Jada’s mouth presses into a thin line. If she spent a whole plane ride with Alex and still isn’t sure of the intent behind his visit, she’s not going to give me false hope.
She fishes her cell phone out of her bag, offers it to me. “Put your number in. Josh and I are here for work once every couple of months. Even when we’re not, there are tons of people I can set you up with. Not romantically!” she clarifies, voice jumping. “I mean, maybe, I guess. But I imagine you could use a friend or two. I can help with that, at least.”
I grab her phone and put my number in. “Thank you.”
She nods, taking it back. “We’re going for drinks and small plates tonight at this meze place in Shoreditch. You interested?”
This—right here—is the point with most of my awkward acquaintances where I’d normally say no. A polite but firm “Thanks so much for offering, but I’m exhausted and should probably rest up. I wouldn’t want to bring the group down!” Part of me wants to play out the old song and dance out of fear, and anxiety, and my introverted belief that I don’t need anyone new. But this time, I have to say yes. I have to give myself a fighting chance at friendship here, push myself into scary waters. I came this far. It’s what Charlotte would want me to do.
Home is something you build.
“I’d like that,” I say. “Text me the details.”
Outside, I push past the text reading jada <3 go auburn!! to pull up Find My Friends. Hands shaking, I wait for the app to load.
Alex’s contact says Location Unavailable.
Which means he either （a） doesn’t want me to know he’s here or, （b） doesn’t have an international phone plan. Optimistically I’m hoping for the latter, but realistically it’s the former. Alex Harrison was raised on international phone plans.
Still, there is a nettlesome thump in my heart all the way back to my hotel. I have no reason to believe Alex will be there. I also have no reason to believe that my heart has been yanked out and stuffed with magnets instead. But in the lobby, I admit to myself I’m looking for his unruly mop of black hair about a fraction of a second before I see it.
He’s dressed in a gray Patagonia coat that’s too lightweight for this weather, and the same jeans and tennis shoes we went hiking in a few days after Christmas. Ganier Ridge, the hike was called. That day, the wind blew his hair back from his forehead in one smooth sweep, but today it’s been tugged in every direction. He’s wringing his hands in knots, seated on the edge of an ottoman, staring at the floor so intently I’m convinced he’s counting the stains on the Persian rug. There is a mostly empty weekender bag beside his feet.
“Alex?”
His head snaps up. That’s when I see the bruisy half-moons under his eyes. The shadow of his stubble is more pronounced than I’ve ever seen it. He stands in one smooth movement, then pushes a hand to his forehead like the motion made him dizzy.
“Hi,” he says as he takes a step toward me. “God, you’re so fucking beautiful. How—”
I back away. Alex frowns and goes still, not coming any closer.
He should have warned me. This isn’t fair. I’m too vulnerable right now, doing my best to adjust, and Alex knows it.
“Two days ago, my phone fell in the toilet,” he tries again. “At the office.”
“Your…” My head tilts. “The toilet.”
“Yeah,” he articulates, but all I really acknowledge is how much I missed the sound of his voice. “I tracked you because you weren’t at the all-hands meeting Wednesday. And I saw you were already here, which kind of took me by surprise enough to drop my phone in the fucking toilet.”
I frown. “What took you by surprise?”
He blinks at me. Blinks again. “That you moved up your flight.”
“No, I didn’t,” I mutter.
Alex takes another step forward. This time, I hold my ground, keep my eyes on his.
“The last Monday in January, Case. That’s the day you said you were leaving. Ten at night on Monday during the last week of January. That’s three days from now. I was going to go all the way to the airport with you. I wanted to be the first person you called when you landed. When I realized you’d left without me, I got on the literal first flight I could.”
I open my mouth, close it again. I’m too fixated on the second part of what he said to wrap my head around the first. “I guess…” I rub my forehead. “I guess I meant the last Monday of January according to Little Cooper’s fiscal calendar. Which was four days ago.”
We stare at each other for a few seconds, dumbfounded at the misunderstanding.
Alex’s mouth pulls into the outline of a smile, some of the strain eclipsed by it. “You would have meant that.” A laugh slips through his teeth. “I honestly should have known.”
I muster an equally thin smile for about two point five seconds before it falls back off my face. “Did you come all the way here to say goodbye?”
“I don’t want to say goodbye,” Alex murmurs, closing the distance between us. “Never did. I needed space, but not a whole ocean of it.” His voice digs in, deep, straining. “I fucking love you, Casey.”
I press a hand to his chest, trying to put aside the feeling of the pounding heart beneath it. “Okay. But we can’t just ignore—”
“I know.” Alex shudders against me, his eyes sweeping over my neck and lips. “I know it wouldn’t have been right for me to come here if I hadn’t done some reflection first.” He pauses. “I met with Robert.”
I refocus. “You did?”
Alex nods, the muscles in his jaw flexing. “The day of your party, which—yep, makes sense now that it was a week early.” He sighs and shakes his head. “You asked if I knew something you didn’t. Remember?”
I nod.
“Well, I did. On my birthday, I got this email from my father. He told me I inspired him to come out of retirement and explore digital media.”
“Oh.” My hands come to rest against my lips.
He winces, dropping my eyes. “You were right about everything,” he whispers. “The day you left New York … that’s the day I finally worked up the courage to go to his town house. I saw the same piece of paper from Strauss you saw, right there on the entryway table. Guess what it was? A proposed outline of his future share. He got home later that night, and I confronted him about it. He didn’t want to fess up at first, but when he could tell I was onto him, he just sort of … broke open. Started talking about how Dougie deserved it, how it was a matter of honor.” Alex laughs darkly. “He manipulated not one, but two whole businesses so he could get a leg up on a man who is, objectively, his own mirror image.”
“Alex—”
“And then,” Alex says, hand on his neck, “he started promising me things. He said he always planned to bring me into a position of power in the new company. Money, a better job title. He even dangled his own mentorship in my face like a carrot. Said now that I was grown, we could be partners. But it was all just too little, too late.”
I didn’t want to be right about this. I can tell just looking at Alex that he’s exhausted, defeated. He hasn’t had it as bad as me over the last few weeks. He’s had it worse.