I let myself into Armand's empty apartment and curled up on his couch. I wished I could go somewhere else, where Trystan didn't know where I was, but I needn't have worried—he didn't follow me. The tears I'd been afraid of never came. Instead, I felt cold, brittle, and exhausted. I pulled out the manila folder Penny had given me. Sure enough it was the exact place Trystan had shown me. Of course it was. I called and made an appointment to visit them later in the day, then I called a local rent-a-car place out near the Cooper River Bridge.

I grabbed my makeup bag from my suitcase and went to Armand's bathroom and made up my face. I braided my hair to tame it and then called a cab.

My phone was gripped in my fist the whole way to the car rental place and so quiet I actually checked that it still had battery life. I went to my photos, wondering what else Trystan had seen when he went through them. Weirdly, there were a bunch of pictures of food I hadn't taken. Meals Trystan had taken pictures of. Then I went to my messages to let Armand know where I was. I saw messages from Annie earlier in the week. I’d forgotten she'd texted Trystan thinking it was me. The messages were dated from Wednesday. Four days ago.

Annie: Spill girl! Armand told me about some guy called Trystan.

Oh? What did he say about him?

Tricky, tricky, Trystan.

Annie: That he's drop-dead gorgeous. How did you meet him?

At the airport.

Annie: Don't be coy! You know I haven't had sex in what feels like a zillionty years and I need to live vicariously. TELL ME MORE!

Not much more to tell. But . . .

Annie: But? I'm dying. You are slowly killing me.

He thinks I'm stunning, and I crack him up.

I inhaled sharply as I read his words pretending to come from me. Trystan had told me I was stunning last night, but seeing him tell someone else days ago was . . . my insides swirled. And he thought I cracked him up? That was good, right? The ability to make someone laugh? Someone who was going through a family funeral and lots of shit needed to laugh.

Annie: Swoon! Well, it's about time. Yay!

About time for what?

Annie: To meet someone.

I bet that made commitment-phobic Trystan shudder.

How long has it been exactly? Trystan texted from me.

Oh no, he didn't. I winced.

Annie: Stop it. You were the one who told me you were basically “re-virginized.” So if you've finally found a guy you're attracted to then, babe, I'd say this means something. Where does he live?

I pulled my thumb from my mouth as I heard a sharp crack that told me I’d bitten off a piece of my thumbnail. I hadn't even realized I'd started chewing it. At least Annie didn't answer how long it had been. But re-virginized implied years. It had been almost two years. At least. That was an epoch if I thought about how often Trystan probably hooked up. I read on to see what his response was.

He lives in New York. So yeah, definitely nothing serious. Gotta go.

My stomach sank. Of course. Exactly what I knew. God, I was a mess. I watched the warehouses of East Bay Street pass me by on my left.

---

The drive out to Summerville in the rental car was easy, and I found the home without any problem. Magnolia Meadows was really pretty. Set in a partly rural area, with beautiful landscaping. Hopefully the staff were as wonderful as they were in Rockaway because so far, the idea that David could be somewhere this beautiful seemed too good to be true. And I didn't dare assume that even with all my begging he might get a bed. Of course I'd already let my pride get in the way on smoothing his path. I gritted my teeth and resolutely steered the rental car into visitor parking.

My meeting with the administrator didn't take long, and she'd already created a file on David from her call with Penny the day before. I nodded along with all her explanations about why the chances of David getting a bed were so slim. Something about budgets and reimbursements and staff. It was all the things I'd heard endlessly. She handed me a brochure, and I had to squeeze my eyes closed hard when I saw the Montgomery Homes & Facilities small print along the bottom.

Back in the car, my conversation with Trystan this morning scrolled on an endless loop through my head. I was so sure he was getting ready to politely extricate himself from whatever had happened between us. Had I really misread the situation so much? Everything I knew about him, especially after his almost freak-out during the night, told me he wouldn't stick around any longer than he had to.

But what if I was wrong?

What if Trystan wasn't as relationship averse as he'd portrayed himself to be?

I thought back to his pictures I'd found in his phone and the ones of him and his “Little Brother” from Big Brothers Big Sisters—he wasn't as commitment-phobic either. Relationships like that took a boatload of commitment.

His admissions about his family, and his mother, and everything he was facing this week suddenly felt terribly important—beyond the fact he'd actually shared them with me at all. I had a horrible feeling I had just done what everyone close to Trystan had always done.

Rejected him.

Trystan Montgomery, maybe unbeknownst to himself, was a man in desperate need of a relationship.

The last thing he'd said before I closed the door on him was “Please don't leave.”

"Shit," I said aloud and had to steer the car to the side of the highway. I couldn't tell if I was nauseatingly hungry from skipping breakfast and lunch or the thought of hurting Trystan was actually making me sick all by itself. I laid my head on the steering wheel and counted to ten.

"Okay," I said to myself and took a deep breath.

First? I needed food to function and think clearly. Chic-fil-A fries and a lemonade. Then counsel from friends while I figured out how to fix this colossal mistake I'd made.

I had to fix it, but I couldn't date him. To start with, we lived in different cities and he'd already broken my trust once by sticking me in his harem hotel and lining me up with all his other women. If I closed my eyes and pictured Trystan Montgomery, he was wearing a crisp, dark suit, arrogant eyes, and a starched white shirt that had my splattered pride all over it. If I didn't walk away from this, he'd likely also end up sponging the mangled remains of my exploded heart off his arctic blue tie.

