It takes me three separate tries, but I finally manage to walk through the doors of QCZ. It’s Thursday, so I think he should be here … his improv class should have just ended.

The door is open but no one’s behind the desk.

I knock on the wood. “Hello?”

There’s a fumbling crashing noise from the room behind the desk, and then Zarar’s standing behind the counter.

I hold up a grilled cheese sandwich. “I brought a peace offering.”

He blinks at me. “Your hair is orange again.”

I nod. “How did you know?”

“I just have this feeling.”

I snort.

“I like this shade.” He sighs. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m, um, here for the time being.”

“What does that mean?”

I shrug. “I’m not sure.”

“Okay, well, if you’re here to use me for sex and stimulating conversation for a couple of days and then ghost me again … I’m not here for that.”

“That’s fair,” I concede after an extended silence. “I didn’t think I’d be back.”

He studies me for a moment. “Is that it?” He’s holding something in his left hand. A script.

I swallow. Crap. Is that it? He hasn’t taken my sandwich offering. Maybe I need to write him a letter too.

“Do you need something?” he asks.

“Um, I had a random thought. Can I ask you something?”

He shrugs. “Obviously you can.”

“Can you get me a meeting with that Penn music guy you work for?”

Zarar raises a brow. “You know he’s engaged.”

“Oh, come on, not for that. He’s not my type.”

“What’s your type?”

“I type eighty-five words a minute.” I serve him finger guns.

Zarar stares at me. “That was not funny.”

“Harsh.” I frown at my feet. “Can you get me a meeting or no?”

He pulls a flyer from a pile behind him and starts writing something down. “I’ll give you his number. I’ll let him know to expect a call from you. You can set it up yourself.”

He hands me the paper. I’m still holding his food. “Um, do you want this grilled cheese?”

He shakes his head. “No, thanks. That’s not what I’m looking for.”

“Wha—” I frown. Shit. What have I done here? I legitimately like this man. “I didn’t mean to ever … I’m trying to. Crap bucket damnit.”

I spin around and walk out. I obviously can’t make a romantic gesture to save my life. I don’t know how to do relationships! I drop the sandwich in the trash.

I do know how to work a meeting. I punch the number Zarar wrote on the flyer into Gladys.

93. Angst and Letting Go

SIRI

September 10, Thursday

New York City

Two weeks ago, I thought to myself, if I can’t dance here, I never want to see it again.