I set my smoothie on the ground, take his suit jacket from his arm before it slips. He pulls his sleeve to his elbow, getting the hot fabric off his skin.

“Reid,” I breathe, failing to keep the alarm out of my voice. “What happened?”

Because this, what I’m looking at—this cannot be a burn from that tea. Along the edge of that forearm I’ve longed to see, there’s a bright red patch of skin that tracks from the middle of his wrist to the bend at his elbow. It’s wet from the tea, but I can tell it must’ve been dry before—it must’ve been itchy and uncomfortable and so, so painful.

I look up. Reid’s face is blank, severe. He holds out his hand for his jacket.

“Nothing.”

“That’s not nothing. Have you seen a—”

“It’s nothing. A psoriasis flare. I’m used to it.” He’s pulling on his jacket, his movements stiff. It can’t be comfortable, putting that wet sleeve inside the tailored lines of the jacket.

I’m watching closely enough that I see him cringe, minutely, as it settles over his skin.

“Reid.”

“Don’t,” he replies. I see the word in my head, shaped as a set of double doors closing— on one side, on the other. A tiny sliver of space between, narrowing and narrowing as they shut in my face.

He bends, picks up his now-empty cup, and gives me one brief nod of farewell.

And before I can think of any words to stop him, he’s gone.

Chapter 11

Chapter 11

“It’s the guy, isn’t it?”

Lachelle has basically shouted this at me across the small table we’re crammed around at Cecelia’s favorite neighborhood restaurant, a vegan place that serves all-organic cocktails and menu items featuring an abundance of kale. It’s Friday night, and the place is packed with regulars, but also with the many guests who’ve come out for a happy hour in honor of Cecelia and her husband Shuhei’s anniversary. When I’d walked into the somewhat shabby, too-small space, determined to stay at most for an hour so I could get back to my very important schedule of staring at blank pages and moping, I’d been met with a crush of people, the room noisy with conversation and the sizzle of the grill at the back, wafting delicious, spicy food smells into the dining room.

I’d pasted a smile on my face and felt a clenching pang of longing for Reid.

Reid who has been ignoring me for a whole week.

“What guy?” I say, and Lachelle throws a kale chip at me.