I step away from him when the car pulls away, spotting a trash can where I can finally pitch the cursed ice-cream cone. My hand is still sticky and damp, and with my clean one I reach into my bag, digging for hand sanitizer. Give him a second, I think to myself. Of course he would feel uncomfortable. They were going to be married, after all. I think of Sibby’s cutting words, reminding me that not everything is some big scandal.

Maybe I don’t press on this one. Maybe I give it time.

“Meg,” he says, coming to stand beside me while I needlessly shake my tiny bottle of all-this-is-going-to-do-is-move-the-soft-serve- around-your-hands hand sanitizer.

I give him a toothy, false smile. I’m so out of practice that it feels unfamiliar on my face, more of a grimace. He’s not even pretending. He looks as shocked, as upset as he looked only a few minutes ago.

“Are you all right?” I ask him.

“I’m fine.” But as with my grimace-smile, it’s not all that convincing. “I hadn’t expected to see her.”

“Well,” I say brightly. “Her dad does work here.”

I see him swallow again. “Yes.”

Both of us step out of the way of a group of pedestrians. We are in the worst possible spot, doing the worst possible thing, blocking foot traffic. We’ve gotten so good at not doing that together, whenever we’re on our walks. Nothing feels fine. Least of all, Reid.

“Hey. You want to walk some more? You seem—”

“I’m fine,” Reid repeats. Then he looks down at me, his gaze softening. “It was a shock, that’s all. Perhaps she . . .” He trails off, reaches to tug at cuffs that aren’t rolled down. He looks even more bereft not to have found them at his wrists, where he expected them. “Perhaps she changed her hair.”

I furrow my brow. Avery’s hair looked the same as always. Which is to say, it looked perfect.

I have never seen Reid this lost. This indirect. This . . . dishonest.

“Listen, Reid, I’m sure that was—”

“I should get back in there.” He starts unrolling his cuffs, folding them back down over his taut forearms. “I probably—I should get back in.”

“Sure, okay. But we can talk about this later, if you want. I can go back to your place, wait for you there? I brought work with me, and—”

Reid clears his throat, buttons one of those cuffs. “I’ll be late.”

“Okay.” I wait for a few seconds, watching him. Wondering if he’ll add something. If he’ll say, But yes, wait for me there.

He doesn’t.

“I’ll call you,” he says instead. Then he meets my eyes with his own, and with one blink he eliminates the sadness I know I saw there. Now he looks blank, entirely unmoved. “Do you want me to get you a car?”