He raised an eyebrow about a hundredth of a centimeter, which I guess was his version of acknowledgment, then spoke in a more serious tone than I was hoping for. “I’m aware, counselor.”

I nodded, feeling unsure of how heavy this conversation was about to get and desperate to come up with something to make it lighter.

I brought out my grievances instead.

“I was wondering if you’d made it up here,” I offered, lifting a shoulder, the unsaid since I never heard from you again after you fucked me on every flat surface in my apartment hanging in the air. “Welcome to the Finger Lakes.”

He bowed his head and started to look uncomfortable, but before I could interject, he opened his mouth.

“Sorry I didn’t get in touch. Things have been a little crazy this year. The job market was hectic and unpredictable and I didn’t decide on this position until late in the game.” He sighed and fidgeted. Almost unsure, which seemed so out of place.

In the time I’d spent with him, Patrice seemed to be the walking embodiment of self-possessed, so seeing this new side of him was...endearing. “It’s been an adjustment, to say the least.”

I dipped my head in response, not sure how to proceed, the pull I felt toward him on the verge of undoing my ability to carry on polite conversation. All I could think was I want to touch you so badly.

I had no right to it though, on that at least I was very clear. Patrice’s lack of interest had not been exactly subtle. Last summer we’d been incendiary, coming together over and over again. From the start, the attraction between us had been undeniable. We’d see each other by chance while he was in town helping his best friend with his food truck, and inevitably we’d end up back at my place tearing each other’s clothes off. I’d felt a hunger for Patrice, that seemed insatiable and those few weeks, it seemed like it’d been the same for him. But in the year after, his silence had been almost complete.

Despite our connection, once Patrice was gone, he was gone.

I knew he’d been back over the winter to visit Nesto, but he never made any efforts to get in touch or let me know he was in town. So when I heard from a friend in common he’d taken a job at Cornell, I was elated, thinking we’d be able to reconnect. A part of me even foolishly thinking his decision to take a job here had something to do with me. I’d texted him to congratulate him, but he’d responded with a thank-you, and never contacted me again. It stung, but once I received the message he wasn’t interested, I’d vowed to keep my distance.

Now that he was here in front of me, I realized staying away from Patrice Denis was going be much harder than I’d anticipated.

Patrice cleared his throat and I realized I’d been spacing out.