I take the opportunity to put my hand on his knee. I might be growing as a person, but I’m still human. And insanely attracted to Alex. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m fine now. Wow your hand is cold. I can feel it through my jeans.”

“Oh, sorry.” I remove my hand.

“No. It’s fine.” He reaches for me, taking my fingers in his.

He has one arm around my shoulders and the other hand holding mine, our sides pressed together. I’m still cold, but I could stay here forever. Flutters fill my belly—proper butterflies this time, not crows or crabs or pterodactyls. I love being close to him. I inhale his scent: clean soap, detergent, and Alex. “I’m glad you’re healthy now. But that still changes a person.”

“It did. But I think for the better. And getting fired was good for me. You know how I feel about failure.”

The bus stops and some people down below exit and more passengers get on. A trio of teenagers braves the top, sitting behind the elderly couple.

I grin at Alex. “You love failure. You want to marry it.”

He nods. “Failure is awesome.”

I laugh. “Right. So you’ve said.”

“It is. My failures are a part of me. They are me.” He shrugs. “Besides, I’ve always learned more from failure than from success. Success isn’t always all it’s cracked up to be.”

“Oh yeah, Mr. Millionaire? Tell me how hard it is while you’re crying into your crisp fifty-dollar bills.”

He laughs. “It’s true. Success can be worse than failure in some ways.”

“That does not feel accurate.”

“When we launched our first app and had initial success, I really thought I had made it. But then it stopped selling and my next three ideas were complete flops. The failures forced me to step back and take a harder look at things, something I wouldn’t have done if they had all done well. Success can be scary. Once you have notoriety, you have critics. You have something to live up to. Failure can force you to learn. There’s a certain measure of freedom when you’re a nobody and no one else is watching.”

“That’s true.” I’m free. No job, no responsibilities. Not really. I tilt my head back as the bus starts up again, the wind whipping my hair around my face.

“Are you really okay with what happened this morning?”

I shrug. “It’s fine.” And it won’t matter tomorrow. “I didn’t fit in there anyway. I have a hard time talking to people.” And I’m always terrified. Scared of rejection, scared my parents are right and I’m nothing but mediocre and everyone can tell. Alex loves his failures because they’re a part of him. I hate my failures . . . for the same reason?

I don’t have time to contemplate that line of thought.