“That would have been way more convenient, but Duke has a ton of separation anxiety. I went on an overnight business trip once and he went nuts even though my mom was staying with him at my place. He wouldn’t sleep and he peed all over the floor, which he never does.”

“Oh, no,” I say, my heart aching. “That’s awful.”

“Yeah, he was a rescue, so we know he came from a bad situation. He’s much better now, but sometimes his past comes back to haunt him.”

My gaze falls to the ground as I think to myself that I know the feeling. When I look back up, Ryan is watching me with understanding eyes. I shift around by the door and take a quick breath as I put on a smile.

“Okay, good night, then.”

Ryan smiles awkwardly back at me and raises a hand to scratch his shoulder. “This is all kind of surreal, isn’t it?”

“Just a bit,” I answer.

“Listen, I know I was giving you a hard time, but thank you for letting us stay.”

“It’s fine. I like the company.”

“Me, too. Hotels actually creep me out.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. They’re impersonal and sterile. I’d always pick sleeping on a friend’s couch if given the choice.”

“So we’re friends now?” I ask.

“I’d like to be. I think I would have tried to stay friends with you even after everything if you would have let me.”

I feel a slow drag in my gut at Ryan’s words. Maybe we could have stayed friends after our split, but I don’t see how. A no-contact policy was the only way I could get over him. To let Ryan into my life at all back then would have been to let him fill it completely and I couldn’t do that. Not again.

“Friends,” I murmur. “I think I’d like that, too.” I take a step back and grip my bedroom doorknob. “Good night.”

“Good night, Sullivan.”

I close the door and a strange sensation takes hold in me. I feel defenseless but somehow still in total control. Exhausted but wide-awake. My laptop catches my eye in the middle of the mattress and without hesitating, I move to the bed and sit cross-legged. I flip open the computer and enter the password. My manuscript appears on the screen and I immediately start typing.

Charlotte and Robert walked side by side through the stuffy portrait gallery, dutifully following Charlotte’s father as he blathered on about his illustrious family. He was a tall but sweaty sort of man—slippery as an eel and as good-humored as a tree stump.