I almost laugh at that. How could I not remember the person who made one of the shittiest nights of my life…well, less shitty? The whole sequence of events is crystal clear in my mind.

It wasn’t so much that I was sad about Amber. I got shitfaced mostly because I had no idea where my life was headed from there. And then all of a sudden, there was this stranger who made that moment a little easier to get through. Sure, I’d noticed how gorgeous she was—I wasn’t blind—but that wasn’t important at that point. I could feel that she was going through some shit too, and for a few minutes, she made me feel less alone.

And then, of course, I went ahead and almost kissed her like the drunk dumbass I was. Thank God I stopped myself from doing it. It wouldn’t have been right, and it probably would’ve ruined all our chances of working with her. I’m not even sure if she noticed I was about to do that, but I’m praying she didn’t. I can’t imagine the guilt I’d have to live through if she dumped us because of it.

“Yeah, I remember,” I say nonchalantly.

She doesn’t speak for a moment, busy looking at the house behind me. Her face is so hard to read. I remember thinking the same thing that night, maybe because it’s something I’m not used to. I have a family of expressive people. Anyone can tell whether we’re mad or sad or happy by the look on our faces. I can’t do that with her, not then and not now. And right this moment, there’s not much I wouldn’t give to know what she’s thinking.

“Is that it?” I ask. “Is it because of that night? Because if I’m the problem, then I can make sure never to be there when you are.” I’ll just go back to my place in Boston and let Ma handle it. It wouldn’t be ideal, but we’d make it work.

“No, you didn’t do anything wrong.” Her eyelids flutter as she looks down at her boots. “Quite the opposite, really.”

Pressure eases off my chest. I didn’t ruin everything.

“Okay. Good.” I pull one side of my lips up. “Then what’s the problem here?”

Hands clasped tightly together, she says, “I get your point about this, but I still don’t think—”

“Wren.” Please forgive me for interrupting you again, I think to myself, but I can’t let her list all the reasons why this isn’t the best option again. I know for a fact no middle-aged white guy parading around in a Brooks Brothers suit would care as much as her. Just the way she interacted with my parents for an hour told me that.