“Sure.”

“What made you decide to come here with me this morning?”

I don’t really need to point out that he pushed his way into my schedule, because I know that’s not really what he means. What he said about Liz is true; we all know Elliot isn’t dangerous. I could have told him to go home and not contact me again, and he would have listened.

So why didn’t I?

“I have no idea. I don’t think I would have been able to say no to you twice.”

He likes that answer. A small smile arcs his mouth and nostalgia floods my veins.

“You went to med school at Hopkins,” he says with quiet wonder in his voice. “Undergrad at Tufts. I’m so proud of you, Mace.”

My eyes go wide in understanding. “You rat. You Googled me?”

“You didn’t Google me?” he shoots back. “Come on, that’s step one post-run-in.”

“I got home from work at two in the morning. I fell face-first into the pillow. I don’t know if I’ve brushed my teeth since this weekend.”

His grin is so genuinely happy, it works a creaky hinge open inside me. “Was it always your plan to move back here, or was it just where you matched?”

“This was my first choice.”

“You wanted to be close to Duncan.” He’s nodding as if this makes perfect sense and it stabs me. “When did he die?”

“Was it always your plan to move back here?”

I can see him working through my deflection, but he takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “It was always my plan to live wherever you were. That plan failed, but I figured my odds of seeing you again were pretty good back in Berkeley.”

This throws me. As in I am a brick, and have been hurled at the glass window. “Oh.”

“You knew that. You had to have known that I’d be here, waiting.”

I swallow a sip of water quickly to reply. “I don’t think I knew that you were still hoping I’d—”

“I loved you.”

I nod quickly at this bombshell interruption, looking for the rescue of our waitress bringing food. But she isn’t there.

“You loved me, too, you know,” he says quietly. “It was everything.”

I feel as though I’ve been shoved, and push away from the table a little, but he leans in. “Sorry. This is too intense. I’m just terrified of not getting a chance to say it.”

His phone hops across the table again, buzzing.

“Do you need to get that?” I ask.

Elliot rubs his face and then leans his chair back, eyes closed, face tilted to the ceiling. It’s only now that I realize how stubbly he is, how tired he looks.

I lean back in. “Elliot, is everything okay?”

He nods, straightening. “Yeah, I’m fine.” Eyeing me for a lingering moment, he seems to decide to tell me what’s on his mind: “I broke up with my girlfriend last night. She’s calling. She thinks she wants to talk, but really I think she just wants to yell at me. She won’t feel great afterward, so I’m sparing us both for now.”