Page 10 of The Probability of Us

She smiles sheepishly, as if just now noticing she told me the wrong name. “Sorry, I misheard on the call.”

Everyone laughs at that, and the topic fades away into new ones. I let out a silent sigh of relief that we moved on, but Jason doesn’t stop watching us all night.

* * *

As everyone begins to pile back into the two cars we took to the restaurant, I hang back. “I think I’m just going to walk home.”

It’s been too long since I’ve walked through the park, and it’s prettiest at night, with twinkling lights scattered in the trees and the view of the city becoming a beautiful sea of lights. Even though it’s an extremely long walk, it’s worth it.

Jason’s face turns to stone. “It’s not safe to walk home alone this late.”

I almost laugh at the irony. I’d feel safer walking home alone than being alone with him.

“I’ll walk with you.” Warren moves to stand next to me and I smile. I was hoping he’d volunteer to come. We should talk outside of a work environment—sooner rather than later.

Jason’s face contorts into rage and his voice comes out gruff and aggressive. “I’ll come too.”

I roll my eyes and hope that I’m far enough from the streetlamp that the shadows hide it. “You drove, Jason. You have to take them back.”

I begin to wonder if this was subconsciously my plan the whole time, because something pushed me to make sure Jason was the second driver today. I even pulled the “I want to ride in your Tesla, it’s so cool” card. That’s what sealed the deal. Little does he know that I spent the whole ride focused on Warren, who was in the backseat with me, instead of on his precious Tesla.

After grunting and grumbling, Jason finally gets in the car, and everyone drives away. Warren falls into step beside me and muscle memory has us turning down the path to the bench—ourbench—without a word.

“I’ve missed this place,” he whispers when we’re overlooking the city from our favorite spot.

“Like a sea of stars,” I whisper back and see the corners of his mouth curl up from the corner of my eye.

“Exactly.”

The brush of his hand against mine is as soft as his voice, but it hits me like a bus—head-on, going sixty miles per hour. All the breath leaves me, and I stumble a step away from him. This is too much—him being here, how quickly it feels normal, how much I still want him, how angry I still am. But for some reason the words that bubble up and blurt out of me are, “Are you seeing anyone?”

He chuckles uncomfortably. “I see your small talk hasn’t improved.”

The amount of panic that washes over me is embarrassing. “Is that a no?” I squeak, feeling foolish for asking, but knowing it’ll drive me mad to not know.

“Analise . . .” His voice is small. “Is this really a good idea?”

“Please.” I’m breathing heavier. “If I don’t ask now, it’ll be on my mind all night. I just need to know, so I can stop wondering.”

He eyes me a moment longer before saying, “No, I’m not seeing anyone,” and I let out a silent sigh of relief.

“Okay,” I whisper to myself, nodding.

Why do I care so much?

Scratch that, I know the answer to that one. The better question is: Why did I let himseethat I care so much? Why did I bring this up?

It gets quiet between us again and we turn to go.

After a few steps he stops walking and hesitates. “Areyou?”

I don’t know what makes me say it—if it’s being here where he first asked me out, where we had so many date nights—where our fall out began—but I tell the truth. “No, it seems I never quite got over the man who broke my heart six and a half years ago.”

He looks up at me, shock and then pain flashes across his face. I look down, a sad smile on my face.

“Ana—”

“I’m sorry,” I cut him off, not sure I can handle hearing my name from his lips again when all I can think of is all the times he whispered that name against my own skin. “We don’t have to talk about this—weshouldn’ttalk about this. You’re only here for two weeks. You’re leaving again. We broke up. We?—”

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