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Arden: Not an ex, no…

At this, Phoebe waited to see if Arden would elaborate. It wasn’t like Arden owed Phoebe an explanation. They were strangers, after all. Phoebe was just curious. But it didn’t feel like her place to pry, so she let the conversation fizzle out.

Sam didn’t respond. That wasn’t like him.

Phoebe finished one book and started another. She watched a cheesy Hanukkah movie while eating store-bought Christmas-cookie dough, but that only made her think of Jonathan and his family’s real-life celebrations. She spent almost three hours typing furiously into their shared Google doc, banging out half of the business proposal in one go.

She was so restless that she considered going out to explore the town. But the idea was unappealing. Really, all she wanted was a text from one specific person.

She drafted a message to him: What time do you want to meet up?

But she held off on sending it. She wasn’t sure why until she’d lounged on the couch, contemplating the matter in complete silence, for fifteen minutes. She realized that she felt as though she’d forfeited the right to bother Jonathan after the way she’d left things eight years ago. As though, because she was the one who’d ended it, she wasn’t allowed to reach out to him at all.

Sure, now things were different: They were thirty, they had been reunited by chance, and they were trying to start a business together. If they really went through with it, she would have to get used to contacting him for all kinds of reasons—work-related reasons.

With a sigh, she felt around the couch cushions, trying to find her phone, when she heard it ping.

Her heart leapt when she located it and saw that Jonathan had finally texted her: Want to meet this afternoon at 3? The downtown Gainesville library?

She had no idea where that was, but she replied that it sounded perfect.

Phoebe drove the twenty-five minutes to the library with the windows down and music blasting. She felt euphoric, a feeling she chose not to analyze. It was probably just because she’d been craving social interaction.

The library was in the university area of town, surrounded by verdant trees and redbrick, academic-looking buildings. She parked on the street out front—the area was deserted for the holidays—and approached the tall beige building. Jonathan stood out front, grinning sheepishly.

“It’s closed. I didn’t think it’d be closed until Christmas.”

“Oh no!” Phoebe was not okay with the idea of turning around and going back to Arden’s house alone. She had a backpack full of studious supplies, and she wanted to get some work done. That was the main reason she was so disappointed, she told herself.

Phoebe waited a beat, wondering if she should suggest going to Jonathan’s house to work. She would have suggested Arden’s if she hadn’t just driven all the way here. She told herself if Jonathan wanted to reschedule, she would be mature about it. She would go back to the house and spend tonight alone, which was totally and completely fine.

“Should we find a café or something?”

“We could find a tree,” Jonathan said.

“Huh?”

“On campus. It’s really beautiful. And the weather is perfect.”

“A tree?” Phoebe repeated.

“Let me show you. Come on.”

Phoebe scampered after him, delighted that he hadn’t given up on their study session that easily. He had a black backpack slung over one shoulder, and he swung his other arm into the strap and shrugged it onto his back, all of which made his shoulder and arm muscles ripple. Phoebe hurried forward to fall into step next to him so she wouldn’t find herself gazing at his butt next. Which, she had noticed, did look good in his jeans. Squats. He was probably doing squats during those long hours he apparently spent at the gym now.

“How come you didn’t go to college here?” Phoebe asked. They crossed a grassy quad, the balmy air and fresh green smell creating an appealing academic atmosphere.

“I wanted to go somewhere new. Didn’t like the idea of running into my mom on campus.”

“Makes sense.” Phoebe remembered that his mom was a business professor at the University of Florida. “Well, I for one am glad you decided to ditch this paradise in favor of a rainy city on the other side of the country.”

“You’re seeing it at its best right now. It gets super-muggy. And the mosquitoes.” He gave a little shiver.

As they passed yet another angular brick building, he said, “That’s my mom’s building. When we were kids, she would take us there sometimes if she needed to do some work, and she would let us write with this chubby white chalk on the biggest chalkboard you’ve ever seen. Seriously, it was enormous.” He gazed into a window through which they could see the stadium seating of a large lecture hall. “I guess they probably have whiteboards in there now. Or smartboards.”

“Remember projectors?” Phoebe said. “I used to love when teachers used those. Those clear sheets with dry-erase markers. I always wanted to write on one of those.”

“That just gave me a serious nostalgia trip. My mom let us play with those once or twice. I used to say I wanted to be a teacher like her, so she would give me all kinds of things to play school with. Like a grading book? I thought that was the coolest thing ever. It was a black, leather-bound book with grid paper inside and spaces to write students’ names and things. I would carry that around with a red pen and some stickers, grading things my sister and cousins did. Always gave them an F. No wonder they didn’t like to play with me.”