Trina interrupts me with a shake of her head. “You’re not listening. It’s not about the story. It’s about you. It’s not personal.”

“What the fuck is it if it’s about me, then, Trina? That’s the literal definition of personal.”

She throws up her hands in exasperation. “I’m not the wordsmith here. Don’t shoot the messenger. I’m trying to say it’s not about you you. It’s about the idea of you. I thought after five years and a lot of work on her mental health, she’d be fine with this, but she’s fragile, Ryan. We both thought this book would be good for her to get her feet wet. Dip a toe in, so to speak. But then you showed up and acted all swoony and shit—”

“How did I act swoony?”

Trina levels me with a glare that would have a lesser man quaking in his boots. “‘Love isn’t a strong enough word for how I feel about this book,’” she says in a deep voice that I assume is her mimicking my own.

It’s not a direct quote, but point taken. I’m not sure how much Scarlett has told her about our time together, but either way, I know I delivered that line with some weight. Casey brought it up, too, in our debrief after they left the office.

“And now, instead of getting her feet wet and acclimating to the publishing world again, she jumped in headfirst. She’s got the book you’re working on, the book she’s writing…and you.”

The overwhelming desire to talk to Scarlett crashes into me out of nowhere. It’s different from the everyday fight I’ve been having with myself about whether or not to call her or stop by just to see how she’s doing. This desire is borne of desperation. If I could just have a conversation with her, we could sort this out. I’m not delusional enough to think she’d give me another chance. It’s a pipe dream to think that she could possibly still be in love with me, and I’m going to have to live with that. But this book has awakened something in me I feared I’d never get back again, and at the very least, I want to see it through.