When I’m done, I wipe my tears and straighten up on the couch. I might be able to process that failed kiss with Raj another time, but there’s one thing I have to do first. I fish my phone out from between the cracks of the couch cushions, open a new text message, and type in Blake’s name.

“Hi. I know you must be angry at me right now, but if and when you’re up for it, I’d love to talk. I have a business proposition for you.”

• Chapter 24 •

I enter Starbucks five days later like I’m greeting a wounded, skittish kitten: avoiding any sudden movements that might scare him off. Blake ignored my first text, and I thought he might ignore my second one, too, but he surprised me with a single-word answer: “Why?” It took days to convince him. Rather than volley texts back and forth every few minutes, like we used to, he sent just one reply per day. I couldn’t tell if he really needed that time to think about my request, or if he simply wanted to punish me by drawing out our conversation. Either way, I deserved the torturous wait.

He requested I meet him at the Starbucks two blocks from his apartment, even though there are plenty of other cute coffee shops in the neighborhood. The Starbucks here is forgettable, entirely devoid of personality and charm. We could be anywhere in the world right now. If this conversation turns out to be haunting and awful, at least it won’t ruin his regular coffee spot, the indie café on his corner.

It takes me a minute to locate Blake. He’s at the table farthest from the entrance, with a drink in front of him, and dressed in a light blue, collared button-down that’s too formal for a Sunday morning. He’s dressed for a business meeting. It hits me that I am the business. He stands when I approach; I spread my arms to give him a hug, but he doesn’t show any signs of reciprocating. A handshake would be too weird, so he doesn’t try that, either. I clasp my hands tightly in front of me.

“Hi,” he says.

It’s strange to hear him speak again, after more than a week of silence between us. The usual warmth in his voice has evaporated.

I eke out an awkward, “Uh . . .” before swiftly sitting down.

“You don’t want coffee?” he asks, taking his seat again.

I glance at the cash register, but the line stretches halfway to the door. I don’t want to make him wait for me. “Nah,” I say. “I, uh . . .” I clear my throat and try to summon the strength to speak. I had been so paralyzed with nerves on the subway ride up here. “I wanted to talk to you. Thank you for giving me the chance.”