Page 40 of Problematic Summer Romance

This feels contextually wrong. Someone I know from Austin, Texas, is here in Edinburgh. An improbable collision of parallel worlds.

“Good morning.” He sets the paper aside, and I’m beginning to think that Ireallylucked out when the Harkness receptionist put me through to him. My brother has a handful of friends, but if any other of them had come to the rescue, the wholeHey, I’m rebounding with a dude in his thirtiestale would have been much less believable.

But Conor looks nice. He did last night,despitethe pretentious rich-guy aesthetic, and he does this morning. Cropped wavy hair somewhat disheveled, jeans, a thin sweater, sunglasses—

“What?” he asks when I stare. I love it, the scrape in his voice.

“Nothing. Just…” I lean back against my chair, grinning. I put on some makeup and my favorite sweater. Showered. Washed my hair and left the curls to flow over my shoulders.See,I’m trying to say.I can get my shit together.I was at my worst last night, but I can do better. No need to think of me as a loser.“Thank you for arranging this.”

“No problem.”

Silence. We regard each other for longer than is normal, or polite, and…

“Oh, no,” I say.

“Oh, no?”

“This may have been a mistake.”

“You said you loved Loudons.”

“It’s not that. It’s just, you and I”—I gesture between us—“do we even have anything to talk about? I mean, you’re kinda advanced in age.”

His forehead furrows, a deeply etched scowl. “I was promised food, not beration.”

“Oh, I can deliver both.” I grin. Tilt my head. “It’s okay. We’ll find something. You can tell me how life was before electricity.”

He gives me a stern, prolonged stare.

“Just kidding. Age is nothing but a number, and all that.”

He winces. “Don’t say that.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s what some piece of shit who hangs out in online forums with minors would say.” I laugh, but he doesn’t. Holds my eyes as he says, “Age is years of accumulated experience. Age is lessons learned.”

“That’s not always true. Lots of factors intersect with that.”

A tired sigh. “Have you gotten in touch with your brother? He landed early this morning.”

“Not yet.”

A single eyebrow peeks from behind a dark lens. “I thought you needed to speak with him very urgently. So urgently, I showed up at your doorstep.”

“Correct. And since I wouldn’t want you to think that I don’t appreciate it, I’ve decided to let Eli focus on his Australian deal, and to make do with you. Congratulations—you have been promoted.”

“So I’m your brother now?”

“Sure,” I joke, even though it feels wrong. To Conor, too, judging from the set of his brow. It’s a relief, being interrupted by the server for our order.

“When’s your flight back?” I ask once she’s gone.

“Afternoon.”

“Are you going back to Ireland?”

“Austin, unless my father trolls us with another disappointingly un-deadly health scare.”

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