Carrick takes a deep breath and says, "After everything that happened with Zach and then Claire, what I want you to know is what happened with us, was about us. At least that's how I felt about it. It wasn't about you on the rebound because of Zach. It wasn't because we had bleeding hearts after losing Claire. I always had feelings for you. I hooked up with a new girl every month, week, at any given party to distract myself from how much I wanted to have someone I couldn't. I kept the truth about Zach from you because I didn't want to see you hurt."

"The omission hurt worse. I trusted you. You and I were nearly as close as Claire and I were."

"I want you to know that I cared about you then. I care about you now. I didn't mean for everything to fall apart."

"Then why did you leave?" The pressure building in my chest blasts the words at him and lifts me to my feet.

"Why are you about to leave?" he asks, reaching for my hand.

"Because this is getting too intense," I admit. My jaw quivers.

"Then let's unintensify it."

A deep crease forms between my eyes, but I sit back down.

"I know we have a history. I know I should have told you about Zach. And I know that I wanted everything that came after that."

"You know what I know? You threw it away. You threw me away, Carrick."

He reaches for my hands, but I put them in my lap. "Navy, please hear me when I say this. I care about you. A lot. I know that I'd like to get to know you again. At least, I'd like to be friends, if you can forgive me."

I get to my feet. "The problem is I can't forgive myself." I glance over my shoulder as I walk away. "I'm going to buy a pie, preferably one with cream."

His chair slides along the floor. I don't look back.

At a diner down the street, I peer into the display case. "I'd like one of those," I tell the guy behind the counter, pointing at the lemon meringue pie rotating away from me.

"One slice?" he asks.

"No, the whole pie. To go."

And I'll take that one while you're at it," Carrick says, pointing to a chocolate cream pie on a lower shelf. The whole pie." He's breathing heavy as though he ran here. He jiggles a box and says, "I got your grilled cheese to go."

We cross the street to the glow of the pink neon sign for Boots and Babes, a hip boutique with clothes Kat would adore. The sales team, giving me a dismissive once over when I set foot inside, not so much.

A woman with enough Botox to poison a small dog stands imperiously behind the counter.

"Excuse me. Is Pumera in?" I ask.

"Yes, that's me. I'm the owner." Her surgically-filled lips look like bloated hot dogs.

I covertly open the pie box. "A young woman was in earlier applying for a job."

Pumera nods in recognition. "She wasn't what we were looking for."

"That's too bad. But you should know that one-size does not fit all. Except, maybe when it comes to this," I lift the pie and in one swift motion, smash it in her face.

She shouts, flinging cream on the counter and the other girls as Carrick and I storm out laughing.

We hustle down the street when I realize that I inadvertently completed another one of the uncovering tasks assigned in module two of the UBoss program. I spoke up for someone. I did something to help Melody, of all people, to feel seen and not just for her size, but because she's worthy.

Carrick and I sit on a bench on the edge of a lantern lit park. The snow sparkles. We catch our breath and laugh.

"That was awesome. I'm only sorry I didn't make use of this pie," he says, jostling the box. His fingers brush mine and the iron in my blood magnetizes to his.

I shift over on the bench. "I could smash it in your face, but I guess that would be a waste."

"We could eat it," he says, grinning. "There's a place nearby where we can get some forks," he adds.

Carrick hails a cab, opens the door for me, and gives the driver an address not far from my apartment.

"I thought you said nearby."

He shrugs.

The shushing of slush under the taxi's tires punctuates the silence that follows. I steal a glance at Carrick, illuminated in columns of streetlights and then disappearing into darkness.

His hand finds mine and he whispers, "I'm not letting go this time."

I am, but I haven't figured out how. If it were as simple as taking my hand back, I would.

We stop in front of a white stone building and Carrick explains, "I'm staying at an Airbnb while I'm in town. It feels less temporary and more human."

"You brought me to your place?"

"I thought we could talk privately without interruptions. Just following my instincts."

"Your instincts? If you were a dog, you wouldn't be a Labrador, or a Collie, a Terrier, a Hound or a Husky. I'm not sure what kind you'd be, but I'll figure it out."

"A bulldog?" he asks with a smile, playing along. "That's the Marine's mascot."

I shake my head. "So what do you mean while you're in town?" I ask as the doorman welcomes us into the warm vestibule.

"Meetings, as you know."

"When are you leaving?" I say with more bitterness than I intend.

"As soon as you tell me to," he says sweetly as if it's up to me.

I grind out, "Don't make this difficult."

"I'm not, Navy." He holds up the pie as we board the elevator. "It's as easy as pie."

I roll my eyes at the corny joke.

The apartment, temporary or not, is stunning with high ceilings, a modern, neutral palette, a city vista of twinkling lights, and the river far off in the distance.

From the kitchen he calls, "Want something to drink? I have water, tea, wine..."

"Water is fine." I need some truth serum, something to get me to understand this confusing mixture of emotions roiling inside me.

Carrick brings in the pie and gestures for me to sit down.

