Page 11 of Capitally Unexpected

I look around at a mix of people whose names I’m positive I won’t remember. Friends from various parts of my brothers’ lives are here. Duncan is manning the grill, surprising everyone by putting on the apron his assistant brought when she showed up.

Preston walks up to me, a beer in each hand. He thrusts one at me. “So, you overwhelmed yet?”

I laugh and take a swallow, enjoying the cold liquid as it slides down my throat. “It’s a lot of faces and names to take in. But you all have built something here. A community. Nice to see.”

Preston nods as he takes his own look around, his bottle tilted to his lips. “It is nice. It’ll be hard to leave next year to move back to Massachusetts. My apartment will be open though, you know. If you wanted to come join in all this.” He gestures to the people laughing and talking, someone from Preston and Jax’s office playing beer pong alongside someone I’m pretty sure works with Charlotte.

“Why, so you can keep a few hundred miles between us? Switch spots?”

He smacks me lightly on the arm. “No, jackass. But if you’re looking for people to be around and lift you up, you’ve got it here. We worry about you up there by yourself.”

“I’m not by myself.” Preston levels me with a look. “Okay, sure Dad and Margaret aren’t necessarily in my social circle, but really, I’m okay.” He looks like he doesn’t believe me, which makes sense when I’m not sure I believe myself. Distraction time.

“Anyway, aren’t you going to be up there alone? Or will a certain bang-having author be accompanying you on your next adventure?”

Preston’s cheeks darken to match the streaks of pink starting to form in the sky as the sun sinks lower. “It’s a possibleconsideration. She says she can write from anywhere she has a desk, a coffee pot, and a cat. She’s joking about the cat. I think ...”

I laugh, not at all sure sheisjoking. That’ll be fun to watch. “Where is Jax, anyway?”

Preston pulls out his phone to check the time. “She should be here any minute. Her friend Michelle had an appointment she wanted Jax to go to with her, but they’re on their way.”

As if he summoned her with his words, the brunette in question appears, waving our way from across the rooftop. Behind her, a flash of auburn disappears around the corner. Maybe it’s the way the golden hour light caught the strands, but it looks so much like the color of Clyde’s hair. I see her auburn locks in my dreams, so it makes sense I think I’m seeing it everywhere in DC. A whole family with her hair color passed me in the airport yesterday, but none wore it as well as she does.

Not for the first time this weekend, I take out my phone, tilting the screen so no one can see what I’m looking at. I downloaded Tinder again on the plane ride down here. Our chat exists, but Clyde’s message thread now reads from “Unknown User” instead of WeatherGirl85. She must have deleted her account. I’m not sure why I expect her to have a sixth sense I’m in the city again and reactivate her account, but I can’t help checking every chance I get.

A generic greyed out head icon awaits me. My stomach dips with disappointment—again.

“You okay over here, man? Looks like Jax got held up, so I’m going to go save her.”

I wave him off, taking advantage of the time alone to sit in a chair facing the outer wall of the roof and open the gig app I use to book new clients for my meal planning business. If you told me two years ago I would be checking on work, at a party, on a long weekend, I’d say you have the wrong twin. But the rush of answering the questions and inquiries waiting for me is something I hope never gets old. My mind wanders to Duncan’s offerwhile I add a few things to my project management app, so I can dive in on my trip home on Monday.

Finally, I tuck my phone away before anyone can accuse me of Duncan-like work habits at a social gathering. I finish the last of my now too-warm beer and look around for the recycling. My eyes travel over the crowd, skipping past the corner next to the elevators before my gaze is yanked back. Standing next to Jax is Clyde. My WeatherGirl. I’d think I’m imagining her if not for the look of absolute shock on her face. I’m frozen in place. I’ve dreamed about this moment, but now that it’s here, I have no idea what to do.

I look to Jax next, and her matching look of shock is what finally propels me into motion. I weave through furniture at a pace faster than polite for a rooftop gathering, but I can’t imagine letting her get away again. Clyde’s eyes open wide when she realizes I’m headed straight for them and yanks Jax around the corner.

When I turn the corner myself, I see there’s a single-person bathroom there, the occupancy tag turned to red for “In Use.” I prop myself against the wall. With us being on the roof, fifteen stories above ground level, I’m fairly confident there isn’t a window in there for them to sneak out of. But I watched too manyFriendsre-runs with Margaret in my life to be one hundred percent sure.

No, I’ll wait right here. They have to come out sometime. I scrub my face with my hands, trying to activate my brain. What does someone say to the one-night stand they haven’t stopped thinking about when they run into them by chance at a Memorial Day picnic. I’m not sure even Hallmark would have a card for this.

Chapter

Seven

Michelle

Ten weeks pregnant

“Ugh,” I say, watching the numbers tick up as the elevator climbs. “I always thought women were exaggerating when they said they always have to pee when pregnant. Lesson learned, it’s true! Decades of women aren’t lying to us ... about this.”

Jax tries and fails to hold in a giggle. “I mean, you also drank about a liter of water on the ride over here.”

“Well, pregnancy is full of contradictions! Stay hydrated, but even if you don’t, you’ll still pee all the time.” I try to send her a stern look while I talk, but end up giggling, too.

“Ugh, okay, one more trip to the bathroom, and hopefully, I’ll be able to pretend to not be pregnant for a while. Remind me, does Preston know we were on baby business?”

“Yes, but I told him if anyone asks to say you had an appointment and needed a second set of ears. All that time in politics has made him good at being vague.”

The doors of the elevator slide open, and we walk out of thevestibule onto the rooftop, a soft breeze whispering through my hair. “See, my mother would say what he’s actually good at is lying, and he doesn’t need politics to do that. He’s born with it by being a man.”

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