Page 79 of Seven Rules for Breaking Hearts

I stared out the window. The In-N-Out lot was full, so now people were parking in the sporting goods lot next door. I watched from a distance as some bearded dude in a sky-blue polo shirt and a baseball cap tried to cross the driveway in the middle of traffic. A car slammed on their brakes and honked, and he waved them off with a hand. A short, curvy woman scurried along behind him, her ponytail swinging. I turned my attention back to my phone.

Margo: I think I’m in Tujunga, maybe? Not sure

Jo: You tried to show up at his work, didn’t you

Jo: Should I be relieved you’re not in government custody atm?

Margo: I just drove by. Didn’t even try to go inside

Jo: You’re aware that’s stalker behavior, right?

Margo: I’m not stalking anybody. I didn’t even see him.

Margo: And I decided it’s best that I drop it, anyway

Margo: If he wants to talk to me, he knows my number.

One of the workers called order eighty-seven over the intercom, and I rose from my seat, leaving my milkshake on the table in hopes of marking my territory. When I approached the counter to grab my fries, the guy in the hat was waiting in line with the woman. I probably wouldn’t have given them a second glance, were it not for the woman’s hair: deep red, pulled back in a high ponytail so that it bobbed back and forth like a metronome as she approached the counter to place her own order. I stared at the back of her head, only half-listening to the employee asking if I needed any extra spread. There was something familiar about her, but I couldn’t place it. She was too old to have gone to school with me. Maybe I’d seen her somewhere before? Granted, L.A. County was pretty massive and it wasn’t often I had any excuse for hanging around Glendale, but still.

It wasn’t until I heard the soft rumble of the man’s voice beside her, ordering a three-by-three with extra cheese, that I actually glanced at his face. It was like I’d stepped into a cold shower. My whole body tensed, and I searched for the nearest exit, which was—obviously—the front door. But it was too late, because I was frozen in place beside the pickup counter with a tray of Animal fries in my hand, and now he was turning to go find a seat.

“Margo?” Declan recognized me a lot quicker than I had recognized him, though he looked equally uncertain about how we should handle this unexpected run-in. He was holding the receipt in his hand, but he glanced at the door like he, too, was debating making a run for it. But that would mean sacrificing the triple cheeseburger he’d just paid for, so instead he settled on saying, “Hi.”

Whether I liked it or not, my mind jumped immediately to that night in the shower together, to the steam and the water running over our bodies, to the way he’d muttered hi then, his voice thick with want. This wasn’t the same voice, now. There was no desire in it, except maybe the desire to evaporate into thin air so that we didn’t have to have this conversation.

“Hey,” I said, doing my best to act natural, even with my fight-or-flight response screaming for me to bolt and never look back. “Long time no see.”

He’d swapped his green Caltech hat for a brandless black one and he’d grown a short beard over the past three weeks. It was the beard that had thrown me off—a shade more golden than the hair on his head, but I should have recognized him anyway. I’d lulled my brain into a false sense of security by driving a few measly blocks from his work.

“Do you need a table?” I jerked a thumb over my shoulder. “Because I have one, but it’s a little dirty, if you don’t—”

“We ordered to go.” He cast an uncertain look at the red-haired woman, seeking her approval. She nodded. “But I guess it wouldn’t hurt to sit down for a minute.”

As I led them over to the dirty booth where my half-melted milkshake was waiting, I struggled to remember everything I’d planned to say earlier. But now, faced with the reality of actually saying it, the words felt hollow. Scripts didn’t work for me, and I certainly hadn’t planned for this—running into him on his lunch break after I chickened out outside his work. Exactly how stupid did you have to be to think that JPL employees didn’t swing by the nearest In-N-Out for lunch? Because I was that stupid, apparently.

“This is my sister, Erin,” he said as they settled into the opposite side of the booth. “Erin, you remember I mentioned Margo—”

“Of course.” Erin cast her brother a quick, knowing look that suggested he’d been talking about me pretty recently. Whether that was a good thing or a bad thing, I couldn’t tell. “Nice to meet you.”

I couldn’t imagine there was much nice about any of this, given how awkward it was, but I appreciated her saying that nonetheless. I smiled and shoveled Animal fries into my mouth to avoid having to say anything else.

Declan fiddled with a straw wrapper that someone had left on the table, looking more uncomfortable than I’d ever seen him. He was the guy who could always crack a joke, always do something to break the ice, but currently, there was a glacier between us. “Erin’s the one that I mentioned works, at, uh—”

“At Allegro Records,” I said, now regretting the fries, because my mouth was stuffed full. I chewed frantically before swallowing and wiping my mouth on a napkin. “I remember.”

“I’ve been meaning to message you, actually.” He seemed to relax a little now that we’d landed on a safe topic of conversation, but I got the impression the walls were still up. He didn’t quite look at me as he spoke, his eyes fixed on the straw wrapper. “To see whether you still wanted to set up those client interviews, or an internship, or whatever.”

“Allegro is always looking for ways to get our artists more exposure,” Erin chimed in, much warmer than her brother. She resembled him more in hair color and mannerisms than anything else—where he was tall and lean, she was short and soft. But when she smiled, I noticed they shared the same asymmetrical dimple. “I’m not sure about our internship opportunities at the moment, but I could always look into it.”

I was pretty sure Declan had only suggested it to diffuse some of the awkwardness—if he’d wanted to message me, he would have done it already—but I pounced on the opportunity anyway. “An interview would be great. I’m looking into starting a new podcast.”

Declan’s eyebrows shot up, his eyes rising to meet mine. “Really?”

“Really,” I confirmed, with a hesitant smile. “It’s still in the early stages, but with Seven Rules coming to an end, I figured I might as well bank on the following we’ve built.”

For a moment, I thought I caught a flicker of something familiar in his eyes. The corner of his mouth hitched in a half-smile. “That’s great. I’m happy for you.”

“Don’t get too excited,” I said. “I’m not sure our old listeners will care much about a music podcast, but I guess it doesn’t hurt to try.”