“Here’s where you tell me you like me too, and you want to hang out sometime. Or you tell me to get lost. One of those.”

“I do.” Wait, that sounds like we’re getting married. “I mean, I like you too, Alex. I’m definitely not telling you to get lost.” I’m flushed. Overheating. With nerves or exhilaration, it’s a combination of all the things.

My voice is high and squeaky. I can’t believe I’m saying this to his face. Doubt pinches at me with crab claws. What if he goes “ha, sucker!” once I get these words out? I shake my head, like that will shake away the doubt. “I guess I’m having a hard time understanding why you would want to . . . drink coffee or eat in my general vicinity.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Uh, because I’m a neurotic mess who can barely hold it together and you’re . . . you.”

His head tips to one side. “You don’t give yourself enough credit.”

“I don’t think that’s my problem.”

His brows lift and he huffs out a laugh. He watches me for a second, considering. “Do you remember when we first met?”

“Of course. When you hired Blue Wave to help you market Bubble Crush and you came in to talk to the staff and pick your team.”

“Right, but do you remember before the meeting started?”

“I remember.” He’d been alone, in the hall where the bathrooms are, slumped against the wall, pale, sheened with sweat. I recognized the signs of a panic attack and talked him through some breathing exercises until he was calm enough to join the meeting. I’ve had some of those moments myself.

“You had no idea who I was.”

I shrug. “I thought maybe you worked for Alex Chambers, not that you were the Alex Chambers. I expected some slick guy in a suit and you were wearing, well, something a lot like this actually.” I use my free hand to motion at his faded Led Zeppelin tee.

He puts a hand to his chest, his mouth dropping open in mock surprise. “This isn’t slick?”

“I mean, it’s something.”

He laughs, then hesitantly reaches for me.

I glance down.

His fingers engulf mine, long and graceful, artist’s fingers, even though he’s an app developer who plays mediocre guitar.

“I never explained to you what happened that morning.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything.”

“I know I don’t. But I want to.”

He takes a deep breath, as if bracing himself. Maybe he’s married. Maybe he’s an alien. Maybe I need to stop talking to myself in my head and pay attention.

“When I was a kid, I had cancer.”

This is not what I was expecting. “Oh. Alex.” I squeeze his hand. “I’m sorry.”