I’d pushed my flight to New York. The HR head of the Manhattan firm had been firm about my Monday morning start date, giving me a final weekend to close the chapter on my life in Boston.

I chose to spend two of them here.

"More wine, Evelyn?" Victoria asked.

"I'm fine," I said.

We sat at a corner table inside the Italian restaurant on Newbury Street. The dim lighting hid the exhaustion under my eyes.

"Will was just telling me about this place," Victoria said. She leaned into his shoulder. "You two have history."

"A bit," I said.

"He brought her here for his eighteenth birthday," William said smoothly. He didn't look at me. He kept his focus on the wine list.

"That was six years ago," I said.

"Did you guys date?" Victoria asked, her tone entirely innocent.

"No," William answered before I could open my mouth. "Just friends."

"He gave me his Harvard class ring at this exact table," I said. I tapped the wood between us.

William flipped a page of the menu. "A joke, Eve."

"You slid it onto my finger," I said. "You told me if we were thirty and single, you'd marry me."

Victoria laughed, a bright, melodic sound. "Good thing he met me at twenty-four, then."

William finally smiled. He reached over and tucked a strand of hair behind Victoria's ear. He didn't offer a rebuttal to my statement. He just let her erase six years of my hope with a single laugh.

The waiter arrived and set a massive seafood platter between us. Steam rose from the garlic butter and roasted lemons.

"Oh, these look amazing," Victoria said. She picked up a linen napkin. "But I hate peeling them. It ruins my manicure."

William reached across the table. "Let me."

"You?" I asked.

William didn't even hand Victoria a menu. He simply told the waiter, "She’ll have the Wagyu, medium-rare, and the 2015 Barolo," as if her own voice were redundant.

He spent the rest of the meal guiding the conversation like a conductor, ensuring Victoria was dazzled while I was effectively silenced.

William picked up his napkin. He wiped a drop of sauce from her chin with his thumb.

Then he looked straight at me.

His expression carried no guilt. He wanted me to witness this. He wanted to prove that his refusal last year wasn't about the mess or the suit. It was about me. I simply wasn't worth the effort.

My chest didn't tighten. The tears I expected didn't come. Instead, a strange, hollow calm settled over me.

I lifted my wine glass.

"You two look good together," I said.

The crystal clinked against the wood as I set it down.

William's hand froze. The smugness drained from his features. "What did you say?"

"You heard me," I said. "You make a great couple."

His jaw clamped shut. He threw the soiled napkin onto his plate. "Stop acting like a martyr, Eve."

"I'm just agreeing with you, Will."

"You're trying to make me feel guilty," he snapped. "I told you we were just friends."

"And I accepted it," I said. "Eat your dinner."

Loud cheers erupted from the booth to our right, cutting off his reply. Four guys sat around an empty pitcher of beer.

"You lost the bet, Calloway," a blonde guy yelled. "Truth or dare."

"Dare," a deep voice answered.

"I dare you to ask the prettiest girl in this place for a drink."

William rolled his eyes. "Townies. They shouldn't let them in here."

A chair scraped loudly against the floorboards.

A young man walked toward our section. He wore a faded leather jacket and dark jeans.

Victoria adjusted her posture. She smoothed her dress, ready with a polite rejection.

The man walked right past her.

He stopped beside my chair.

"Can I buy you a drink?" he asked.

I looked up. He couldn't have been older than twenty-two. A silver stud caught the candlelight in his left ear.

"Me?" I asked.

"You're the prettiest girl in the room," he said. "A bet's a bet, but I'd have asked you anyway."

Victoria scoffed quietly into her wine glass.

"I'm Ethan," he said. "Ethan Calloway."

He rested his hand on the back of the empty chair next to me. Black motor oil stained the creases of his knuckles. He didn't try to hide his rough hands.

"She's busy," William barked.

Ethan didn't even blink at William. He kept his dark eyes fixed on my face. "I work down at the Somerville auto shop as an apprentice. Figured I'd try my luck before my shift tomorrow."

"She doesn't drink with mechanics," William said. He tossed his fork onto his plate. "Go back to your table before I call the manager."

Ethan finally shifted his gaze to William. A slow, mocking smile spread across his face. "I asked the lady, not her dad."

William's face flushed a deep, ugly red. He hated being mocked. He hated losing control of his environment. He looked at me, expecting me to dismiss Ethan and fall back into my silent, supportive role.

"Tell him to leave, Eve," William commanded.

