Page 18 of The Comeback Summer

So I clear my throat again and say, “Should we say ten o’clock at Stan’s on Broadway and Aldine?”

“Sounds great,” Josh says. “Can’t wait to see you.”

Nine

LIBBY

Ugh. Just ugh.

I cannot believe Josh Goddamn Jacobson had the nerve to call my sister after all these years. It took every fiber of my being not to rip the phone from her hands and hang up on him myself.

After the call, Hannah got all quiet and withdrawn, and I felt a familiar fire stirring in my belly. I had to get out of there before I said something I’d regret—so I’m taking myself out to lunch, spending calories and cash I can’t afford.

My anger builds with every step as I weave between the summer tourists walking down Chicago Avenue. Where are all these people in the winter, when it takes guts and courage to be here, braving the elements? I wish they’d leave and take Josh with them.

Even if I had forgiven that asshole for breaking my sister’s heart (which I haven’t), I’d still hate him for cockblocking dozens of novels I could have loved. I seriously don’t understand why so many contemporary romance authors name their love interestsJosh. All guys withJnames suck and Josh is the worstJname of all.

I’ve tried to purge my memory of the last time we talked, before he practically destroyed Hannah. If I hadn’t flown down to Gainesville to help her pick up the pieces, she might still be curled in a ball on the floor, unable to speak, her eyes hollow and her face streaked with tears. Seeing her like that was the most terrifying experience of my life.

Hannah nearly failed out of college that semester; she hardly ate, she stopped running, she wouldn’t even leave her apartment. She was a shell of herself for months—hell, she’s still not fully back to normal. There used to be a light in her eyes. My sister fucking twinkled. But Josh stole that from her. And now he’s back.

Ugh.

When I imagined helping Hannah write her love story this summer, it wasnota second-chance romance. That’s one trope we’re not going anywhere near. Sexy cowboy? Sure. One bed? No problem. Secret millionaire—now, that would solve everything!

I’ll never understand the fascination people have with second-chance love stories. If the relationship didn’t work out the first time, why would the second time be any different? The problems aren’t going to magically disappear. And people don’t change.

Especially men. Especially Josh.

I’m about to step into the crosswalk when the light changes to red. I stop and scan the row of restaurants up ahead, looking for the Flaco’s Tacos sign.

But it’s something else that catches my eye—a tattered piece of paper taped to the pole. In big block letters it sayscoworking space. rent a desk by the day.

A thought occurs to me:We’ve got desks. We’ve got a lot of empty desks.

And then my mind spins off in a totally new direction.

•••

BY THE TIMEI head back to work—my stomach full and happy from lunch, my mind buzzing with ideas about renting out our unused office space—I’m feeling better.

“What are you smiling about?” Hannah asks as I walk into our office.

“Just trying to think of ways to save our business and sabotage your coffee date,” I tell her.

She frowns. “I told you, it’s not a date—it’s two old friends meeting for coffee.”

“You don’t even like coffee,” I say.

If Josh knew her anymore, he would know that, too. He’d have suggested that they meet for that gross grass juice she likes.

“Libby,” Hannah says, giving me one of her “don’t be so dramatic” looks.

“Hannah,” I say, sassing her back. “That boydestroyedyou. Time may have dulled the memory, but—”

“I haven’t forgotten,” Hannah says.

“Then why?”

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