Page 52 of All Our Nevers

“And I’ll have a red wine, please,” Owen says, still looking at my face, then glancing down at my dress. “Red’s my favorite.”

I roll my eyes, but my real smile still lingers on my cheeks. The bartender barely acknowledges us, just pours the glasses and sends us on our way.

“Okay,” I say when we’ve taken our glasses to the quieter side of the room. “Who’s next?”

We both glance out at the crowd, though for me it’s nothing more than a performance. I have no idea who these people are.

“Tough to say,” Owen replies. “Ideally someone who I don’t hate and who I think might buy art from a bratty misandrist. Frankly there’s very little middle ground in that Venn Diagram.”

I barely register Owen’s words, because that’s when I see him.

Tall, red hair, a body moving through the crowd. It could be anyone, until he turns around and I see his face.

Connor.

Connor is here.

As far as fight-or-flight goes, I’ve always been fight. So I don’t understand why my body feels frozen in place, muscles tense, suddenly shaking and sweating and heavy. I blink, blink, blink like my eyelids might wipe him away.

It doesn’t work.

He’s there. He doesn’t see me yet, but he’s there. Fifty feet away. Now forty-five. Forty. I knew he became a lawyer, but I never even considered—

“Amelia? You okay?”

Owen’s voice shocks me awake and I spin us around, giving my back to the rest of the room. “Actually, I think the lead with Guy is probably good.” I throw back my entire glass of wine, then slap it on the high top next to us. “Let’s just go. You’re done right? Let’s go.”

“What? Why? I thought you wanted this. There are so many more rich, annoying people here who claim to like art.”

“I’m just done. Let’s go.” I try to pull Owen towards the exit, but he doesn’t budge. “Owen.” I turn to face him now. My heart is pounding against my ribs, thick and frantic. My hands are shaking and my face is flushed and Owen’s just standing there, arms stubbornly crossed over his chest. I don’t have time for his games, for whatever this is. I throw my hands in the air and walk out.

“Amelia, where are you—”

I don’t hear the rest. I’m moving through the sea of bodies, sticking to the wall, hunching forward.

He can’t see me. And I don’t want to see him.

I can’t be here.

Only once I’m out on the sidewalk—under the dark sky and yellow streetlights, sticky summer air pressing into my skin—do I pause long enough for Owen to reach my side again. He raises a hand like he might touch my arm, then stops himself, dropping it back to his side as he asks, “What was that? What just happened?”

I make a conscious effort to slow my breaths, posture rigid as I face away from the building’s entrance. When I can feel the shaking in my hands slow, I reach into my handbag. “I’m calling an Uber.”

“Amelia, what is wrong with you? I’m sorry I made that joke but I’m trying to do you a favor here. You’re really gonna ditch me halfway through the party?”

My posture is fixed rigidly towards the street. I can’t look at Owen right now. Owen and his ice blue eyes.

“I’m done. I got what I came for.” I select the fastest ride option and press Order. I don’t even check the price.

“God, this is classic. You can’t even be nice when someone does you a favor.”

That has me spinning on him, raising my voice. “I don’t have to be nice, Owen. I don’t have to be anything to you.”

He takes a step closer and lowers his voice to a murmur, overcompensating for my outburst. “If you tell me what’s happening, maybe I can help. I’m here because I want to help you, aren’t I?”

“Well it’s not about what you want.”

That shuts him up, but still he won’t leave. I glance down at my phone. Eight minutes left. Pure purgatory. We’re shoulder-to-shoulder on the curb, Owen shaking his head, me watching the minutes refuse to tick by on my phone.