Jordan’s eyes widen and she hoists herself up. “I’m ready to go, hon. How about you?” she asks Yoga Doug.

“Uh, sure . . .” He seems unnerved. His gaze flutters over mine and I smile like a madwoman.

After they leave, Miles lets out a whistle.

“Too much?” I ask.

“You told her her life is a Halloween costume.”

“It is! You dodged a bullet.”

He rubs the bridge of his nose and I fear I’ve gone too far. After all, there’s a good chance he wanted the bullet. Er, bullets. And even if he didn’t or doesn’t, it still must have stung like hell to see his ex-fiancée and her cheating partner saunter in.

“You didn’t have to . . .” He trails off.

I look away, hoping he doesn’t see the blush that’s crept across my cheeks. “It’s nothing. You helped me, I helped you.”

Neither of us speaks, and then both of us do.

“Look—what you said about—”

“Anyway,” I interrupt brightly, “my work here is done, so I’ll leave you to it.” I offer him a gentle smile and stand.

“Stay.”

We look at each other.

“I think Evelynn would be pissed,” he clarifies. “I mean, now that she’s seen the table seat four people, if I pare it down to one, that’d be a serious waste of space.”

For the next two hours we work side by side. Every once in a while, I look up, only to see him glance away.

Every time he shifts in his seat, adjusts his notebook or laptop, or gets up for something, my breath halts and my heart pounds. I don’t order any food because I can still taste the powdered sugar from our kiss and I want it to stay that way.

* * *

That evening, as I’m unlocking the door to my apartment, a noise within halts me in my tracks. Paralyzed, I can only watch as the knob turns from the other side.

Fear turns to relief as Mary flings the door open, her smile wide. She wears a Black Keys T-shirt, tartan capelet, and stirrup pants, her fingers clutching the stem of a martini glass. Which is a bit alarming, considering I don’t own any, nor do I own the ingredients for any kind of cocktail; did she . . . walk out of a bar with it?

Without missing a beat, she asks, “What’s a better title for my one-woman show: Fin and Tonics, or Legless and Loving It?”

“How about A Good Merman Is Hard to Find?”

“I’ve missed you, kid.”

She pulls me into a hug and I sink into her embrace, my throat tightening with the effort to hold in a sob.

I pull away before I succumb to tears. “What are you doing here?”

I walk inside, close and lock the door behind me, and set my laptop bag down.