“Oookay, Sherlock. And you can divine that my relationship with Alfie sucked, because…”

“The Post-its on the right are graduate programs that you are still considering.”

My heart speeds up. “How do you know that the ones on the left—”

“You discarded them a while ago. They were stacked together, for one. And you didn’t doodle the city skylines on the bottom—nice Big Ben, by the way. But there was no Edinburgh Post-it in either pile, because you eliminated that option a while ago. Long before you broke up. Even though last night Alfie told me he’s got a full-time museum gig lined up for next year, here in the city. And it didn’t sound like fresh news.”

I lick my lips. “Long-distance relationships are a thing.”

“You didn’t even apply for Edinburgh, did you?”

I bite the inside of my cheek. No. I didn’t. I want to tell him that it wasn’t that deep, but maybe—

“I’m surprised Austin’s still in the running.”

I am, too. Have been surprised about it for ages. I applied almost in a trance, and when the acceptance letter came, I felt a rush of relief. I don’t think I want to go home, but…

“Is April fifteen the deadline to commit?” he asks, clearly savvy about the process.

I nod. “Maybe you’re about to see a lot more of me.” The thought feels oddly…organic. “We could stay in touch. Hang out. You can tell me everything about the maladjusted world of billionaire families, and I can let you know with whom my weekly boyfriend is cheating on me. That stuff.”

He grins. The widest one I’ve gotten from him yet. “Sounds like a plan.”

“What do you think Eli would say?”

“About you moving back to Austin?”

“Yeah.”

He observes me closely. “I think you should stop overthinking your brother’s feelings and have an honest conversation with him. You’d be surprised at how much good that might do you.”

I don’t bother hiding my eye roll. And, maybe to punish him a little, I ask, “How long ago did you and Minami break up?”

“In grad school. Well over ten years.” He rests his fork on the side of his plate. Sits back, like he’s waiting for me to continue my third degree.

“Why?”

“I asked her to marry me.”

“Oh.” I take a sip of water, just because. Play with the eggs on my plate. “That’s not a catalyst for a breakup, usually.”

“It is if one party says no.”

Ouch. “Did she break your heart?” I study him. His body language. He doesn’t seem nervous with this line of questioning. The opposite, in fact. He really is charming, surprisingly sophisticated for someone who’s also rough around the edges. “Is your heart broken, Conor?”

“Yeah.”

There is a faint nausea in my stomach. At the idea of him still being hung up on this formidable woman I’ve idolized my whole life. At the certainty that no one will ever love me that way.