What if Logan was right? What if we were perfect together, and I walked away because I was scared of finding out?
What if I just let my stubborn-inner-accountanty thing fuck up my whole life?
I haven't called him. He hasn't called me. The silence stretches between the city and the island like a chasm I dug with my own stupid hands.
The caféaround the corner from my office makes decent sandwiches, and it's close enough that I don't have to think about where to eat lunch. I'm picking at a turkey club and scrolling through emails when a waft of expensive perfume washes over me and someone slides into the chair opposite.
"Hannah Hewitt. I thought that was you."
I look up to find Rebecca Chang smiling at me. Mid-forties, silver-streaked hair pulled back in a neat bun, wearing her signature red tailored blazer. She was a client two years ago—owned a chain of boutique fitness studios and a line of athleisure. Smart, demanding, and one of the few people who ever told me my company was wasting my talent.
"Rebecca. Hi." I set my phone down. "How are you?"
"Busy. Good busy." She tilts her chin to my half-eaten sandwich. "Mind if I steal a few minutes?"
"Of course."
She crosses her legs and studies me. "You look tired."
"Gee, thanks."
"I'm not being rude. You looked tired two years ago, too. Overworked and underpaid at that firm." She raises one perfect brow. "Still there?"
"Still there."
"Pity. You were the best accountant they had, and they treated you like shit."
I laugh despite myself. "Tell me how you really feel."
"I've expanded since we worked together. Three more studios, plus I bought a small restaurant group. Five locations." She leans forward, her voice dropping. "I need someone good with numbers. Someone I can trust. Someone who won't try to upsell me on services I don't need."
"Rebecca…"
"Hear me out. I don't care about your resume or your certifications. I care that you caught that vendor billing error that would've cost me fifteen grand, and you did it during a casual review because you're thorough as hell."
"I think office life isn't for me anymore."
"Good thing I'm not offering you an office. Video call once a week. Email when questions come up. Deliver the same quality of work you always do. I don't care if you work from outer space."
Something that's been locked tight for two weeks rattles. A door I didn't know existed creaked open just a crack.
"I..." My brain spins, making connections I'm not ready to name yet. "Can I think about it?"
"Of course." She stands and pulls out a business card. "My personal number's on the back. Call me when you decide."
After she leaves, I sit in the café and stare at her card. Work from anywhere. Once a week, video call. The same quality of work.
Anywherecould be a lot of places.
It could even be an island.
I'm still processingthe conversation when I walk into my building lobby at six-thirty. The job offer, the possibilities, the door Rebecca just opened—it's all swirling in my head like pieces of a puzzle I'm afraid to put together.
Which is why I almost don't see him at first.
He's sitting in one of the lobby chairs, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. Tall and tan and completely out of place. His hair is longer than I remember, more salt-textured, and he's wearing jeans and a white button-down with the sleeves rolled up.
Logan.