Page 67 of Trust Fund Baby

I stiffened, my grip tightening around my bag strap. “No.”

The word tasted like bitterness and relief all at once. Some days I wondered if I would ever be free of him.

Hallie gave me a sad look as if she could see the war happening in my mind. “Maybe that’s not a bad thing,” she suggested. “A clean break.”

“Maybe,” I said, but the word came out too quiet, like I didn’t believe it. I hadn’t told Hallie I’d blocked Seb.

A clean break sounded nice in theory—neat, painless, like slicing through ribbon. But Seb wasn’t ribbon. He was tangled fishing line, knotted into everything, and no matter how much I tried to pull myself free, he only wound himself tighter around me.

I was beginning to think that he had never truly even left me this past decade. I’d just grown used to carrying a piece of him with me everywhere I went.

Hallie stared at her phone like it might suddenly deliver the miracle she’d been waiting for—a message from James somehow, like now we were taking action, the universe might suddenly answer her prayers.

I, on the other hand, focused on reality. On the plan. I thought about the angles I could shoot the pizzeria. How I could frame the Brooklyn Bridge just so behind the iconic architecture of the building. Or the warmth of the flames from the wood-fired oven hitting the crust just right. The bubbling cheese stretching in the perfect shot-worthy pull. I thought about captions, about the layout of the home page, and about the way the article would look on the website.

By the time we reached Brooklyn, my pulse had steadied as my mind drifted to how the world might notice us after a story like this. The streets were alive with the Friday-night buzz. There were couples holding hands, delivery bikes weaving through traffic, and the faint thrum of music through an open bar door.

Rossi Pizzeria came into view on the corner, all warm glow and chatter spilling into the street. The smell of garlic and oregano hit me before we even reached the door, and my stomach growled like it knew it was about to be spoiled.

Hallie slowed, her sneakers scuffing the sidewalk. “Rox … what if they tell me to get lost?”

I nudged her forward. “Then we take a pizza to go and eat it on the curb while you cry on my shoulder. Come on. You’ve faced bigger dragons than this.”

She huffed out a laugh, but it was thin and shaky.

I opened the door, letting the warmth wash over us. We made our way into the restaurant where a woman with dark curls pulled back in a bun stood behind the hostess stand. She looked strikingly like James.

Her eyes landed on Hallie. She froze for a heartbeat, then her face softened into a smile. Hallie held it together for maybe two seconds before a tiny sob escaped her. I knew she was worried they’d seen the article, and that they’d kick her out immediately if they had. But that was my best friend to a T. She always faced up to hard things, even if it meant she’d be kicked to the curb.

“Hallie,” the woman said as she opened her arms wide. “Are you here for lunch?”

She walked Hallie over to a table in the back like she was in a daze. More people that looked exactly like James started talking to her, and I could feel the relief radiating from her. I stayed back to give her a moment while I scouted the restaurant to see how I would want to capture it.

And then I saw him.

Sebastian.

At first, I thought I must have been seeing things. My mind was playing tricks on me.

But there he was, sitting at a corner table, half in shadow, with a pitcher of water on the table, and a half-eaten margherita pizza in front of him. He was completely alone. He hadn’t noticed me yet.

My first instinct was to back up, slip out the door, and pretend I’d never set foot in Rossi Pizzeria. But my feet stayed rooted to the worn black-and-white tile floor, my pulse thudding so loud I was sure the entire restaurant could hear it.

Sebastian looked different, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on why. His hair was a little longer and unkempt, curling just slightly at the nape of his neck. He had a couple of days’ worth of stubble, enough to soften the sharp lines of his jaw, though not enough to hide the fact that he looked unfairly, infuriatingly good.

But he mostly just looked tired.

He poured himself a glass of water, completely absorbed in whatever was on his phone, and for a fleeting second, I let myself think maybe I could just … slip past. Avoid eye contact. Pretend the universe wasn’t playing one of its cruel little jokes by planting him in my line of sight, tonight of all nights. When I was trying to focus on my best friend and my career. The last thing I needed was to see him.

I shifted my camera bag higher on my shoulder, took one careful step toward the far side of the restaurant. His head lifted as if he could sense me. Those familiar eyes landed on me. His mouth dropped open like I was the last thing he expected but the only thing he could see. Something flickered in them. Surprise, maybe? He glanced down at his phone and then back up at me as if he was making sure I was real.

My chest went tight.

We stared at each other for what felt like an entire minute, though it couldn’t have been more than a breath. The noise of the pizzeria blurred into a distant hum. I was seventeen again, in the middle of a summer night, hearing his laugh from across a crowded lawn. Picking it out like it was second nature.

Then, slowly, the corners of his lips curved up just enough to give me a sad smile.

I hated how the sadness on his face made me feel. Made me want to do anything to make it go away.