“Hi,” I say.
“Hi.” His eyes move over me—the sundress I agonized over, the necklace he’s seen before, the shoes I haven’t worn since college. “You look lovely.”
“You’re very good at compliments.”
“Only when they’re true.”
Sage appears behind me. Wine in hand. Garfield sweatshirt still firmly in place.
“You must be Julian.” Her voice is aggressively cheerful. “I’m Sage. The best friend. The one who’s been hearing about you for weeks.”
“All good things, I hope.”
“Mostly confusion.” She steps back to let him in. “But intriguing confusion. Wine?”
“Please.”
I watch him move through my apartment. He pauses at the bookshelf and picks up a framed picture of me and Sage at a music festival three years ago.
“Costa Rica?” he guesses.
“Coachella,” Sage corrects. “We had terrible sunburns for a week.”
“You look happy.”
“We were dehydrated and lost, and Sage stepped on a snake.”
“A fake snake,” Sage adds. “Someone’s very realistic camping prop. I screamed for ten minutes.”
Julian almost smiles. It’s the closest I’ve seen him get in front of someone new.
“Wine,” Sage announces, pressing a glass into his hand. “Sit. I have questions.”
“Sage—”
“It’s fine.” Julian settles onto my couch like he belongs there. “Ask whatever you’d like.”
“Where did you grow up?”
“Various places. My family traveled extensively.”
“For what?”
“Business. My father had interests in several countries.”
“What kind of business?”
“Finance. Consulting. Nothing exciting.”
Sage sits across from him, wine glass tilted like she’s a detective in a noir film. “You’re being vague.”
“I’m being private.”
“There’s a difference?”
“A significant one.” He takes a sip of wine—the first time I’ve seen him actually drink something. “Private means I’m choosing not to share. Vague means I’m hiding something. I’m private.”
“Aren’t those the same thing?”
