When I wake up, he’s gone. Propped against my squawking alarm clock is a piece of paper, Conner’s handwriting scrawled across the front of it. Turning off my alarm, I lift the piece of paper and study it. Another mathematical equation. Not Schrödinger’s, but still one I recognize.

It’s the equation on the white board on his room. I saw it the night I climbed his fire escape. At the end of a very long, very complex string of number and symbols is an answer that seems deceptively simple.

10⁵⁰⁰ .

Folding the piece of paper, I tuck it away with a smile. Only Conner would see quantum mechanics as a viable form of communication.

In the kitchen I find coffee, still fresh and hot. The dishwasher is unloaded. The trash taken out. Next to the coffee pot is a bag from the bakery a few blocks away. Inside it is a fresh croissant. It makes me wonder if he slept at all. How long he was here. When he left.

Pouring myself a cup, I carry it and the pastry back into my bedroom to get ready for work. On impulse I set the cup and bag down on my nightstand and reach for my phone to send him a text. There’s a text from Jeremy sitting in my in-box from last night, but I ignore it. After yesterday, I’m not in the mood to talk to him.

Your mood has nothing to do with it. You don’t want to talk to Jeremy because he reminds you that you have a real life and Conner doesn’t have a place in it.

Pushing the truth aside, I text Conner.

Me: Thank for breakfast.

Trying not to think too hard about it, I add.

Me: And the bedtime story.

He texts back almost immediately.

Conner: You’re welcome.

Conner: For both.

Grinning at my phone like an idiot, a third text rolls through.

Conner: Lunch? I can’t

promise I’ll be more fun

than chicken Caesar

salad and Mahjong

Titans but I’ll try.

If I’m not meeting Tess, salad and computer games is exactly how I spend my lunch hour. Alone. In my office.

Me: Do I want to know

how you know how I

spend my lunch hour?

Conner: Probably not.

Pick you at noon.

Me: See you then.

Putting my phone down, I carry my coffee and croissant into the bathroom to finish getting ready for work.

There’s a knock on my office door and I look up to see a page standing in my open doorway. “There’s someone at the front desk, asking for you,” she says when I look up from the email I’m reading. “Some guy with flowers.”

I glance at the clock on my computer and smile. It’s 11:30. Being early seems to be a habit of his. “Okay, thanks, Becky,” I say, wondering what kind of flowers he’s brought me this time. Whatever they are, they probably look like turkeys or something else that has to do with Thanksgiving. Laughing, I swipe my mouse across its pad to close down my computer. “Tell him I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

As soon as she leaves, I shrug into my jacket and gather my purse. Inside of it, my phone buzzes. Checking it, I find another text from Jeremy. I don’t open it. Shoving my phone back into my purse, I sling the strap over my shoulder and head for the elevator. On the way down, my phone buzzes again. Officially annoyed, I dig it out, prepared to tell Jeremy to give it a rest. That I have a job here. A life and he can’t just expect me to—

The elevator doors slide open and I step out of the car. The first thing I see is a huge bouquet of pink roses, at least two dozen of them. The next thing I see is Margo, sitting behind the information desk. She’s looking at the man holding the flowers like he has two heads and four arms.

Jeremy.

He lowers the bouquet and gives me a sheepish grin. “There she is,” he says, reaching for me as soon as I’m close enough to touch. He pulls me into his arms and kisses me on the lips and I let him because that’s what we do. We put on a show. Pretend to be in love. But as soon as he kisses me, I remember. I know what Conner was trying to tell me last night. How wrong it feels to have someone else put his mouth on me. Even if it’s just Jeremy.

“What are you doing here?” I say as soon Jeremy pulls back to look at me.

He gives me a grin. “I missed my girl,” he tells me, his tone light and playful. “I thought I’d fly down and spend a few days. Let you show me the Liberty Bell…” Jeremy sets me away from him and gives my outfit a head-to-toe look. I can practically feel his disapproval crawling over me. “What are you wearing? Did you run out of skin cream?” His gaze skims my face with genuine concern. “You should’ve said something. I would’ve called your derma—”

“There’s a foot of snow outside, Jer.” My gaze follows his, traveling over my dark wash jeans, sweater and weatherproof boots. Feeling annoyed again, I sigh. “And I didn’t run out. I just stopped—”

“The Liberty Bell is in Philadelphia.”

As soon as I hear his voice my gut seems to grow fingers. Uses them to tear and claw its way up my throat.

Conner is standing behind Jeremy. Staring right at me.