I spent the next week counting. Not just counting heartbroken days and pitiful nights of sleep, but also pints of ice cream and hours of writer’s block.

Even worse, it seemed as though I might be counting the days left in my job. Either my boredom was showing or I was just plain distracted, but I was called into the news editor’s office twice over mistakes I’d made in an article.

“This isn’t narrative non-fiction, Elizabeth,” Vikas lectured. I’d asked to be called Elizabeth, thinking it made me sound more professional.

Turned out there were other important aspects to appearing more professional—such as doing your damn job properly.

“I’m sorry.” I hung my head.

“You can’t just make it up, like your old column.”

That made me wince. I’d never made anything up for Miss Behave, but it was a bitter reminder that Ash had.

What else had he fabricated? His attraction to me? I began second-guessing every kiss, every word, every moment, which threatened to drive me crazy. Was it a lie every time he called me beautiful or made me feel like a goddess?

That was the worst part of this. I’d opened up to him and let myself take risks that I probably wouldn’t have had the courage to, otherwise. I trusted his honesty and his integrity, believing that he wouldn’t steer me wrong or let me down.

I sure as hell wouldn’t have had the guts to jump into a relationship with him if I didn’t think he’d be there to catch me.

I felt like he’d stepped aside and pulled the crash mat away at the same time, laughing at my soul going splat on the sidewalk.

I should have just stayed in my prim little cocoon, guided by politesse and circumspect etiquette. Maybe I wouldn’t have turned into a butterfly, but at least it was safe.

It was better that I put my head down and try to make this gig in News work—even if it killed me. So that’s what I did. I worked. I researched and I wrote and I went to pointless news conferences and did phone and email interviews that took freaking forever to transcribe because they were so boring.

I managed to avoid Ash’s texts, voice mails, and emails, and conveniently went for lunch every time he was scheduled to be in the office to meet with Rob Mooney. To his credit—and my disappointment?—he never tried to corner me at the office to plead his case or apologize.

It was slowly killing me.

By the beginning of the second week, Dara dragged me up to the roof for an intervention after I came back from lunch.

“Do you think you’re being fair?” she asked me.

“I told you what he did,” I said, shivering in the frosty air. “What do you think?”

“Honestly? I think you’re overreacting a little.”

Overreacting? I was nearly blinded by rage and indignation, but I fought against the impulse to scream, cry, or just throw her off the roof.

Oh.

“He just seems…” she trailed off, biting her lip.

“You talked to him?”

“Yeah, he was just here.”

Mixed emotions swirled in my chest—relieved I’d missed his visit and envious that my friend had spoken to him. Of course, I could talk to him anytime I wanted—if I returned any of his calls.

Okay, maybe I was being a teensy weensy bit of a petulant bitch.

Dara wrapped her arms around herself. “He misses you.”

“He said that?”

She tilted her head. “Not in so many words.”

Was that pity in her eyes? Please, no. I needed to hold on to my self-righteous anger and hurt if I had a chance of saving my heart. My eyes were watering from the cold wind whipping around the buildings, and I squeezed them shut.

“What did he say?” I asked.

“That he was wrong. That he was sorry—excuse me, ‘really fucking sorry’.”

“He really fucking should be.”

“Lizzie… he made a mistake.” She shrugged. “What can you do? He’s a guy. But he’s a good guy. I mean, he’s no Intern Pete, but he has a great ass and he made you laugh more than I’ve ever known you to.”

“He was laughing at me.” And why was she looking at my boyfriend’s ass? Wait, when had I started referring to him as my boyfriend?

She stomped her feet, either in frustration or trying to keep them warm. “No, he wasn’t. I’m not saying that he shouldn’t have told you, but really… is it worth losing him over?”

The wind pulled a tear from my eye. It froze as it rolled down my cheek. “Did I ever really have him?”

Stomping again, she let out a groan. “You’re being a drama queen. Get over yourself.”

I remained silent, my lips pressed together firmly. My nose was getting numb.

Dara sighed, her breath a frosty cloud in the air. “Fine. Just ask yourself this question, okay? Were you happier before you met him?”

I blinked. Life before Ash Garrison?

My memory could return to that time, but I couldn’t place the emotions I’d felt. Writing Miss Behave had made me… not unhappy. Maybe a little self-conscious at times.

But happier than being with him? How could that be, when I felt like I’d found myself with him?

“It’s hella cold,” Dara pronounced, pushing me back to the door. “Next time have your personal crisis in summertime, okay?”

“You dragged us up here.”

