“You didn’t stand us up. You have things to do,” I say.

“Not you and Celine. You. I thought we talked about doing something.”

“We did?”

“Maybe we didn’t,” he says. “I might’ve misunderstood your question about the manuscript then.”

I laugh. “How’s the reading going?”

“It’s going. Still fabulous. Still a slow reader.”

Maybe I shouldn’t ask this. Maybe I shouldn’t ruin it for him too, but I do it anyway.

“Will you finish by the time you leave?”

“By the time I leave?”

“The day after your book launch, right?”

His eyes are fixated on mine as he puts the wine glasses on the table and comes back on the couch. “Correct. Yes. Almost forgot. Wow. Not much time then.”

“Nope. Not much time at all,” I say.

He’s quiet for a moment. “Alright then. So, what are you doing tomorrow?”

“Besides working? Celine has a date tomorrow, thanks to you. So I have to be there.”

“Right. That leaves only the morning. Hmm… I have something in mind.”

“You do?”

He takes his phone and checks something on it.

“All set,” he says. I suggest you go to bed now. We need to be out of the house at four.”

I hear Celine coming out of the bathroom. He gets up and walks over to her bedroom door. “I’ll let her know about tomorrow. Wear comfortable shoes and layers. How are you with heights?”

“Four? In the morning? What heights?” I ask, but he’s gone already.

I text Alisa, and without waiting for an answer, I go straight to bed.

I have to go to sleep early because tomorrow I’m waking up at 3ish to go somewhere with Ethan. Not sure where but it involves heights. I’m thinking rock climbing or something. Talk tomorrow.

Sixty-Nine

June 14

When my alarm blares, I mumble something addressed to Ethan—for my ears only—and force myself to walk/crawl to the bathroom to take a shower and hopefully wake up. It doesn’t help. I get dressed in layers as he said, put on a pair of sneakers and stumble out of my room.

Ethan’s already in the kitchen, filling a thermos with coffee and looking like he’s just been taken out of a box. No puffy eyes, no grumpy face, all smiles.

“Good morning,” he says a bit too loud, and I point to Celine’s room.

“Let’s go,” he whispers. “We have a bit of a drive.”

“Are you good?” he asks, after I have my first sips of coffee.

“Getting there,” I say.

“Not a morning person?”

“Are you taking notes? Does this disqualify me?” I ask half-aggressively, half-jokingly. “And I don’t think three can be counted as morning.”

“Mental notes,” he says. “And no, you’re still in the running,” he says, ignoring my tone.

“Since it’s too early for loud music and definitely too early for jokes—” I say.

“Especially mine.”

“Especially yours, and since you’re putting together this thick file on me, how about you tell me something about yourself?”