“Tile!” I scurry to the railing around the lake and peer into the dark water. “Tiling the lake . . .” The vision unfurls, washing over the scene in front of me. “Not white, like subway tile, that’s everywhere now. But . . . taking a color from the mother-of-pearl?” I riffle through other memories from that day with Chloe, our walking tour of the Historic Core of downtown LA. The Bradbury Building, the Million Dollar Theater, and the grand dame herself—

I gasp. “The Eastern Columbia Building!”

Chloe frowns. “What’s—oh, yeah! In LA. The turquoise one with the clock tower.” She looks into the lake. “Ooh, that blue would be perfect.”

I nod, bouncing on the balls of my feet. The pop of color would liven up the room without distracting from the architecture or taking the focus from the stage. I already colored in gold accents, and warmer lighting would balance the cool of the imagined tile. Chloe’s bemused smile tells me just how bonkers excited I must look, but I don’t care. “This has been plaguing me for weeks. It’s all clicked.” I shake my head, still not quite believing it. “It’s perfect.”

“That’s awesome,” she says. “Especially because I think we’re about to get kicked out.” Chloe waves, and I realize her attention is behind and above me. “Hi there!”

“Bennet?”

The low voice sends a shiver down my spine, and my pulse kicks up another notch. No. Effing. Way.

I wheel to find Darcy peering at us from the second floor. For a moment, we gawk in silence. If anything, he looks as stunned as I feel—though I hope my version looks even half as appealing as his. He’s dressed in a white T-shirt and jeans, and holy bespectacled hotness, he’s wearing glasses. With the sunlight coming in behind him, he’s an urban Adonis.

And he’s here.

Useless, I toss him a wave. “Hiya.”

“What, ah—” He takes off his glasses, hurriedly hooking them on the neck of his shirt. It takes him three tries. “Are you here for something?”

Oh, God. Chloe and I just barged in here like we owned the place. “No—”

“She wanted to show me the building,” Chloe says. “I’m Chloe, by the way. Are you Darcy?” She says his name with incriminating enthusiasm.

 . . . and now he knows I’ve been talking about him. “I thought you were gone until next week,” I say, hoping to sideline his own realization. “I was going to reach out—”

“I flew back with Charles.” He slides his hands into his pockets, rocking back on his heels. “You may have noticed he couldn’t stay away.”

Charles. Charles, who just sat across from me for forty-five minutes of sushi and idle chitchat, knew Darcy was here and didn’t say anything. That little . . . “Yeah, I did notice. He didn’t say anything about you.”