“You’re right,” he corrected himself. “I know the Danny stuff is complicated, but I’m just saying that we’re all doing our best. We’re all making compromises. I know I’m a lot to deal with, and overall, Guy is good to me. He’s good for me.”

“You think that was good for you?”

“We have our moments. And listen, you’ve done plenty of things over the years that I didn’t agree with.”

“Like going to Greece?”

Her heart became heavy with the memory of it: their roles reversed, him begging her to think clearly, her steadfastly refusing. Only now could she fully understand the pain he felt in that moment, the realization that their platonic love was not enough to outweigh her romantic suffering. She knitted her forehead in love and concern, and he pointedly looked away.

“Like going to Greece.” He sipped his water, eyes scanning the writing desk next to him. “For example.”

“And you’re right, Paul. I shouldn’t have left things the way I did. If I had listened to you, I might not have gotten myself into so much debt, or burned the bridge with NPR, or—”

“Hey,” he interrupted her, picking up an envelope on the desk. “You have a letter.”

“A letter?” she asked, heart slowing to a standstill.

In the chaos of the garden, she had forgotten about the moments preceding it, the intimate dance and Danial hurrying away at the sight of that photo. Immediately, her heart sank to her stomach with the realization of what he must have come upstairs to do. This was his goodbye letter.

“I know what that is, and I can’t read it.”

“What is it?” Paul asked, flipping the envelope over to examine it as she sat down on the edge of her bed, defeated.

“I ruined my chance with Danial with that stupid video. He slept with me—”

“He what?”

“Yes, I know, but–”

“Where?”

“In my hotel. In Corfu.”

“Hot.”

“I know.” She rolled her eyes, redirecting them. “But he’ll never actually be with me, and this is his very polite way of saying that.”

She winced at the thought of how he’d phrase it, the beautiful, diplomatic way he’d let her down easy. The thought of it—of never being with him again—was excruciating, but at least now she understood him well enough to respect his methodology. Even in matters like this, he was supremely reasonable.

“Anyway…” She cleared her throat. “We don’t have to talk about this right now. This is not about me.” She extended her hand, opening her palm to take the letter.

Across the room, he unfolded the hotel stationery, slowly shaking his head. “Umm, I don’t think that’s what this is.”

“What do you mean?”

His eyes scanned over the paper, lips mouthing the words as he read them, an intense and somewhat dire look overtaking his face.