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“I heard someone outside this morning, so I went to the window and there he was, shoveling my path, wearing a suit.”

I perch on my desk, legs suddenly weak. “A suit?”

She laughs. “Yes. No one was more shocked than I to discover it was the terrible Ben Tate, of whom I’ve heard so much.”

My eyes fill and I swallow down the lump now firmly lodged in my throat. He drove all the way out to Manassas before he went to settlement. He must have left before it was even light out.

“How?” I whisper. “I mean, he’s staying in a hotel.”

“I have no idea. But he brought a shovel and salt, and he did the whole thing then came in and fixed my towel rack and the shelf. I’ve got to tell you, Gemma…he didn’t seem to dislike you nearly as much as you dislike him. In fact, I’d venture to say he likes you an awful lot.”

I close my eyes. “I don’t dislike him, Mom.”

She laughs again. I’ve never heard her laugh quite so much in one phone call. “Yes, honey, I know. And I’m glad. If you ask me, he’s a keeper. But he swore me to secrecy, so don’t tell him I told you. That boy might be my son-in-law one of these days.”

“He won’t be,” I reply. My voice cracks.

“My sweetest girl,” she says with a sigh. “You think you can see the future, but all you’re really doing is choosing it for yourself in advance. And I wish you’d stop choosing the things that can’t make you happy.”

When we get off the phone, I lock the office door then sit with my face in my hands, trying not to cry.

I love him.

I love him so fucking much it terrifies me.

When Ben’s flight gets in that night, he comes straight to me from the airport, dropping his suitcase in the foyer and wrapping his arms around me, as if it hurt him to stay away. The apartment smells like smoke from the chicken pot pie I accidentally set on fire, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

I don’t tell him I know what he did for my mom. I don’t tell him I’m ready to be official. But I finally admit something that’s been true since the beginning. “I missed you,” I whisper, pressing my head to his chest.

42

Work, in the days leading up to the first depositions, is frantic. In theory, we’re getting ready to go to trial, but our hope is that we can scare Fiducia into settling. It’ll be a lot faster and cheaper for everyone involved.

Ben and I are working out of his office night after night and over the following weekend. It’s stressful but it’s also…fun. I’ve never enjoyed getting ready for a trial, until now. I didn’t even realize it was a possibility.

At the moment, he’s preparing questions for Ryan Venek, a manager who got promoted despite several fights at work. I’m working on the questions for Rick Sandburg, the vice president who charged two of the strip club outings to his corporate card. I yawn and look up to find him watching me.

“What?” I ask.

“Can we go away when this is done? On an actual vacation. Not just a weekend somewhere.”

“I’m gonna have a ton of work to catch—” I begin, and then I see how much he wants me to just say, “yes”, how much he wants me to just be in this thing with both feet. I bite the inside of my cheek. “Where would we go?”

His face settles into the kind of relieved smile you get at the end of a race you’ve spent ages training for. “Fiji. An overwater villa. Clothing optional.”

I had something like that on my Pinterest travel page once upon a time. I think of all the things I once pinned: the trips I wanted to take, the books I wanted to read, the home I wanted to build. It’s a revelation, discovering I still want those things badly, that they’re not something I’ve entirely left behind. Maybe future Gemma isn’t an impossibility. Maybe, in a small way, she’s already here.

“We can’t have sex the entire time,” I warn, as if I would ever complain if that was the case.

He leans across the table and presses his lips to my forehead. “You can bring as many books as you want.”

Three nights before the depositions begin, I stay at the office while Ben has dinner with Fields. He was tense when he left, but wouldn’t tell me why.

I’m yawning, waiting for him. When my eyes can’t stop falling closed, I text.

Me: I’ll meet you at the apartment.

Ben: I’m exhausted. Have to be in early tomorrow, so I think I’ll just head home.