also, I miss you.

“You didn’t swipe right on me,” I said, cupping the tea in my hands, like it was the only thing grounding me right now. “What?” “That was days ago. Which means you must’ve swiped left. I swiped right. And you swiped left. We weren’t a match,” I said, my throat tight from the memory, from the disappointment I felt. “No,” he said. “I’m not swiping. I didn’t swipe at all.” “You’re not swiping?” I asked, a little confused. “I would’ve deleted the apps, but that’s where our messages are. I reread them a lot. I know it’s unhealthy and obsessive but I do it because … because I miss you, Margot. So much.”

“I didn’t know you were her sister,” he said. “I mean, at first, I had no idea. Not three years ago in the car, not all these years of messaging, not the majority of our time together. Not until I saw her first name on your phone and then learned your last name. And even then I wasn’t sure because her sister’s name was Maggie. So I had to go home and google her and you.” “And then you knew,” I said. He nodded. “Before you slept with me.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then opened them again. “I’m sorry.” “Why didn’t you tell me?” “I was going to. I was processing. But you two were fighting and I wanted you to make up with her, I didn’t want to be another source of tension, and I’d talked myself out of being with you once I found out. But you showed up at the gym. I tried to tell you then but you stopped me. Then you asked me for a ride to Paso Robles. And I didn’t want to stay away from you. I thought maybe we really could just be friends. I wanted you in my life. Then in the silo you said that thing about the past being in the past and it’s been eight years and I thought since we’d already…” He sighed, his shoulders dropping, as if saying everything out loud revealed just how much he had screwed up. “I have no excuse. I’m a coward. I should’ve told you.” “You should’ve.” He swallowed hard, a look of concentration taking over his face. “I can see you thinking,” I said. “It’s who I am.” “I know,” I said. “And I’m impulsive sometimes … a lot of the time. I’m noth...