“Collette.” Fish taps me on the shoulder, and I jump so hard I nearly spill my drink. I didn’t see him break away from the models but here he is, drink in hand, smelling like expensive cologne and looking at me with that grin. Not the billboard grin, the real one, the one that’s slightly crooked and does something to my rib cage that I refuse to acknowledge.“You came,” he says, and he sounds genuinely surprised, which I guess he would be because I’ve made it perfectly clear I want distance.Distance I created.
“Of course. Congrats, your campaign looks great,” I tell him, keeping my voice even and professional, the way a colleague would.
“Thanks. I’m so happy to see you here.” And just like that, the weeks of careful distance collapse into nothing because the way he says it, warm, surprised, and honestly happy to see me with such golden retriever vibes, makes my chest do something stupid.It’s just champagne on an empty stomach.
“I said to Lettie earlier you don’t scrub up too badly.” Pierre grins, breaking the moment between us. Thank God for brothers with no sense of timing.
“Giving you a run for your money, pretty boy,” Fish says, playfully hitting him in the stomach.
“Please, look at me,” my brother brags.
“Ew.” I groan, sipping my champagne and realizing the glass is empty. When did that happen?
“I’ll get you another,” Felix says, taking my glass. “Come on, Fabio, let’s find some food, I’m starved,” he asks Pierre, who hesitates to leave me alone with Fish. “She’s fine,” Felix says, pushing him along.
And then it’s just us standing on a rooftop in Manhattan, surrounded by six different versions of his face while the city glitters behind him as if it’s in on the joke. The wind picks up, and I cross my arms against the chill, pretending it’s the cold making my skin prickle and not the fact that he’s standing two feet away, looking at me like I’m the only person at his own party.
“So.” He gestures around. “What do you think?”
“I think your ego doesn’t need any more fuel tonight,” I say, slipping back into our old rhythm like the last few weeks never happened. It’s so easy. That’s the problem. It’s too easy.
“That bad?” he asks.
Is he fishing for compliments, or does he genuinely not know?“Come on, you know it’s good,” I tease him.
“Strangers can say anything all day long, but from a friend it means more,” he confesses and then catches himself. “I mean … are we still …” He trails off and runs a hand through his hair, and for the first time tonight, he doesn’t look like the guy on the billboards. He looks uncertain. Like a guy standing on a rooftop not knowing if the woman in front of him is still his friend orjust someone who used to be.Because you made it that way.Because I had to.Now I feel like I’ve overreacted.
“We’re friends, Fish,” I tell him, and I don’t know why my voice comes out softer than I intended. “The internet just made it weird for a minute.”
Something shifts in his face. Relief, maybe. His shoulders drop half an inch, and the tension around his jaw loosens. “Good. Because these last few weeks have sucked not being around you.”
“They have?” The surprise in my voice gives away more than I wanted it to.
“Yeah, who else am I supposed to annoy at work?” he jokes, deflecting, the way he always does when he accidentally says something real.
“I’m sure you were able to annoy lots of other people.”
“That’s true. You owe Evan an apology because he has been dealing with the brunt of my annoyances.”
The image of Evan’s face while Fish pesters him has me bursting out laughing. “Guess I owe him an apology then.” I lean into him without thinking about it. “If I’m honest, he scares me.”
“Me too,” he says, bumping his shoulder against mine. The contact is brief and casual, and my entire arm tingles from it, which is ridiculous, and I’m going to blame the champagne. “So, which photo do you like?” he asks, falling back into our old pattern.
“The navy overcoat.”
He raises a brow. “You like the preppy look. Wasn’t expecting that, but it’s my favorite too. Want me to give you a private showing later?” He winks.
And there he is, the old Fish, cocky, flirtatious, impossible Fish.
“I’m good.” I smile. “But wear that one on game day, the internet girlies will love it.”
He smirks. “Noted.”
We drift toward the railing, the city spread out below us. From up here Manhattan looks like it’s breathing, all those tiny lights pulsing and moving, taxis inching through gridlock twenty-three stories down, the distant wail of a siren somewhere in Midtown. The wind is stronger at the edge, cold enough to make me shiver.
“You look good tonight,” he says quietly, not for the party, just for me.
“You don’t have to give me a compliment because I gave you one.”