What I would definitely do, however, after I made him understand my reasons for leaving this morning had more to do with me than him, was date more. Even if I had to get on those horrible apps. It could take me a long while to find someone who made my girl parts all swoony like Trystan Montgomery did, but I had to start somewhere and the sooner I got started, the sooner I might find someone.

---

"Do I call him?" I asked.

"No!" said Annie.

"Yes, of course," said Armand at the same time.

It was Sunday, and the three of us had driven out to Sullivan’s Island to have brunch at The Obstinate Daughter. Annie had left my sweet godson with his daddy, but she kept wincing and pressing her boobs.

"Damn it." She shook her dark curls. “This is like nature's way of trying to make sure you don't abandon your baby. My boobs are about to explode."

"Por favor . . ." Armand complained.

"Go pump," I said. "We'll be here." I was currently enjoying a bottomless mimosa on the house as a result of all the social media I'd done for them.

She maneuvered out of the booth with her bag, and then I got the update from Armand about how business was going and his plans for expansion of the café.

"Oh, don't look now," whispered Armand, suddenly agitated. "There's a famous actor behind you."

"Where?" I turned.

"Ugh, I said don't look."

"Sorry." I scanned the area but didn't see anyone. Oh wait, someone looked familiar. "He was in Prometheus." And he kind of reminded me of Trystan. Or maybe Trystan was all I could think about. "The guy who becomes infected and gets his girlfriend pregnant with the alien baby?"

"That's the one. He's muy caliente."

And I had unprotected sex with a self-proclaimed serial dater not once but twice. An alien baby might be a blessing. I was on the pill of course, but . . .

"You are thinking about sex," Armand observed.

My eyes snapped to his, mortified. "How did you know that?"

He shrugged. And waved his fingers in the direction of my face. “You bite your lip and your cheeks go all red. But you didn't look happy. Was it bad sex? Is this why you are all crazy and sad?"

"Ugh. It was good. Amazing."

"And?"

"And I . . . nothing." I picked up the champagne glass and had another sip of orange juice and sparkling wine. "There's nothing."

"Maybe you should let it go then?"

"Exactly what I said." Annie slid back into the booth.

"That was quick," I said.

"Yeah, they were ready if you know what I mean."

Armand shook his head.

Annie smirked at him, always enjoying his discomfort with female workings. "All I'm saying is," she turned back to me, "don't breadcrumb the guy if you have no intention of seeing him again."

"Breadcrumb?" asked Armand. "Is this another sexual thing only women know?"

Annie laughed. "No. I mean, if he was hurt by your rejection, let him get over it. Don't message him and call him to make him feel better. It could lead him on again. It's selfish, it's only about making you feel better."

"Huh," said Armand. "That makes sense."

"But—" But I wanted to call him. I missed him. Goddamn it, I missed him. How was that even possible? I hadn't known him a week.

"Look, I'm not an expert on relationships," Annie qualified. "I'm only an expert in how to complicate one by getting pregnant."

"She speaks truth." Armand nodded.

"Unless of course, you want to see him again?" Annie asked.

I folded my arms. "He lives in New York."

"And will be running a business down here." Annie cocked an eyebrow. "Visiting a lot."

Armand pursed his lips. "Again. She speaks truth."

---

I spent the rest of Sunday afternoon back in my little cottage, finishing up a few custom drapery orders and then organizing my meeting schedule for the week. I rolled out my yoga mat and went through my workout until I was sweaty and empty-headed.

But my clear mind didn't last long. Despite the fact there was absolutely no evidence Trystan Montgomery had inhabited my life and home the last few days, there he was in my head again. I never asked him how his dinner with his family had gone on Friday night. It must have been hard. And then we'd slept together and I'd bolted. I never asked him what the L stood for in his name. I never—

My phone rang and I startled. I normally turned it to silent when I did yoga; I must have forgotten. I got up and looked at the screen.

D'Andre.

I answered immediately, my first thought being it was something about David.

"What's up, Emmy?"

"I'm good, D'Andre. All okay up there?"

"Good, good. David's good. Talking up a storm today. Got a visitor actually."

"He did?"

"Trystan Montgomery."

My stomach dropped. "God. Really?"

D'Andre chuckled. "Yep, knew you'd be surprised."

"What did he say?"

"I don't know, he just signed in and asked where to find him."

"H—How did David do?" What did they talk about? And why? God, I had so many questions. But also, I was never sure how David would react to new people and new situations. "Was David okay?"

"Good. He was a little scattered, but they chatted for a while. Couldn't stay and eavesdrop. Wish I could have."

"Me too." I breathed deeply. "How weird."

"Yeah, I guess. That's why I thought I should tell you."

"Well, thanks. Let me know if David says anything about it. And how are you?"

"Good, good. Thanks to you, I think Xanderr is going to produce a short piece from me to put on his YouTube channel."

"That's great, D'Andre."

"It really is. Already been gettin' more hits since he talked about going with me to see Logic. Which was awesome, by the way. You missed a great show."

"I bet I did." Instead I'd had phone sex with Trystan.

"All right, girl. I'll let you know if I hear more."

"Thanks, D'Andre."

"Later."

I pressed end and went back to my yoga mat to lie down.

Huh.