We ate in silence for a bit, people-watching. Finally, after popping open a can of wine and taking a few sips, I said the thing that was gnawing at me in the back of my brain.

“Let’s say I did have a thing for Hayes,” I said, and they both turned to face me as I chewed on a fingernail, nervous to put this out into the world.

“Mm-hmm?” Cleo said, eyebrows raised expectantly.

“Why would he even consider going out with me when he’s already dating her?” I said, awkwardly scrunching up my face in embarrassment. “I know, I know, I sound like I’m twelve. But she’s so…” What was the world I wanted to use? Beautiful? Accomplished? Flawless?

“Much?” Cleo volunteered.

“Yes!” I said. “It’s so hard to be around someone like that, who’s so much, when I’m always feeling like I’m not enough. And before you say anything”—I held up my hand—“I know that I am enough. I know that I am beautiful, and smart, and talented, and a reasonably good cook, and all the other nice things you’re going to tell me. But you know what I mean. Sometimes you can’t help but compare yourself to someone like that.”

“What’s that quote? ‘Comparison is the thief of joy’?” Lola squinted in thought.

“Something like that,” I said. “And it’s true! It’s so dumb. But I can’t help it.”

Cleo patted my thigh affectionately. “It’s totally normal to think this way, but try to remember she’s probably comparing herself to you too.”

I rolled my eyes at this, which only made Cleo annoyed. “I’m serious, Fran!”

I pointed at my hair, which was frizzing wildly in the humidity. “Oh, really? You think she’s jealous of this mess on my head?”

Cleo laughed and then built herself a little cracker sandwich with cheese and salami. “You’re all the things you said you are, and a lot more.”

“One hundred percent agree,” Lola said, as if there were no other answer. “And if you’re feeling like you have a thing for Hayes, I bet you he’s also feeling a thing for you. It’s not like he’s exclusive with her.”

She tossed a grape in her mouth. “I dig around for dirt from Perrine sometimes,” she said with a coy smile before I could question her about how she knew such a thing.

“If he was at all was interested in me, why did he sign an email to me with ‘Best’?” I posed to them.

“Everyone knows that ‘Best’ is the sign-off you use when you don’t want the person you’re into to know that you’re into them,” Lola replied, like it was obvious. “Especially someone you’re working with.”