When I opened my eyes, it was early evening and the sun was setting; it took me a few seconds to realize that Kael hadn’t come back yet. I went to our text thread and there was nothing from him. A bubble of uncertainty filled my lungs. I’m sure he was okay and just busy handling Mendoza. He wasn’t ghosting me, I told myself again. As I debated texting Kael, Elodie sent a picture of herself in a pink sweater with her short blond hair in two low pigtails. How adorable! When I asked her where she was, she said she was at another FRG gig, a cookout this time. And that she’d been invited on a girls’ trip to Atlanta to do some shopping. She was excited to browse for baby clothes and the latest gear—but even more excited that she’d been included spur-of-the-­moment to go along. I nearly asked her if she’d heard from Kael, but I didn’t want to seem overly interested; she must already be wondering what the hell was going on between us.

I threw in a load of laundry before turning to the unwashed pile of dishes and glasses in the sink. I hated hand-washing and reminded myself that one day I would finally buy a dishwasher. I hadn’t done much and had slept most of the day, but my head ached and I took a Tylenol and gulped down a glass of water before making my way back to my room. I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking of Kael. I remembered the first day I saw him in the lobby at work—the mysterious client who later refused to take off his sweats or let me touch his right leg. Now he wasn’t a stranger, but he still hadn’t shown me his legs, not once. He was always dressed from the waist down, and I cared too much about his trauma to force him to explain. There were so many other beautiful parts of him that he didn’t keep a secret. Maybe he would tell me, or even show me the rest, when he was ready.