Still, the picture leaves me shaken. A lump forms in my throat that I try to force down. I can’t cry here, so I put on my brave face, which, recently, has become my only face.

Fake it till you make it, Liv.

Thirty minutes pass quickly. I’ve walked the whole first floor alone. It’s starting to feel like a joke. Francesca doesn’t show. Asher stands me up. They’re probably laughing over expensive wine as she tells him everything we talked about at the thrift store.

I’m looking at a photo of children in Moscow and deciding what flavor of ice cream to get on my way home when Asher walks in. He’s wearing a black sweater with the Coca-Cola Santa on it. I’m shocked he attempted to get into the holiday spirit.

I’m more shocked when he holds the door open for Francesca.

They came together? This really is a joke. I can’t believe I fell for it.

“Olivia!” Francesca hurries over to me. She has on a red sweater dress with a reindeer pattern, her long legs on display. She’s so hot. I want to date her.

“Hey.” I force a smile when my eyes catch Asher, who looks exhausted. His hair is tousled, a wayward strand curling down his forehead. A week ago, I would have smiled, kissed his cheek, and brushed his hair from his eyes.

But today we idle in place, neither of us flinching.

“Sorry I’m late,” he says quietly. “An accident had 1st Ave backed up.”

“It was awful,” Francesca adds. “I got out of my cab and walked the rest of the way here.”

“You must have been freezing,” I say.

“I was,” she says. “I need to find something to warm me up.”

I’m sure Asher will volunteer.

“Ash, do you want a drink?”

“Yeah.”

“Grey Goose and soda?”

He nods and once she walks over to the bar, we’re alone.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d come,” he says.

“Neither was I.”

The uncomfortable silence is new. We’re all tension. We avoid each other’s stare. Asher shoves his hands into his pockets. Rocks on his heels. I eye the door. We’re so broken.

“Have you talked to Ana?”

“No,” I say, biting the corner of my lip. “We have a meeting tomorrow.”

“On a Sunday?”

I shrug. “The gala’s on Tuesday. We won’t have a chance to talk before then.”

Asher nods and takes a slow breath. He looks like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t. He swallows and scratches the back of his neck. His eyes land on the floor, avoiding mine.

“This open bar thing is going to be dangerous.” Francesca’s voice breaks our silence. She hands Asher his drink and smiles. “This is my second drink. I drank the first while he made yours.”

“Don’t you have a show tomorrow?” Asher asks.