The warm air washed over us as she yanked the door open. “Just wanted you to see what it felt like to be out in the cold,” she said over her shoulder.

The big metal door clunked shut behind us, the fluorescent light seeming dimmer than the afternoon sun.

“You think I should give him another chance,” I said.

“I think you’ll regret it if you don’t. How would you feel about him dating someone else? Sleeping with someone else?”

I flinched. The idea made me ill.

The truth was that I still loved him. Maybe Dara was right. Should I let this be the deal-breaker between us? How many chances did one give love? One? Five? As many as it took?

“If you were still writing Miss Behave, what advice would you give yourself?” she added as she continued down the stairs.

My hand grabbed the railing as I stopped suddenly.

---

The next day, I arrived at the office riding a unicorn.

At least, that’s what it felt like. Getting off the elevator was normal. I glanced at the door to the storage room with longing, wishing I could go back in time to flirt with Ash again. To be so close to him that I could smell his scent, feel his hands on me, hear his low chuckles in my ear…

Distracted by the memories, I almost didn’t notice that a couple of people in the hallway looked at me curiously. Almost. And as I walked down the hall past Rob’s office, I felt his gaze on me through the open doorway like a physical touch.

Yeah, I was late, but Vikas—my current editor—knew I’d be coming in at lunch. I’d spent the morning chasing after news stories, running down my phone battery with maps, voice recording, and taking copious notes. Irritation needled me at the idea that I required adult supervision, or at least monitoring.

When I walked into the cubicle farm, things seemed normal—until I dropped my laptop bag on my chair.

Dara’s head popped up then those of three other co-workers. One sat down, and then a different person rose to eye me. Two down, one up. It was like a bizarre game of human Whack-a-Mole.

I narrowed my eyes at Dara, who was closest. “What?”

She blinked at me from under her heavy bangs, twisting her lips like she was biting the inside of her mouth.

Again I gazed out at my colleagues, who were still popping up and peering at me. “What?”

Dara swiveled around, her backwards glare subduing the meerkat colony. Once everyone was sitting again, she scurried around the little wall to my cubicle.

“You haven’t seen it yet,” she said.

“Seen what?” I pulled my laptop out of my bag and put it on my desk.

“Your—Ash—the advice column,” she huffed, making a rolling gesture with her hand to hasten my computer reboot.

My hands faltered as I went to stow my bag under my desk. Oh god. Did he… He’d written about me; that much was obvious. Did I want to know?

I had to know.

“You going to give me a hint?” I looked to her anxiously.

She shook her head. Her expression gave nothing away, good or bad. When I opened up my web browser, Dara courteously turned away to let me read it privately.

Huh. I sat back in my chair, thinking. Okay, well, that was… appreciated, I guess. It was just kind of a written reminder of everything we’d argued about.

“So?” Dara asked, turning back to me with an expectant expression on her face.

I shrugged. There was a seed of hope in my heart, but I was afraid to tend it, in case it grew into a weed instead of a flower.

My friend looked past me, her eyes narrowing on my screen. “Oh, for god’s sakes, you didn’t even read all of it!”

“What?” I swiveled in my chair, tilting my head at my laptop.

“Scroll down,” she urged, not turning away again. She was too impatient to give me privacy.

My hand left a sweaty sheen on the track pad, and I swallowed tightly. What would I find?

“Cubicle Crushed,” I read. Scanned. Paused. “Wait, he answered as A Guy’s Guy, not Miss Behave?” While I’d been on the news desk, he’d been assigned to write both columns, but usually they didn’t overlap like this. Overlap, however, was apparently his modus operandi.

“Yeah, keep reading,” Dara said. “It’s pretty long.”

I began it out loud, but it didn’t take more than a couple of sentences for my lips to be moving but no sound coming out.

It wasn’t until I finished reading and was going over it a second time that I realized Dara was hovering over my shoulder. I sat back in my chair, not sure what to think.

“Wow.”

“Right?” she agreed.

“You think this means that he loves me?”

She gave me a look that implied I was a moron. That seed of hope in my heart began germinating, threatening to sprout.

“But he never—” I broke off, remembering a moment when I thought he might say it, when I fantasized that it was on the tip of his tongue. Late at night, I’d convinced myself that I’d imagined it.

Perhaps, deep down, I was already looking for reasons to forgive him, and it was only my own stupid pride that was getting in the way.

“Maybe he was afraid to. Maybe it was the wrong time or place. The question is,” my friend said, pointing at the screen, “Do you love him?”

Now it was my turn to look at her as though she were a few fries short of a Happy Meal.

She rolled her eyes. “I meant, do you love him enough?”