I looked at Ethan's grease-stained hands. They were dirty from real work. William's hands were only clean because he made everyone else clean up his messes.

I stood up.

I grabbed my wool coat from the back of the chair.

"Actually," I said to Ethan. "You can buy me pancakes."

Ethan let out a sharp laugh. "I know a diner."

"Eve," William warned.

I slipped my arms into my coat sleeves. "Enjoy your dinner, Victoria."

I took a step toward the aisle.

William shot out of his seat. His hand clamped around my left wrist. His fingers dug directly into my burn scar.

"Sit down," he ordered.

I stared at his clean, manicured fingers pressing into my damaged skin.

"Take your hand off me," I said.

"You are making a scene over nothing," William hissed. "You're embarrassing yourself."

Ethan stepped closer. The relaxed slope of his shoulders vanished. "She told you to back off, man."

William glared at the mechanic. "Stay out of this. She's my assistant."

"I quit," I said.

William snapped his attention back to me. "What?"

"I quit the foundation. I'm leaving."

"You're just throwing a tantrum because I brought Victoria here," he said, his grip tightening. "You'll be at the office on Monday."

I yanked my arm forward. His fingers slipped off my wrist.

"You don't get to tell me what to do anymore," I said.

I turned my back on William Ashford. I didn't check to see his reaction. I didn't wait for Victoria to say goodbye.

I walked toward the exit.

Ethan fell into step beside me. He pushed the heavy glass door open, letting the cold Boston air rush in.

"So," Ethan said as we hit the sidewalk. "Blueberry or chocolate chip?"

"Chocolate chip," I said.

A black town car idled at the curb. The rear window rolled down.

"Ms. Bennett," a voice called out from the dark interior.

I stopped walking. It was the same voice from the phone this morning. My new supervisor.

"Ms. Bennett, the firm's car is here," the driver said, checking his watch. "The relocation package covers your flight tonight. It's time to go."

"Turn the heat up, will you?" I yelled over the roaring wind.

Ethan Calloway laughed. The sound barely cut through the gravelly baritone of Johnny Cash blasting from the cracked speakers.

"Heater's busted, Eve. You'll have to survive on pure adrenaline."

He steered the beat-up, graffiti-sprayed Ford F-150 onto Highway 93 North.

I studied his profile as we sped past the blurry streetlights. He was twenty-two, but he carried himself with a rougher, sharper edge than the Ivy League boys I usually surrounded myself with. A silver stud caught the glare of the dashboard in his left ear. A faded tattoo peeked out from the rolled-up sleeve of his gray flannel shirt. When he smiled, a shallow dimple appeared on his left cheek.

"You saved my life back there," I said, leaning closer to the center console so he could hear me over the wind.

"That dinner was a hostage situation," Ethan replied, keeping his eyes firmly on the dark road. "I couldn't leave you sitting next to that stiff in the three-piece suit."

"William isn't a stiff. He just likes things a certain way."

"Right. Like suffocating everyone around him. I watched him order your food for you, Eve. He didn't even ask what you wanted."

"He knows what I like."

"He ordered you a dry salad. You're currently shivering in a freezing truck. You need carbs, not lettuce."

I crossed my arms over my chest, defensive but unable to argue with his logic. "We've been friends for ten years. He's just protective."

"Protective." Ethan scoffed, the sound harsh over the country music. "Is that what they call it in his tax bracket?"

Rain started hitting the windshield in heavy, angry drops. Ethan rolled his window up halfway, but the freezing wind still whipped my hair into a tangled mess across my face. I didn't care. For the first time all week, the crushing weight on my chest lifted. The suffocating pressure of William's demands, of Victoria's oblivious perfection, faded into the rearview mirror.

"Hungry?" Ethan asked, hitting the turn signal.

"Starving."

He pulled off the highway and into the gravel lot of a 24-hour diner. The flickering red neon sign bled into the foggy, rain-slicked night, casting long, eerie shadows across the hood of the truck.

We dashed inside through the downpour. The bell above the glass door jingled sharply. We grabbed a faded vinyl booth in the back corner, away from the few truck drivers hunched over the counter.

A tired waitress walked over, not bothering to hand us menus.

"Two orders of blueberry pancakes," Ethan told her, pulling some damp napkins from the metal dispenser. "And a hot chocolate for the lady."

"You remember my order from the shop?" I asked, sliding out of my wet jacket.

"I pay attention."

