Page 101 of Famous for a Living

I grin, thoughtfully dipping in another piece of cornbread as I imagine her in her first days, barreling through the office and insisting on a job. “Well, she is quite the coffee getter. The pot is always full no matter how many times everybody grabs a cup.”

The couple across from us has begun kissing rather passionately, and I look down at my half-eaten bowl. “But seriously, Zaiah. That’s really good of you. Taking care of her like that.”

He sets the stick on the ground, returns to his spot on the log. “I’m her only child. I wouldn’t have left if she hadn’t been open to joining me.”

He says it so matter-of-factly. As though of course he wouldn’t have pursued his dreams. He would have given up everything entirely and stuck around in that crowded city, where the buildings touch the sky and . . . what had he said? “On my street the buildings were so tall I didn’t see the sun until noon. Two hours later, it was gone.”

He would have opted to live there, to make the most of his life like a fish trying to breathe out of water, had Peggy not agreed to follow in his footsteps.

Who would Zaiah Smith be without his ranger uniform?

What sort of job would suit him in the city?

I run through all the options, coming up empty. And that leaves a foreboding feeling in my chest that I can’t bring myself to consider. Time to think of something else. Talk of something else.

“So. Are you going to tell me what was going on at the coffee shop?” I throw out.

A shiver runs through me, both the fire and my jacket insufficient in meeting my needs. I put the bowl down on the ground. Cross my arms over my chest.

I didn’t mean necessarily to jump back to that topic, but it’s something we need to air out.

“Ah. The coffee shop.”

“When I asked—”

“I know. I remember.” He dips his chin as though trying to decide what all to say.

When he looks up again, I can tell that he’s made a decision. “Two years ago I was seeing someone. Had been . . . for a while.”

I frown slightly. It’s none of my business, of course. More to the point, it’s in the past. But still. I don’t love the idea of him having dated someone for a while.

Something about the idea makes me . . . what? Jealous?

It is ridiculous. A ridiculous notion to be possibly jealous of someone who clearly isn’t in his life anymore. Ridiculous to wish—is that what I’m actually doing here?—that I was the one in his life back then.

Ridiculous.

Truly. Ridiculous.

“Hannah was great.”

Oh wonderful. Now she has a name.

“We met down at the coffee shop a number of years ago—”

A number of years?

Years?

“How many?” I ask suspiciously.

“About ten.”

Were I still eating the cornbread, I would’ve choked. “Ten? You dated a girl for ten years?”

“We were friends for a long part of that time. She dated another friend of mine. When they broke up, we took a shot. And it worked. We worked.”

We lapse into silence.