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One new message.

Olivia

Can you send me a picture of yourself? I’m trying to make sure you’re a real person.

I laugh out loud.

Luke

Probably easier if I just send you my Instagram. Hopefully my face doesn’t scare you away.

I hit send, along with the link to my page.

The response comes almost immediately.

Requested.

I open Instagram and approve it, then request to follow her back.

Curiosity wins. I’ve spent the better part of the day talking to someone I couldn’t pick out of a crowd, and it’ll be nice to put a face with the conversation.

The notification pops up and my cheeks ache with how much I’ve been smiling.

Olivia accepted your follow request.

I tap her profile.

There aren’t many pictures, and I like that too. A woman who lives more than she posts. A few with friends, her laughing in the middle of them. One of a bookshelf, spines lined up straight, which tells me something about her before I even know what. One of her holding a baby wrapped in a pink blanket, looking down at it like she’s scared to breathe wrong.

Then one of just her.

And I stop scrolling.

She’s not posing. That’s the first thing I notice. She’s caught mid-laugh, head tipped, like whoever held the camera said something she didn’t see coming. Long blonde hair, most of it loose, one piece tucked behind her ear like she did it without thinking. Coffee in her hand, of course there is. The light’s coming in low and gold, catching the side of her face and the edge of the cup and the little crease at the corner of her eyes.

I zoom in before I can talk myself out of it. Brown eyes, a few freckles I already can’t wait to count. A smile that is true and genuine.

I figured the face wouldn’t match the voice. People almost never match the version of themselves they hang online.

She matches. She’s worse than matches. She’s exactly the woman I’ve been talking to, except now she’s got a face, and the face is a problem.

A very good problem.

I set the phone on my chest and stare at the ceiling.

This coffee just got a lot more intimidating.

Chapter 4

Olivia

Tonight my dinner is lemon herb chicken with roasted vegetables and homemade mashed potatoes.

Nothing fancy.

Just enough steps to keep my hands busy.

I’ve always liked recipes that require a little effort. Chopping vegetables. Measuring spices. Stirring a sauce that can’t be rushed. There is something calming about following directions that don’t involve emotions.