Page 114 of The Comeback Summer

I’m sitting up in bed, reaching for my discarded clothes, when Adam returns.

“Oh no you don’t,” he says, practically tackling me back into the bed, making me laugh. “I’m not letting you run away this time.”

My heart expands as he pulls me against him, spooning me like I’m precious to him. We lie together, listening to the rain outside, the gentle rumbles of thunder as the storm moves away.

If this was one of my romance novels, this moment of bliss would be followed by a crisis that plunges the lovers into a dark night of the soul. But luckily, it’s not a novel. It’s life. My life.

After a minute, something else rumbles. My stomach.

“Hungry?” Adam asks.

I nod. “Lunch was a very long time ago.”

“Well, lucky for you, you’re with someone who knows how to cook. Wait here.”

He pulls on his boxers and disappears. A few minutes later, he’s back with two plates of the most perfectly scrambled eggs and toast. We sit in bed together, eating and laughing. As the night goes on, he disappears into the kitchen several times, bringing back string cheese, gelato, and finally, pizza rolls—which I tease him relentlessly about.

Long past midnight, when the storm has stopped and our cheeks are sore from laughing, Adam takes my plate away and kisses me, long and slow. Soon that turns into more, and we don’t stop until once again we’re both satiated. I have a briefthought that I should probably get home, but Adam wraps his arms around me and makes it clear that he wants me to stay right there, tucked against his chest.

And I have no problem with that. For the first time in my life, it doesn’t feel like I’m imagining someone else’s story. I’m living my own.

Thirty-Eight

HANNAH

I can’t make our budget work.

I’ve been staring at my spreadsheet so long that I’m certain there’s a permanent black-and-white grid imprinted on my retinas, but no matter how hard I stare, these numbers aren’t going to work for next month. It’s mathematically impossible. Worry vibrates across my skin like static electricity. September’s lease payment is due in three weeks and we don’t have the funds to cover it.

Outside, I can hear the buzz of activity from the desk fillers, my sister’s laugh floating above it all. Lately it seems that Libby is always out there with them, socializing, brainstorming ideas for more collaboration opportunities. I know she’s trying to drum up income, but she doesn’t seem to understand that a few hundred dollars here and there aren’t going to solve a problem of this magnitude. We need actual clients with reliable payment schedules.

She breezes into our office, her earbuds in, talking on the phone. It sounds like she’s wrapping up a call with a prospectiveclient, and I watch her, trying to read her body language and expression to determine if it’s going well.

“Thank you so much,” Libby says. “We can’t wait to hear your thoughts on the pitch.” She sits at her desk, back to me. “Well, I don’t see why not! Everyonelovesunicorns.”

Another prickle of irritation runs through me. What the hell is she talking about? Whatever it is, she didn’t run it by me, didn’t give me a chance to weigh in or contribute.

Great Scott’s voice comes through the intercom system: “Visitor for Libby.”

I push the button to respond. “She’s almost done with a call. Who is it?”

“Someone she’ll want to see.” Scott sounds impatient, like this is a huge hassle rather than his actual job—for which we have docked our own salaries to pay him, I might add.

“Let him know that Libby will be out soon.”

“What do you think I am, your secretary?” Scott huffs.

“Well, yeah—”

“You can go on back,” Scott says to the visitor. “Down the hall, second door on the right.”

Before I can remind him not to let random people into our office unannounced—he did that with Lou, and look where it’s gotten us—someone knocks on our office door. Sighing, I push back from my desk and go to open it.

“Hello,” I say, summoning up a smile. “How can I help you?”

“Hi, I’m looking for...” The man stops. He’s staring at me with a strange expression, like I’m a puzzle he’s trying to work out.

Is he a client Libby found without telling me? He’s handsome, a few years older than me and a few inches taller, withbrown curly hair and friendly eyes. In one hand, he’s carrying a manila envelope, and in the other, a bouquet of flowers.

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