Page 97 of The Comeback Summer

He’s avoiding my question, but I’m not sure I want to knowthe answer, so I continue paddling, searching for something to lighten the mood. “Remember Gwyneth inEmma? I loved movie days in AP English.”

“Agree, although that age gap between Emma and Knightley always creeped me out—”

“Maybe not as weird as Alicia Silverstone kissing her stepbrother,” I say.

Now we’re on toClueless, which is based onEmma, and Josh says, “I mean, it was young Paul Rudd. I probably would’ve kissed him, too.”

I twist around, laughing. “His character had the same name as you—”

“Ew,Josh?” He mimes gagging. “Guys named Josh are the worst.”

I tilt my head, surprised. “Did you hear Libby say that?”

“No—but it seems to be universally acknowledged among women. Anyone named Josh is a walking red flag.” He doesn’t seem bothered, just mildly amused.

“Well, that’s unfair,” I say, offended on his behalf.

He gives a noble sigh and makes a long stroke with his paddle. “I didn’t ask to be a Josh—I was born one. All I can do now is try and break the stigma.”

I turn my face up to the sun as I paddle, enjoying the sensation of gliding through the water. We’re almost to the pullout point, and I’m sad we can’t stay out here all night.

“So, Gwyneth ends up being hit by a van just as she declares her love for her perfect match, right?” I ask, bringing us back toSliding Doors. I’ve always loved this about our conversations, the way we flit from one topic to the next, connected by inside jokes and shared history.

“Well, yes,” Josh says, “but in the other timeline, she meetsher perfect match anyway, like they were destined for each other. Which made me wonder about us. If we would’ve ended up together, no matter what decisions we made along the way.”

“I like that.”

Maybe we both needed to learn some lessons before we were ready to be together again. And no matter what happens in the future, we’ll find our way back to each other.

We reach the pullout spot and Josh hops out of the kayak, splashing in the shallow water as he pulls the kayak ashore, then takes my hand and helps me out. As I step up to dry ground, my phone chimes in my backpack: a new email.

“Oh my god,” I gasp, yanking my phone out. “It’s from Serena and Preeti.”

“Open it!”

“I—I can’t! You do it,” I say, shoving the phone toward him.

He catches it, fumbling. “Your passcode still the same?”

I nod, too stressed to speak. My body is vibrating with anxiety.

“Hi, Hannah!” Josh reads. “There’s an exclamation point after your name.Hi, Hannah, exclamation point.We’re thrilled you reached out to us.No exclamation point there—”

“Just read it!”

“I am—sheesh.” He clears his throat. “We’ve been considering hiring an outside publicist and we’ve met with several—”

“Of course they have,” I say, my heart sinking. “That makes sense—”

“Hold up, Banana. There’s more.We’ve met with several PR agencies, but there’s something intriguing about working with a loyal fan like yourself. Can we set up a time to chat? We’re free tomorrow any time before noon, eastern. Xoxo, Serena & Preeti.They used an ampersand, not the spelled-out word.”

He looks over at me, but I can’t respond. I’ve frozen into an ice sculpture of myself.

“Did you hear that?” he asks gently.

“I... yes. Yes.” I look up at him, bewildered. “They want to chat? With me?”

“Affirmative.”

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