At first I think he will, giving one of those tips of his head that I take as a cue to keep walking. But then he says, “So what did you do?”

“Nothing,” I lie. “I made nice and got out of there. He’s awful, and I’m pretty sure she knows it, but it’s not really my business.”

“Well,” Reid says, and even from that one syllable I can hear an edge, an unkindness in his voice. “I suppose you could always hide it in some of your letters.”

Everything—Reid, the park, my heart—everything goes still. Maybe the smoothie in my belly doesn’t, but I sure wish it would. This is it—this is the confrontation I’ve been dreading with him. This is the one I’d stupidly let myself think we wouldn’t need to have, ever since his perfect, quiet Especially me.

Today of all goddamn days.

Reid lifts his hand, scrapes it through his hair. “Forget I said that.”

For a few seconds all I can do is stare at him. I’m stunned and shocked and hurt.

And then—then I’m suddenly so angry. I’m the mine, long-buried but still explosive, and I have definitely, definitely been stepped on. Why couldn’t you have left it alone? I’m thinking, for the second time today, but this time all my frustration is leveled at the person standing in front of me. The person who never lets me keep it light. The person who’s unblocked me into all this trouble.

“Forget you said it?”

“Yes,” he answers. As though this is a perfectly reasonable request.

“This is what we’re doing here? This is you being my . . . my friend? Waiting for your perfect opportunity to bring it up again?”

“No, I’m not. I’m not holding it against you. I’ve—listen, I’ve not had a good day.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

“It doesn’t.” He takes a breath. “It’s just that . . . some days, here, it feels to me like no one says what they mean. No one means what they say.”

“Here?”

“Here,” he repeats, gesturing to the air around us with his to-go cup. “This city.”

I blink with a fresh wave of hurt. My hidden letters, his hatred of this city. This, this whole entire thing is what I should have left alone all those weeks ago. I shouldn’t have taken that card as a sign. All these walks we’ve been on, and nothing, nothing has changed between us.

“It’s not the city,” I say, my voice hard, harsh—unrecognizable even to me.

He opens his mouth to speak, but I cut him off.

“You think you know it here? Your extensive network of people on Wall Street?” All my disdain, I put it into those italics. “At your big job that you never talk about, anyway?”

He stares at me, his jaw clenched.