Page 37 of What If It's You?

“Sorry…is there something automatically uninteresting about romances?” I kept my voice carefully even. Drew winced, my undercurrent of hurt managing to shock him despite my public-facing protective measures.

“Of course not. You know I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Oh? How did you mean it?” I stabbed a bite of salad, the tines of my fork scraping audibly on the china plate. Drew’s Adam’s apple bobbed.

“Just that this idea seems…meatier, you know? Honestly, I think maybe that’s why you’ve been spinning your wheels. Maybe you need more of a challenge.”

“I guess I thoughtwriting a bookwas a big enough challenge, at least to start.”

“Don’t get that way.” He rolled his eyes, voice tight. “I’m excited for you. And I want you to realize your full potential. How is that a bad thing?”

“Sure.” My entire intestinal tract was clenching with irritation.

“Well…I want to hear all about this brilliant new idea!” Kari’s smile had a hostage video quality.

“Definitely. I’m just gonna pop to the bathroom first. Maybe Drew can fill you in on the big picture exciting stuff.” I threw a syrupy look his way and slid out of the bench seat, striding across the restaurant, angry tears prickling my eyes. In the bathroom I splashed water on my face, staring at the assortment of antique fashion drawings and newspaper advertisements in the mirror without really taking them in. No wonder I wasn’t getting any writing done in this life: Clearly Drew saw it as a cute little hobby, viewed the books that had always been my happy place as beneath him.

Viewedmeas beneath him?

I’m sure he didn’tthinkthat was true, and to be fair, he regularly said how brilliant I was, how he wanted me to “reach my potential.” Butgod,how did he not see how patronizing that phrase was? Like he was my dad, not my partner, and my role wasn’t as his equal so much as it was to make him proud? The fact that I wasn’t makingmoney anymore certainly didn’t help. I’m sure we’d had all kinds of talks about this being an investment in my future happiness, a career I wanted to pursue, one that was as valid and “real” as his work at Pixel—there’s no way I wouldn’t have wanted to analyze the choice to death before taking the plunge—but whatever we’d said to each other leading up to my quitting my job was academic. Here in the real world—orareal world, as the case may be—knowing our life was underwritten by him, not us, had clearly shifted the power dynamic. Suddenly all the caretaking gestures from the day before—sending soup, checking in practically the moment he left—felt less loving, more controlling.

I opened the bathroom door, lingering near the coatrack in the alcove behind the hostess stand, watching Drew laugh at something Matt had said. I still felt a surge of tenderness looking at Drew, the way his eyes lit up when he smiled, the kindness that seemed dyed into the fabric of him…but could I really spend the rest of my life with someone who thought my dream wasn’tenough? Taking care of a partner was lovely, but the version of that that I was starting to suspect we’d built felt suffocating, as though it would choke off the oxygen first to my dream—and wasn’t it doing that already?—and eventually, inevitably, to me.

I should go back and sit down.

I didn’t want to, couldn’t imagine acting as if what Drew had said hadn’t hurt me for however long the dinner went on.

Stalling for time, I gazed out the plate glass windows, the wavering reflections of the yellow globe lights and laughing clusters of diners like a mirage, permanently trapped between worlds.

The light at the intersection turned, shifting the flow of traffic and pedestrians. A group of early-twenties girls leaned into one another as they started across the street, their bodies creating tiny pockets of intimacy as they made their way to some bar, or show, or anything that might make tonight memorable…or not. I was idly following their progress when I caught it out of the corner of my eye.

That languid, slow walk, hands trapped in his pockets, gaze trained just in front of his toes in a way that made his hair tumble over his forehead, curtaining those dark eyes, so that when they’d flick up to yours, the sense of being sucked into their soft, velvety depths was only that much more intense…

“Ollie,”I whispered, eyes widening as I stared. Seeming to hear me, his chin ticked up, and for just a second I could feel his gaze magnetized to my own, the cord between us pulled tight.

I stared at him long enough that his head tilted to the side in a question, then, realizing I didn’t have much time, I edged around the host stand and, instead of going back to the table, darted to the restaurant’s entrance, desperate to catch him before it was too late. I knew, on some level, that this wasn’t really Ollie—at least notmyOllie—but the need to talk to him was a hook in my gut. And what if meeting him here fixed things somehow? What if he’d shown up here, now, precisely because I’d realized that the life Drew and I had built here was wrong, that it would eventually snuff me out like a candle guttering in expensive, fragrant wax?

“Laurel? Laurel, where are you going?” Drew’s voice was muffled by the din of the restaurant, but I could still hear the worry there, probably heightened by the fact that he had to know he’d stepped in it just now. But I couldn’t waste time explaining this, Ollie had made it across the street and was continuing down the sidewalk, shoulders hunched against the chill. With a single wave to Drew, I burst out the door, rushing past the front of the restaurant and around the corner, but I couldn’t spot him, didn’t know where he’d gone…

“Ollie?” I called, fear tightening my voice, pulling it too high.

Beyond the cluster of girls crowding the sidewalk to discuss something on one of their phones, I saw a figure stop short, turn.

“Ollie!” I called again, laughing with relief as I waved. He blinked at me, clearly confused, then started back, his stride slower now, more careful.

“Sorry, do we know each other?” he said as he approached. Icouldn’t help but notice he’d stopped a solid ten feet away. And he looked…different. In obvious ways—his hair was longer, almost to his shoulders, and the tan leather coat he was wearing looked buttery soft, nothing like the beat-up thrift store finds I was used to seeing him in—but also in a way I couldn’t put my finger on. There was a tension in his body, tightness around his eyes and mouth that was so foreign to the easygoing, gentle man I knew. This Ollie looked like he was preparing to ward off some unseen blow.

“Of course we…or I mean…” I pinched my eyes shut, shaking my head rapidly, trying to find the words. I couldn’t seem to catch a breath, the need coursing through me so intense it was making me feel disconnected from my body. “It’s Laurel. Laurel Everett?”

“Laurel?”I could hear Drew’s voice somewhere behind me, but when I glanced back, he hadn’t appeared around the corner…yet. Feeling only the tiniest bit guilty, I moved into the broad entryway of the record store Ollie and I were standing in front of.This was too important.Finding Ollie inthislife couldn’t just be coincidence. It would have to do…something, right?

Ollie squinted at me for a long second, then drew in a breath, recognition cracking open his shuttered face. His shoulders loosened, but only the slightest bit.

“Riiight. Laurel. We went out…was it three years ago? Four?”

“Five, actually.” I let loose a shuddering laugh. I finally had one clue, at least. I hadn’t skipped Ollie to wind up in World D—I’d traded him out. What thought process had I gone through to end a burgeoning romance with as much chemistry as we had in the early days? “I thought you didn’t recognize me.”

“I mean…it’s been a minute.” He smiled gently, the flick of his lips finally something I recognized, but it disappeared just as quickly as he glanced over his shoulder again, heel tapping rapidly on the sidewalk.

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