He takes a big bite and around a mouthful says, "Mmm. Tastes like justice."

"I didn't realize justice could be so delicious," I add.

He sets his fork down and stretches his long legs. His eyes are dreamy in the dim light. "What you did back there for that girl was pretty badass. You dazzle me, Navy."

My smile doesn't match my words. "This is going to get hard again," I say, deflecting the compliment and checking off dazzle on this week's UBoss module.

"It doesn't have to. Let's start over."

"You've known me almost my whole life. You've seen me with mono. You've seen me fall flat on my face during the production of Grease my sophomore year. You've seen me heartbroken, grieving... I think we're a little past starting over."

"Then let's start right now."

"What have you been doing when you're not throwing a pie in a lady's face, getting over the flu, and going to yoga classes with hot guys?"

"He was hot, huh."

"Was?"

"It was," I swallow, "just a date, sorta."

"Mmm. Will you see him again?"

"Yes."

Carrick's face falls. I don't see the need to rescue him from disappointment, but since we're attempting to be civilized, I add, "We're neighbors."

"Oh." His expression falls even further.

"Take several rounds of mixed drinks plus Kat, and add a long discussion about my non-existent love life to the equation. What does that equal?" I don't wait for him to answer. "A dare. A double dare, actually." I shake my head. "You asked a question. My turn."

He leans back in the chair and cradles his head in his hands. "Ask me anything."

"I wake up most mornings, fetch a triple, venti, soy, not sweet, no foam, latte then spend a better part of my day meeting Mr. Douche's inane demands. I endure water cooler banter and a glass ceiling-walls and mirrors, everything a reflection of the fact that long hours, solid commitment, and every ounce of creativity isn't going to get me anywhere in that office. But what I'm dying to know is what brought you to Albright, Bouche, and Carlotta? Where did you go after you left that brought you here?"

He grins up to his eyes. "I was hoping you'd ask.' He passes me a paperback book off the coffee table. "Writing."

Chapter 22.

Telling Stories I turn the novel over in my hands. It's titled OTP a love letters novel by C.K. Flynn. The cover image shows a couple with pinkies linked from behind, walking down a sunlit lane. I flip through the first few pages and see the author also wrote the other books in the Love Letters series each set in Rome, New York, Paris, or Prague. All of them are romance novels buried somewhere in my extensive to-be-read list, but more notably, all of the books by C.K Flynn are at the top of the New York Times bestsellers list, several times over. "Are you a literary agent or-" I ask confused.

"No, I'm the author."

I laugh and retort, "Yeah, me too. The title of my latest novel is How to Lose at Life. It's hilarious. It's about this ambitious twenty-something who moves to Manhattan, loses her job, also maybe her mind, and ends up as an assistant to a guy whose name rhymes with Douche, only she's so hard up, she doesn't even make the connection. She spends most of her time reading about the romantic lives of others and can't quite figure out how to fix her own broken heart."

Carrick doesn't laugh and a smile doesn't crack across his face.

"What? It won an award for being downright hilarious."

Carrick's eyes glaze over with warmth. "Read it if you have a chance and tell me what you think."

I look at the book again and run my finger over the name printed on the cover. "C.K. Flynn." I study him for a long moment. "Carrick Flynn Kennely."

He nods. "That's me. I have a strict non-disclosure agreement because I'm using a pen name. Mr. Douche was under strict orders not to reveal my purpose at the PR firm."

"Did you know I worked there?"

"Happy coincidence or fate, depending on what you want to believe."

"You write romance novels?"

"I do." His lips quirk.

"For a job?"

"Uh, huh."

I shake my head. "Nuh, uh. The joke's on me. You had this made. Self-publishing is hot right now." I flip my thumb across the pages, making them flutter. The sensation matches the one in my stomach.

"I did have this made, but it's no joke," he says, tapping the cover. "There are a few jokes inside, because I try to be a witty guy, but they're at some of the more annoying characters' expense-an annoying sports bar manager, a nosy neighbor, that kind of thing, but not yours. I wouldn't play a joke on you."

"Carrick, I don't understand."

"It's simple. I hurt someone I care deeply about. I ran away, joined the military because I was afraid and figured the best way to get over my fears was to bury them deep beneath the most macho thing I could think of. The truth was I was hurting too. At the time, it was easier not to deal with all that. Then I sort of got my shit together and my parents were pressuring me to uphold the family legacy so I went to college-majored in business and minored in English." He clears his throat. "And women." He grimaces and exhales. "After graduation, I felt unfulfilled. I'd always wanted to travel through Europe so I declined a shoe-in job as a financial advisor, thanks to Colby. He says hi, by the way."

"How's your oldest brother doing?"

"He's getting married this summer."

"I think my mother mentioned that a little while ago." I purposely didn't add the save the date to my calendar, not because I don't like Colby and I'm sure his fiance is lovely, but I didn't want to see Carrick, which is now a moot point.

"Want to go? I'm a groomsman, but haven't added my plus one yet."

I throw my hands up in the air.

"Too soon?"

"So not happening. That is not part of our future."