"I only came into the garage once to drop off my car for an oil change."

"You bought a hot chocolate and a blueberry muffin from the vending machine while you waited," Ethan pointed out. "Pancakes are the diner equivalent. Upgrade."

He rested his arms on the sticky Formica table. I stared at his hands. Dark grease stained the deep creases of his knuckles, and tiny, healing cuts covered his fingers. He spent his days pulling engines apart as an apprentice at a Cambridge auto repair shop. They were the hands of someone who worked for every single dollar.

The waitress dropped our plates on the table with a loud clatter. Ethan immediately pushed the larger stack of pancakes across the table toward me.

"Eat," he ordered gently.

I picked up my fork, slicing into the syrupy stack. "Aren't you going to eat?"

He picked up his own fork and poked at the top pancake. He didn't take a bite. The diner grew quiet, save for the hum of the old refrigerator in the kitchen.

"I didn't see you for the first time at the restaurant," he said. His voice dropped, low and careful, as if afraid he might scare me away.

I paused with my fork halfway to my mouth. "What do you mean? We met at the garage on Tuesday."

"No." He shook his head, his eyes fixing on the table. "I officially met you on Tuesday. I saw you three months ago."

"Where?"

"New England Aquarium."

My stomach plummeted. I set my fork down. The metal clinked sharply against the thick ceramic plate.

"You were standing in front of the jellyfish tank," Ethan continued. He kept his gaze on his food, pushing a stray blueberry through the dark syrup. "You were completely alone, holding two massive sticks of blue cotton candy. And you were crying."

I swallowed hard, my throat turning dry. "You saw that."

"Hard to miss. You were wearing this bright red sweater. A little girl in a yellow raincoat bumped right into your knees. She dropped her stuffed animal. You dropped a cotton candy. Then you both just squatted there on the floor, wiping each other's tears."

My throat closed up entirely. The memory hit me with the force of a physical blow, knocking the air from my lungs.

I had bought those aquarium tickets weeks in advance. William had promised he would go. *I need a break from studying, Eve. Let's go look at the sharks.*

I stood by the entrance from the minute the glass doors opened. I watched families walk in, couples holding hands, school groups laughing. Four hours later, my phone vibrated in my pocket. I remembered staring at the glowing screen in the dim blue light of the aquatic tunnel.

*Sorry, the firm needs me. Rain check?*

I waited from opening until closing. I didn't eat. I didn't move from the exhibits. I stayed until the security guards politely asked me to leave.

"Hey." Ethan's voice pulled me back to the cold diner booth.

I blinked, and a hot tear slipped down my cheek, tracing a wet path to my jaw.

He reached across the table. His thumb brushed just below my eye, catching the drop before it fell. His skin felt rough against my face. The thick calluses from wrenches and heavy engine blocks scraped gently against my cheek.

It was ten thousand times warmer than William's perfectly manicured, pampered hands.

"Why were you crying, Eve?" he asked softly, his thumb lingering for a fraction of a second before he pulled away.

"A boy," I whispered, staring down at my hands.

"He's a fool."

"He's my best friend."

Ethan leaned back against the red vinyl, his jaw tightening. The muscles in his neck flexed. "A best friend doesn't leave you crying in an aquarium."

"You don't know the whole story."

"I know enough." His tone sharpened, cutting through the quiet diner. "I know he dragged you to that dinner tonight just to show off your roommate. I know you looked like you were going to shatter into a million pieces before I pulled the fire alarm."

I stared at him, my heart hammering violently against my ribs. "You pulled the alarm?"

"I told you. Hostage situation." He offered that dimpled smile again, though the humor didn't quite reach his eyes. "Eat your pancakes, Eve."

I picked up my fork again, my hands trembling slightly. The diner felt completely isolated from the rest of the world, a safe bubble suspended in the foggy night.

Then, my phone buzzed violently in my jacket pocket.

The harsh vibration shattered the quiet.

I pulled the device out. The screen lit up the dark corner of our booth, flashing William's name in bold black letters.

"Ignore it," Ethan instructed, his expression hardening instantly.

"I have to answer it." I swiped the screen and pressed the cold phone to my ear. "Will?"

"Where are you?" William's voice didn't just sound angry. It sounded frantic, bordering on unhinged. "The fire department cleared the building, but Victoria is gone. And my watch is missing."

I froze in the booth. "What?"

"My grandfather's Rolex, Eve. It's gone. Who the hell did you leave with?"