But Gabe hadn’t been there, and I think Carol apologized for the “harmless prank,” as she called it afterward. Katie said that I had pulled it off fine, but I was pretty sure my impression of a deer in headlights had just added further fuel to the ever-burning rumors that something salacious had happened that weekend and I was just being coy.

Ten years ago, at lunch, I’d thought about fame. About how I wanted it.

I’d been so stupid then. I hadn’t realized that wishing for fame was the ultimate monkey paw of wishes. You’d never see the cost until it had already been paid. Until it couldn’t be undone.

It wasn’t as if I was famous, but I was known.

And it was clear very early on that the only reason for that was because people wanted to know about that evening. They didn’t want to know about my writing, or my ideas, or literally anything else about me. They wanted to know if I had fucked Gabe Parker at his house one night in December.

My parents had even asked.

“Should we expect him for Shabbat dinner?” had been my mother’s way of inquiring.

“Does he even know what Shabbat is?” was my father’s.

I had laughed it off the way I laughed off all the other questions. I waited for people to stop caring. I had done my best to rise above it and now I was letting myself get sucked right back in.

I should have said no.

I should say no now.

“I can send him away,” Katie says. “I’d be happy to—hell, I’d even put it on my résumé.” She spreads her hands wide. “Los Angeles–area woman sends Gabe Parker—alone—to Montana without a care.”

“It’s unprofessional,” I say.

“That’s not really what you’re worried about,” she says.

I hate how she’s always right.

“This whole thing is ridiculous,” I say. “What am I hoping will happen? I’m not a starstruck twenty-six-year-old kid anymore.”

“That’s true,” Katie says. “You’ve both changed. You’ve both grown up.”

That seems debatable.

“I don’t know what he wants from me,” I whisper.

“I think you do,” she says. “I even think that you might want the same thing.”

I shake my head because I’m too scared to admit that it’s the truth. Because it feels like my second monkey-paw wish. Hope for one thing and get something completely different.

“Go to Montana,” Katie says.

My phone buzzes. The car is here.

“You don’t have to decide anything else,” Katie says. “Take all the time you need. It’s been ten years. There’s no rush.”

It’s permission to rob the bank. Slowly. Thoughtfully.

I take it.

Because no matter what, I need to know how this story ends.