Page 8 of The Probability of Us

I gesture for him to sit again. He starts to move but his eyes catch on something, focusing back on the coffee bar and light comes back to his face.

“Blondies?” he asks, walking over to grab one. He searches for the biggest piece, the one I always left for him because I could never cut the slices evenly. Part of me hopes that Jason took that piece earlier, but another part of me hopes it’s there waiting for him because it was always only his. “It’s almost like you knew I was coming.”

I huff out a laugh. “Because me quite literally getting knocked on my ass by the tidal wave of shock that hit me when you walked around that corner wasn’t indication enough of my knowledge on the matter.” I forgot how easy this was, how easywewere. Slipping back into this banter with him feels like slipping into a favorite sweater. It overwhelms me with a comfort I haven’t found since the day he left. “But you . . .youwere the picture of unaffected indifference,” I continue and his face scrunches up as he takes a seat. “You obviously weren’t surprised at all.”

“Well, I did receive an agenda on Friday that named my point of contact for the next two weeks,” he says and my cheeks warm because I knew that was sent out, but at the time, I didn’t know it was him on the receiving end. “I choked on my coffee, which, might I note, wasn’t half as good as the one you just made me, when I saw your name beside mine.”

I stare at him with an incredulous look on my face.

“I’m serious,” he pleads, still able to read me like a book. “After I choked, I ended up spitting it out all over my monitor and keyboard. To make matters worse, Peter walked into my office as it was spraying out of my mouth. Ask him, he’ll corroborate my story.”

I’m holding back laughter, but my ever-inconvenient imagination produces, what I assume is, a perfect reenactment of the event and I burst out laughing. “All right, all right, I believe you. That does sound like you.”

His mouth pops open and he grabs a small piece of the blondie in front of him and throws it at me. I’m already laughing but I manage to catch it and toss it into my mouth.

His liquid-sunshine laugh joins mine, and for a moment I forget the past six and a half years happened—he never left and we’re just two lovers laughing together. It’s easy. It’s fun. It’sright.

But the past six and a half yearsdidhappen. He left, and while I understand why he did, there’s still so much I don’t understand about what happened to us. The weight of those questions sits on my lungs and steals my breath; my smile fades and it gets hard to breathe again. I drop my hands into my lap and squeeze my leg just above the knee, trying to distract myself from the pain stabbing through my chest with no luck.

Warren’s face drops and he leans forward as if he’s about to comfort me, then hesitates, thinking better of it, and leans back in his chair. Pain is etched across his face—not in a way that most would see, but to someone that’s memorized every millimeter of his skin and knows every expression in his repertoire, it’s as clear as a sunny, summer day.

“I tried to look you up, to double check if it was you,” he says softly and I look up, getting trapped in those butterscotch eyes that never fail to make me melt. “But I see you’re still determined to stay off social media.”

“You looked me up?” I hate how much hope there is in my voice. How much hope I feel.

His cheeks turn rosy. “Many times. I kept hoping you’d appear, but you never did.” He looks down. “So, I had to resort to obsessively stalking Ali’s accounts to catch anytime she’d post a picture with you in it.”

My mouth drops open, but he glances up and continues talking before I can say anything. “Since you refuse to even download any of those apps, I’m assuming you haven’t looked me up.”

Something about the way he says it has my heart twisting. There’s disappointment in his voice and I want to dispel it, so I skip the banter and jump right to the truth. “I have Ali keep tabs on you and give me reports.”

My lips snap together—I can’t believe I actually admitted that to him.Whywould I tell him that?

I shouldn’t want to dispel his disappointment. I shouldn’t be feeling bad for him.

Heat rushes to my cheeks and I’m sure it shows itself as deep red embarrassment. I have to look away. Luckily, I look at the door and catch Jasmine, one of the newest employees on my team, walking away, assuming I’m in a meeting. I get her attention and wave her in.

“Oh, blondies this week.” Her eyes light up when she sees the treats. “I’ve been waiting for you to bake these again.”

Warren’s eyes light up in curiosity and he looks over as she grabs a square, but his eyes snag on a different feature of the coffee cart this time—the flowers. The corners of his mouth tug down when he spots the two blue tulips that are wilting in the little white vase. I really wish I stopped at Lola’s this morning.

Better yet, I wish I didn’t buy them at all. Old habits sure do die hard.

“Did you need me for anything?” I smile at Jasmine, wanting to focus on anything but all the ways I’ve already given away how much I still think about him.

“I just wanted to let you know that I got that code working we were discussing on Friday.” She smiles with pride. “You were right, it was an issue in the join statement between the claims table and the membership table. I’m just going to validate it one more time and I’ll have the final analysis sent to you by the end of the day.”

“I look forward to seeing it. Thanks, Jasmine.”

She smiles and practically skips away. When I turn back to Warren his eyebrows are raised. I press my lips together and ask, “What?”

“She worships you.”

I blink a few times, shocked by the words. “What are you talking about? She’s just doing her job.”

“Oh, come on. I used to work with you, I know what you’re like. You’re a brilliant teacher, and even before you were a manager, people would come to you for help first. Trust me when I say that girl thinks you walk on water, and I’d bet the rest of your team feels the same way.” His smile is reminiscent and mine wobbles between happy and sad. “They’re lucky to have you.”

I settle for rolling my eyes, but a flutter ignites in my chest at the way he’s talking about me. “You’re grossly over exaggerating.”

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