Almost, but not quite.

Naked in Max’s bed, streaming Ted and the Honey’s new acoustic album and ranking our favorite songs, I was outwardly laughing and smiling, but my mind was still stuck on the other night. Even as I argued the pros of my perennial favorite, “This One’s for You,” I could see my destroyed apartment: my clothing strewn about, wineglasses smashed on the floor, my pricey Harry Josh hair dryer cracked. Involuntarily, I shivered.

“Come on, baby, the lyrics aren’t that good,” Max said gently, kissing my shoulder. “What are you thinking about?”

“My apartment,” I admitted. “I’m still really freaked out.”

“That’s understandable. I can’t imagine how it must have felt to see your place torn apart like that. There was so much anger there. Have you thought any more about who might be that upset with you?”

“Only Cat,” I said, half laughing.

“You don’t think—” Max said haltingly.

“No! Of course not. I’m only teasing. Well, I’m not teasing about Cat being mad. She wouldn’t admit it, but I think she was pissed that I brought you to that party the other week. And then I know she was upset I didn’t go to trivia with her last night. But there’s no way Cat would do something like that. I mean, can you imagine her making that kind of mess? She’s so pathologically neat she would have stroked out on the spot.”

“Right,” Max said thoughtfully.

“Hey,” I said, trying to change the subject. “I’m famished. Let’s have lunch. Is there any more of that curry?”

“No, sorry. But I could run out and pick up some Thai food.”

“Don’t go,” I said, twining my arms around his neck. “We’ll starve and die together. It’ll be romantic.”

“You’re an odd woman.” He laughed, kissing me and slipping out of bed. He stepped into pants and pulled a shirt over his toned chest, then pointed at me. “Don’t you move a muscle. I’ll be back with pad thai before you know it.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” I promised.

JUST AS I HEARD the front door shut behind him, the album we had been streaming finished its last song and began again. I rolled over and reached for his laptop on his bedside table. I was scrolling through Spotify, considering the options—Max had such great taste in music, and I wanted to impress him with the perfect playlist when he came back—when something in the upper right-hand corner of his desktop caught my eye.

A folder titled “Audrey.”

A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. What could he be keeping in a folder with my name on it? Maybe something for my birthday next month? Maybe those tips on Thai travel he’d promised me? Normally I wouldn’t open someone’s personal file—or, at least, I would feel slightly guilty about doing so—but this one had my name on it. He was practically begging me to open it. I double-clicked the folder.

My smile faltered.

The folder held hundreds if not thousands of photographs. As far as I could tell from the thumbnails, they were all faraway shots of a woman. I enlarged the first and saw myself walking down Fourteenth Street, sipping an iced latte while wearing a light blue dress and round sunglasses. I frowned. Something felt wrong. Maybe it was the way I wasn’t looking at the camera. I didn’t remember Max taking a candid of me while I was walking.