“So why didn’t Henley’s gremlin of a boss go for her idea?” Walsh asks. She carries two glasses of ice water into the living room, setting one on the trunk beside Christina and handing the other to Michelle.

I shrug. That’s the million-dollar question.

“Because he didn’t think of it first,” Barbara calls before hustling out of my apartment again.

“He’s definitely threatened by Henley,” says Tory, her normally cheery voice flattening.

Christina nods emphatically.

“When it comes to smart, ambitious women, mediocre men usually are,” says Michelle.

Before I can sit, someone knocks on my door again. Barbara.

“Coat,” she says, smacking her palm against her forehead. I scramble into the kitchen, pluck her navy trench coat off the back of the chair, and hand it to her. With a thanks and another round of goodbyes, she leaves.

I carry my laptop over to the coffee table and resume my seat on the floor. My phone buzzes from somewhere by my slippered feet. Patting around, I find it and swipe it open. Three missed calls from Graeme. I sigh. Nothing new—those are from earlier. He and I have been playing phone tag today, and the last time I tried him a few hours ago it went straight to voice mail. I wince, remembering the bumbling message I left him full of “congratulations” and “I’m happy for you.”

And I am happy for him. My stomach fills with warmth at the thought of working alongside him, hearing his voice, seeing him every day…

Too bad he wants nothing to do with me. At least not in the way I want.

I scan my apps to find a new notification—it’s from Instagram. One new follower. I gasp when I open it.

Graeme Cracker_Collins has followed me. Graham Cracker. My own private nickname for him. My heart gallops and my chest aches.

I click on the tiny photo of Graeme, his face smiling at me from underneath his windswept hair. He’s posted three photos from the Galápagos, and one of them is of me, although you can’t exactly tell. It’s the one he snapped in the highlands. A sunburst obscures most of my face, casting it in shadow, but the outline of my profile cuts a dramatic figure against the trees. I tap on the photo to read the caption.

Graeme Cracker_Collins: To the woman who inspired me to rejoin the world, “thank you” will never be enough.

Graeme already has more than two hundred followers, many of whom have left messages of love and welcome. Clearly, friends and extended family. Ryan_Collins206 commented on the photo of me: “Who is this woman? I need to give her a kiss.”

I swallow past the painful lump in my throat. Graeme has officially returned to the world.

Heart cracking, I follow him back.

A knock sounds from my front door. “Barbara,” I murmur. What did she forget now?