He looked at me like I’d just mentioned his childhood best friend. “I love Oregon. My dream is to start an organic farm outside of Portland. I have loads of friends who live there. They just love it. There’s so much to do, and the food’s incredible.” He went on like this, as if Portland were paying him to advertise.

“Why don’t you just go there, then?”

It seemed the thought had never occurred to him. “I don’t know. I mean, I’d need to find a place. Save some money. I guess it just doesn’t seem like the right time.” He glanced shyly at me and smiled. I pulled him toward the French building, where Alec happened to be walking out with a redhead. She wore a white bow in her hair, like a dove had flown into her head and died there.

Alec saw us from across the courtyard and shot me a nasty look. “This the napkin man?” he called.

“Only if that’s the diplomat’s daughter,” I called back, and then pulled Theo back toward the market. The moment was over before it even began.

After a few minutes of silence, Theo said, “Was that your dad?”

I usually laughed at this type of question, but now it just made me sad. “Yes,” I said. “That was my dad.”

“I didn’t know you moved here with your family.”

“I did—we’re very close.”

“He looks like Vin Diesel in twenty years.”

“I’ll tell him you said that.”

Before we parted, Theo asked why I’d never called him. I told him I was sorry and then gave him Alec’s cell number—which technically he already had—and told him to text me if he was feeling lonely. I wanted Alec to get whatever message Theo had to send me, to understand that even though I’d followed him across the country, my loyalty was not to be taken for granted.

Alec beat me home. He was watching a French movie, all accordions and lovers rushing up to one another in brick alleyways. I hated when he did this—my French was terrible and he refused to use subtitles.

I went into the kitchen, where I was determined to make a cheese soufflé. Soufflés were Alec’s favorite—he would have to apologize if he wanted to eat any.

“I’m making a soufflé,” I called to him. “Cheese, not chocolate.”

Like clockwork, he appeared in the kitchen. “What was that stunt on campus?” he asked. “Who was that dude?”

“A friend.”

“A friend? You have friends now?”

“Yes. His name is Theo and he’s my friend. What about the redhead? Is she your friend?”

“She’s my student,” he said. “They’re this weird thing you get when you’re a teacher.”

“I see.”

“You think I’m fucking her,” he said.

I looked up at him. “No, I don’t. I know you’re fucking her.”

“Well, I’m not. She’s my best student.”

“Once upon a time, I was your best student.”

This was supposed to be a joke: I’d barely done the homework in his class. One time, I turned in a receipt for a Wendy’s milkshake and he handed it back to me with a bright red A+ across the top. He smiled at me, the cute smile where his green eyes went twinkle-twinkle. He may have been oafish and bald, but he was attractive in a Viking–meets–Mr. Clean sort of way.