And I don’t think I could say, really, what it is that makes me realize that monsoon was an understatement, that this is about to be a tidal wave. I don’t think I could say what I notice first: the fact that there’s no wedding ring on his left hand? The corner of that thick paper he begins to pull from the inside of his jacket? The matte finish, the antique cream color I remember Avery stroking her thumb over, her smile close-lipped and pleased? The flash of color—colors—I used on the final version, the vines and leaves, the iridescence of the wings I’d sketched . . . ?

But I know. I know what he’s come to ask.

be, I think, the word an echo and a premonition.

He doesn’t speak again until he’s set the single sheet in front of me.

His wedding program.

I watch as his eyes trace briefly over the letters, and I know what he’s seeing. I know what I left there; I know the way those letters worked on me.

But I didn’t think anyone else ever would.

Then he looks up and meets my eyes again. Clear blue. A tidal wave when he speaks.

“Maybe you could tell me how you knew my marriage would fail.”

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Talk about whimsical.

Not this moment, obviously. This moment is more like: How noticeable would it be if I stress-vomited in the wastebasket underneath this counter?

But the program that Reid’s set down between us? The one that’s sucking all the available air out of the room while reminding me of my recklessness?

That is definitely whimsical.

It’d been Avery’s suggestion, the A Midsummer Night’s Dream theme, inspired by her first date with Reid. “Shakespeare in the Park?” she’d said, as though maybe I hadn’t heard of it, though I definitely had. Sibby and I had gone once, not long after I’d moved here and she was still acting as both my best friend and my expert tour guide/distractor-in-chief. I wouldn’t necessarily have pegged it as a good first date activity, but that’s because when we went it had been ten thousand degrees outside and the play had been Troilus and Cressida, which so far as I could tell was basically about sex trafficking.

But A Midsummer Night’s Dream—that was romantic, I guess, at least in some parts. Forests and fairies and couples coupling, and Avery seemed important enough to control weather patterns, so the date with Reid had probably been perfect.

It’d been easy, really, to develop the treatment. Lots of ornate lettering, illustrative details overlaying or weaved in. I frolicked my face off for this job, and everyone I’d shown it to had loved it.

Except Reid.