And the truth was, I was already doubting every move I made since I found out he wasn’t Troy. I couldn’t get my mind off him and it was frightening to think I could end up spending another five years obsessing over another Hartman heartache.

When I didn’t respond, he followed up with another text an hour later.

August: That is if you don’t hate me. I’m sorry I’m terrible at this.

Me: I’m not sure what “this” is, but I don’t hate you. Let’s talk when things slow down a bit.

Nicole winced when I showed her the text. “He’s keeping you on the hook,” she had told me.

I wasn’t sure I believed that. But it did sound like he was friend-zoning me…in fact, it sounded like the August Hartman I remembered. A man of few words and awkward more than flirtatious.

I tied my hair back in a bun, sticking a pencil through it and slipped on my apron. The week was almost over and I was relieved to have zero expectations and move on.

Nicole raced into the building. Spotting her from across the atrium lobby, I held up my hands. “Slow down, you’re early for your shift.”

Breathlessly, she held up the just-released issue of Brooklyn Lines magazine. “You didn’t see this yet, did you?”

“No.” I rarely picked up the issues anymore. All it did was aggravate me how they could publish such mediocre sketches over the ones I submitted over the last two months.

Setting the book on the counter, she flipped a few pages. “Okay, so maybe you won’t thank me today, but you’ll thank me someday very soon.” Nic held up the two-page spread of what looked like a copy of my sketch. “I gave it to Frankie on Tuesday after you left. Please don’t be mad.”

I frowned, grabbing the magazine from her to look at it carefully.

“Frankie raced out here the other day after you left saying the editors are scrambling for a good photo of Troy Hartman for a headline they’re featuring on Troy after he played Monday’s game. Everything being submitted was thrown out and Frankie came looking for you so I…”

“You just gave it to him?”

“Harp, this is why you’re here, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but—”

She leaned in to whisper. “This is August, right?”

“Yes,” I whispered back.

“And he knows you have it so…what’s the issue?”

Angrily, I flipped the magazine over to her. “I never signed it.”

Nic’s eyes dropped to the image which was tagged as ‘Anonymous’.

“That’s why they had no problem publishing it Nic—my name wasn’t on it.”