Page 16 of The Probability of Us

The last time I smiled like this because of text messages was in middle school. He makes me giddy, my chest flutters, heart races, and a smile that lives up to my last name is permanently etched onto my face. We don’t stop texting all evening, and even then, we only stop because I drifted off to sleep sometime after 2 a.m.

Seven

AUGUST CURRENT DAY (TUESDAY)

When I get to Kallia, Ali is already waiting for her order, practically bouncing in anticipation. I get in line, but she grabs my arm. “I already ordered yours, now out with it; tell me everything about Mitch.”

“You’re not ready for what I’m about to tell you,” I say, pausing for effect and her eyes scream at me to continue. “Mitch . . . is actually?—”

“Warren?” she says just before I can.

My face twists in confusion. “Wait, how did you know that?”

She shakes her head and I realize her eyes are locked on something—or someone—behind me. “No, Warren ishere.”

I turn around and I see the Warren from eight years ago, the one who showed up to Kallia after our text exchange with the brightest smile on his face. Looking back, it hurts to know that he was already falling in love with me then, because when I blink, the older Warren is standing there, with the same two blue tulips he started bringing me not long after those texts, but with the hesitant smile of someone who’s uncomfortable, unsure.

“Wait,what?” Ali grabs my arm so I look back to her and I can tell she just absorbed my words. “You knew he was here?”

“Clara messed up,” I explain quickly because Warren is headed in our direction. “Mitch is actually Warren Mitchell.He’sthe CFO of the company acquiring mine.”

“No. Fucking. Way.” Her eyes widen.

I nod as Warren approaches and gives Ali an awkward wave. I never really asked if anyone kept in touch with him after he left, and no one ever brought it up. I assumed Ali didn’t speak directly to him but kept tabs on him. He and Trent were the closest; I wonder if they ever talked.

“Hi, Ali.” His voice is small, like he’s prepared for a verbal assault from her, which is a fair assumption knowing Ali . . . and what he did to me. “It’s been a while.”

“And who’s fault is that?” she asks with a perfect smile on her face. Warren shifts on his feet and I look down as a small smile blooms on my face.

“I know, it’s on me,” he says, and both Ali and I are taken aback. It’s not that Warren didn’t take accountability back then, but he deflected most things with humor. She was expecting a joking response—I was too. “I’m sorry. I really have missed everyone.”

I have never seen Ali speechless, but right now she’s staring at Warren like she’s seen a ghost. His smile falters a little and he excuses himself to go order.

“What happened there?” I snort once he’s out of earshot.

She shakes her head, turning away from the spot he was standing to look at me. “In so many ways, he’s the same, but he also seems so different. More mature and steady.”

“Somehow more attractive too,” I say with a sigh, then snap my lips together when Ali glares at me. I look around as if searching for whoever said that, and my gaze lands on him.

The feel of his body under my arms as he hugged me last night flashes through my mind and my gaze moves up his body taking in all of the changes in daylight. He’s put on some weight, but it appears to be all muscle mass. His tailored pants hint at the curve of muscles on his thighs, and his chest and arms fill out his dress shirt and suit jacket far better than they ever did back then. When I get to his face, he’s watching me with a smile. His face is shaved, his honey hair has grown a little bit, and the last lingering bits of baby face he had have faded into a strong jawline that is highlighted by the smile he’s wearing.

“Be careful, Ana,” Ali says, and I almost jump. She looks at Warren, gaze drifting down to the flowers in his hand. The familiarity of it all weighs on us like a dusty blanket of memories. One that lies forgotten, in a dark corner of the attic for years, but is bringing everything back now that it’s found the light of day. “I know you still care for him, but you’ve been a mess since he left. And he’s only back for a short time. I don’t want you to get hurt again.”

“I know.” I use all my will force to take my eyes off him. He’s the same man I loved, but he’s grown up—and he grew up well. “I’m doing my best . . .”

“But . . .” she adds, when I trail off.

I sigh. “But, it’shim, Ali. Do you know how often I’ve dreamed of him coming back here, of him finally explaining what happened back then, of us getting to live the life we always dreamed of together? We were so good, until things ended. And there was no closure, no explanation. He’s my one that got away. What if I can get him back?”

“He could be seeing someone else,” she says, lips pressed together tightly. She was our biggest cheerleader back when we were together, but after what he did, she’s not his biggest fan—understandably. Even I wasn’t able to recognize myself after he left. I pulled myself together, but I know she’s worried about what it’ll do to me if things end badly again.

Hell, I’m scared of what will happen to me too.

“He’s not,” I say, too fast, and her eyebrows raise in question. “We went to Il Piacere last night?—”

“Analise—”

“Before you say anything, it was all eight of us from work, and it got booked before I knew he was here.” Her face says:that doesn’t make it any better. “After, I decided to walk home, and he walked with me?—”

---