Since then he’s stopped by the aquarium every single day. He’s also called and texted daily and has taken to sending me rather extravagant gifts. Well, extravagant by my standards, but I’ve also discovered that his salary is a staggering eleven and a half million dollars a year, so the hundreds he’s likely spending on ostentatious flower arrangements and gift baskets is similar to tossing a handful of dollar bills into the air and watching them fall like snow into a pit of lava—or the mouth of a shark.

“He seems really . . . apologetic,” Eden offers.

I give her a hard look. “Not you too.”

She crosses over to sit beside me on the bench. The seals swim by, unaffected by my anxiety or my slightly morose mood. “I understand that this is difficult, especially because he lied to you, but maybe he had a reason?”

“I can only imagine what that reason is.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to hear it from him instead of going on speculation?”

“I don’t need to talk to him, because it’s not speculation, it’s sarcasm—which I know is the lowest form of wit, but I looked him up, Eden. The picture the media paints isn’t very pretty.” I open the article again and pass her the tablet.

Eden points to the date. “This article is old.”

“There are more recent ones.”

She arches a brow. “How recent?”

I focus on the happy seals. “From a couple of years ago. It doesn’t matter. He lied.”

“Probably because he was worried you’d react like this,” Eden says softly. “I understand you’re upset, but don’t you think he deserves—”

“Do not say it, Eden.”

She sighs and puts her arm around my shoulder. “All of these rumors you’re so focused on are old news. I know you’re scared, but you can’t avoid him forever, and you know it. And you’ll never know if he’s really just a lying asshole with a pretty face and rock-star moves in bed if you don’t at least sit down and hear what he has to say.”

“I never thought I was going to see him again,” I whisper, fighting tears. “And I just started seeing someone.”

Eden makes a face. “You mean Walter? That guy in your building?”

“He’s nice.” And he is nice. He works in IT; he’s quiet, likes Italian food, has a cat named Sam—and he’s kind. He also knows about my circumstances and hasn’t bailed, which is saying something, since I’m kind of a huge mess. The last time we went out he kissed me good night. Like him, it was nice. No fireworks or shooting stars, but it wasn’t unpleasant either.

“So is the weather today—it doesn’t mean he’s right for you.”

“And just because RJ keeps showing up here doesn’t mean he’s right for me either.”

“Or maybe it’s a sign. I mean, think about it. I get a job out here, and all of a sudden they need someone who specializes in dolphin reproduction behaviors? How many people are qualified for that specific job?”

“Anyone who specializes in aquatic mammals has the right background.”

“But they hired you—after a phone interview, which never happens, by the way.” She gives me an I told you so kind of look.

“They’d already met me in person, because I’d been here before.”

“Okay, I can give you that one. But what about the fact that his teammate’s wife funds the initiative you’ve been hired for, and then they throw a birthday party and he ends up here. It feels a lot like fate intervening to me, and I usually don’t even believe in things like fate. You have to give him a chance, Lainey.”

“I’ll think about it.”

The following day RJ shows up while I’m covering the information desk. It’s a Tuesday, which is one of the slower days of the week. Not that it’s ever slow per se, but there are fewer staff on days like this one. And it means I can’t run away and hide in one of the anterooms of the exhibits.

He’s dressed in a T-shirt and jeans. His hair is styled instead of covered with a ball cap. He looks just as gorgeous as he did a year ago, if not even more so. Today his arms are loaded with white flowers. Truce. Surrender. Peace.

I plaster my hands to the countertop so I don’t give in to the urge to touch my hair. My heart stutters in my chest and then kicks into a full gallop as he approaches the desk.

“Hi.” His voice is soft and warm, like marshmallows melting in hot chocolate.

“Hello.” Mine is hard and sharp like knives.

“I brought these for you. I don’t know if you’ve gotten all the other things I’ve left for you or not—”

“I got them all.” Each one has been like twisting a knife in a wound, because they’ve all been attached to memories from Alaska—which is clearly the point.

He sets the bouquet of flowers on the desk; the fragrant scent of the blossoms surrounds me. I want to reach out and stroke the pretty petals, but instead I keep my hands on the counter. “Lainey, please, can we talk? I know I lied to you, and you have every right to be angry with me about that—but if you just give me a chance to explain, then maybe you’ll understand that it wasn’t my intention to ever hurt you.”

“I can’t right now.”

“I understand that, but can we set something up?” His hand covers mine before I can pull it away and hide it under the counter. “Just—please, Lainey, all I want to do is talk.”

My heart aches, and my skin burns where he touches it. “Fine. We can talk.”

He clasps my hand between his, lids fluttering shut as he lifts it to his lips, brushing them over my knuckle. I can’t breathe through the sudden emotional deluge. I pull my hand free from his grasp and take a step back, even though my head feels light.

“Tonight? Are you free? I can come to you if that works best.”

“No!” I lace my fingers together to keep from fidgeting. “I mean—tonight won’t work, and I would prefer if we did this in a public place.”

“Uh, that might not be the best idea. Chicago is a hockey city—I get recognized a lot here, so it would be ideal if I either came to you or you come to me.”

“Oh.” I hadn’t considered that. “It would be better if I came to you, then.”

“Would tomorrow night work? Or—Thursday’s your day off, right? That might be better for you.”

“How do you know Thursday’s my day off?”

“Uhhhh . . .” RJ taps on the counter nervously. “I might’ve asked about your schedule in exchange for tickets to the first game of the season. I can get you tickets too, if you want—for whatever game you want, really.”

“I’ll have to get back to you about Thursday.” I also need to speak to Eden about taking bribes.

“You’ll call me—or text?”

“Yes.”

“Promise?”

I remain stone faced apart from my arched brow.

“Okay. I’ll wait to hear from you.”

On Thursday morning I’m standing on the curb waiting for a car to pick me up. Apparently RJ has sent a taxi for me—or something. I assume he didn’t come to pick me up himself so as not to make me uncomfortable. I have a car, but I’m not sure driving is a good idea, considering how anxious I am.