Page 7 of The Probability of Us

I manage to log into the computer and am working on setting up some of the applications when footsteps grow closer and soft noises of papers shuffling and a laptop getting set down come from the cubicle beside me. I quickly drop my hand from my face and try to sit normally, but it’s not quick enough.

“Come here often?” a male voice says, and I can hear the smile behind the words.

When I look over, he’s leaning against the opening of the cubicle across from mine—his cubicle—with an amused grin on his face and an eyebrow quirked in curiosity. My cheeks heat, thinking about how my face had just been pinched in concentration, lips pursed and twisted into a frown. Not to mention, my head had been resting on my index and middle fingers causing my cheek to bulge out the sides. This easily tops the list of worst first impressions.

He has to be about six feet tall, and even in a long-sleeved button-up I can see the sinewy muscles in his arms that are currently crossed across his chest. His honey-colored hair appears as if he’d just run his hands through it in stress and forgot to smooth it back out. Freckles spot his face, as if a painter speckled them on with no prior intention, but they all landed in perfect chaos across his nose and cheeks, and his butterscotch eyes shine brighter than the sun outside the windows I thankfully can’t see from my desk—I was relieved to find that Ali was correct about that statement.

The humorous tinge to his smile and playful look in his eyes clues me in that he’s purposefully being ironic by using a pick-up line I’ve only ever heard in a bar, in an office setting, so I play along with a shrug. “I’m new to town and this place came highly recommended, so I thought I’d check it out.”

His face lights up with delight and a hint of surprise, and I forget to breathe for a second. “And what do you think so far?”

“It’s a little too far off the ground for my tastes, but the people are great so far.” I smile when he chuckles, the sound coating me like liquid sunshine—warm and bright. “But ask me again in a few weeks, my mind might change by then.”

“About the height or the people?”

The corner of my mouth quirks up. “What about you? Is this a favorite spot of yours?”

“It is now,” he says, smiling so big his cheeks scrunch up, causing his eyes to get all squinty. He steps closer and reaches out his hand. “Warren Mitchell.”

“Analise Summers.” I take his hand and try to ignore the flutter in my chest, but his smile is contagious. “Looks like I’ll be your new neighbor.”

Four

AUGUST CURRENT DAY (MONDAY)

“And this is my office,” I say as I finish the tour of the floor. Clara had suggested we each walk our respective executive around while she and Peter meet in the conference room. I unlock my door and he silently follows me in, not having said a word the entire time. “If you ever forget where to go, or need something, feel free to stop by. I think we’ll have the four of you set up in the conference room we started in, but you’re welcome to hang out here while Clara and Peter finish up their meeting.”

He just stands there, feet away from me, staring. Those eyes that I used to know better than anything are drowning me—I can’t look away. I’m being sucked in and it’s suffocating. My lower lip begins to tremble. I don’t know how to look at someone who once looked at me with love but is now devoid of any emotion without crying. I turn away, eyes closing and hoping this is all just some bad dream, or a cruel joke. This isreallyfucking cruel.

“Would you like some coffee while we wait?” I don’t wait for his answer to begin making two cups, because even after all this time, I never stopped buying the syrup he likes.

My hands shake as I make the drinks, and I can feel him watching. When I’m almost done, a warm presence steps up behind me and I gasp when fingertips graze against my arm. I spill some of the coffee and drop the stirrer in the cup. My hands move to the edge of the cart to steady myself.

“Analise,” he whispers, inches from my ear. My eyes close. The way he says it makes it obvious he knows exactly who I am. A stuttering cry of a breath comes out of me as I think of all the times he touched me like that in the bed we shared.

His voice used to do something to me. The way he’d say my name was a holy experience. I always thought if he ever came back, anger would be my leading emotion, but my body reacts as if he never left. Maybe it’s how much I’ve been thinking of him the past few days, or how I never got the closure I needed to move on, or the things I’ve come to learn since he left, but I want to reach out and hug him instead of wanting to punch him.

I take a deep breath. “So, youdoremember me?” My voice is nowhere near steady.

“You think I could forget you that easily?” he replies, his voice pained. “Do you still not know how unforgettable you are?”

The initial hit of relief I felt fades away with those words. Anger might not have been the first emotion I felt when I saw him, but it’s all I feel now.

How can he say that after being gone for so long?

“It seemed pretty easy for you for the last six and a half years,” I let slip with enough bitterness that I can feel him flinch.

“I never forgot you,” he says, softly.

His words and his closeness are too much for me. I turn, hand him his coffee and move to my seat so there’s a desk between us. Something solid to keep the distance.

“It’s okay, we don’t have to have this conversation,” I say, more so because I’m scared of what he might say—why he left. I motion for him to sit in the chair on the other side of the desk. “I’m under no delusions that you came back for me, it’s just business. We’re both professionals here; we can manage to work together for the next two weeks, then you’ll go back to D.C., and I’ll stay here, and it’ll be as if it never happened.”

“If that’s what you want.” The corners of his mouth turn down and his eyes have lost their usual glow.

I almost laugh. WhatIwant?Nowhe cares what I want?

What I wanted didn’t matter to him back then. He didn’t even ask me what I wanted back then. Because what I wanted was to be where he was, to go where he went, but he obviously didn’t want me.

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