He flattens my hand between his palms. “I’m glad I’m in one of those,” he says. “I feel bad for all the Wyns in universes where you’re with guys like Harvard Hudson. They’re so miserable right now, Harriet.” “Or the Harriets in universes where you’re with the Dancers Named Alison of the world,” I say. “No,” he says quietly. “In every universe, it’s you for me. Even if it’s not me for you.”
