“Yeah, I’m guessing he didn’t include Wawa as a referral.” Christa snorts derisively, then gives me a knowing look. “And I’m not surprised he changed his last name.”

“That’s why I could never find him.”

“I don’t know why you kept looking,” she mutters under her breath, ticking away at lines on her order chart.

I sigh. I know she’s just trying to make me feel better, in her own way. But Christa always did judge Kyle too harshly.

I’m still hung up on the disappointing possibility that I could have been so forgettable to a guy who once upon a time meant so much to me. “Maybe he was playing one of his elaborate Kyle jokes. You know how he is. Or was, back then.” How much has he changed in thirteen years, aside from his name?

“Or maybe he was pretending because he doesn’t want to remember you,” Christa says, in typical blunt, no-nonsense fashion.

“Or maybe he doesn’t want to remember me,” I echo, a thought that had already been lingering in the recesses of my mind but I didn’t want to give voice to. I tip my head back and pour half the glass of my red wine down my throat, hoping it might help me swallow that bitter pill.

“You’re in early today.” David appears out of nowhere to charge through our building’s exterior door. He holds it open for me.

I mutter my thanks, my eyes darting to the security desk, my stomach tense with nerves. Gus is there, wearing his usual wide smile, greeting employees as they swipe their badges across the pad. The seat next to him is vacant.

It’s Monday. He did say Kyle was starting today, didn’t he?

Unless Kyle walked out of here on Friday with no intention of ever coming back after discovering that I work here.

“Who are you trying to impress?” David asks.

“What?”

He shrugs. “You just look more done up than usual.”

“I’ve worn this a thousand times.” My mother brought the figure-hugging blue gingham pencil dress back from Paris a few years ago from a designer’s trunk show. It’s one of my favorites, not that David would remember that.

“Not the dress. The lipstick.” He smirks. “You always wore that cherry-red lipstick when you were trying to get my attention.”

“I did not,” I deny. “What are you doing here, anyway?” He’s not usually in the office until just before nine.

“Had to get out of there before my date woke up. I forgot what a bad idea it is to bring them back to my place.”

It’s the first time David has admitted to sleeping with another woman since our breakup. I can’t tell if he’s lying, trying to get a jealous rise out of me. If he is, he’s going to be disappointed, because all I feel is relief. “I hope she steals everything.”

“Don’t be catty. It’s unbecoming,” he murmurs smugly.

I catch the curious glances that Calloway employees are casting our way as we pass. David and I used to start our days strolling in together like this, albeit a touch later. By noon, half the company will assume we’ve reconciled. “Don’t walk so close to me,” I warn, edging away.

“Why?”

“I don’t want anyone to think we’re back together.”

He sighs with exasperation. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Piper. I’ll see you upstairs.”

Gus nods politely as David speeds through the security gate with barely a glance, and then turns his big brown eyes to me. They’re full of wariness, the question in them unmistakable. “Good morning, Miss Calloway. You look especially lovely today.”

“Thanks.” Maybe the cherry-red lipstick was too punchy for a Monday morning, especially when I rarely wear anything beyond a light layer of gloss.

“And how was your weekend?”

“Quiet. I spent it alone.” Just me and Elton, who afforded me nothing more than a cross-eyed glare when I filled his bowl with overpriced canned cat food.

Gus seems to get my hidden meaning—that it was not spent making up with David—because I catch the soft sigh of relief that escapes him. “Good. Everyone needs a weekend to themselves every once in a while.”

“So . . .” My stomach does an anxious flip as I steal a glance at the empty seat. There’s a half-finished cup of coffee sitting on the desk in front of it, so Kyle must be here. But, after my first humiliating encounter with him, I don’t want to let on that I care one way or another, even to Gus. “Do you miss Ivan yet?”

“It’s an adjustment, that’s for sure.” Gus smiles warmly. “But people come and they go all the time. As old as I am, I’ve gotten used to it by now. I figure I’ll just be thankful for the precious time I get with them.”

Unless they were your first love and they fell off the face of the earth, only to resurface thirteen years later and not remember you at all.

Gus looks up at me expectantly, and suddenly I feel foolish for standing here, chatting him up, though it’s something I do every Monday morning. This time, however, I have an ulterior motive, and I’m afraid he knows it.

“I’ll see you later.” I wave my pass over the pad, wait for the light to turn green, and push past the metal arm.

“Have a good day, Miss Calloway,” he offers as I stroll toward the bank of elevators, the click of my heels echoing through the cavernous atrium. I absently paw at the elevator button, my gaze on my phone screen, distracting myself from my disappointment with messages. The doors open and I step forward.

And plow into a solid body.

“Excuse me. I assumed it was empt—” My words cut off as I peer up into familiar eyes. “Oh . . . hey.”

A few beats pass before Kyle responds with a soft “Hey.”

“I . . . my phone. I wasn’t paying attention,” I admit in a stammer, before clearing my throat.

His gaze flickers downward to linger on my mouth for a moment, before flitting back to meet my eyes.

That’s when I see it. The smallest upturn of his lips, the tiniest knowing smile.

It’s just for a second. It’s just long enough.

Actually, I like the red on you. Like, really like it.

I take a deep breath, as an odd mix of vindication and sorrow washes through me.

“It’s good to see you again, Kyle.”

“Good to see you, too, Piper,” he finally offers, his jaw tensing as he peers down at me, though his eyes show a hint of softness that wasn’t there before.

“Not Sarah?” I keep my voice light, casual, as if Friday’s slight didn’t leave a deep wound, didn’t keep my mind spinning all weekend long.

The tip of his tongue catches the corner of his mouth, where nothing but a faint scar from his lip ring remains. “Yeah. I’m . . . That was . . . Sorry about that.”

“How could you forget my name?” This time, I can’t hide the hurt.

His lips twist with thought, as if considering how to answer. “I didn’t,” he finally admits, his gaze landing on his black boots. “I was surprised and unprepared. I was . . . a jerk.”

“Yeah. You were.” And the lobby at seven thirty on Monday morning is not the place to demand a better explanation.

His broad chest lifts with a deep sigh. “So, how are you?” His voice remains cool. Does he really want to know? Or is this just a formality?