Freya Collins had spent three years imagining what she would say if she ever saw Evan Mercer again.
None of the speeches began with hello.
Some were dignified. Some were cruel. Several ended with her walking away before he could answer, which was how Freya knew those particular versions had been written by pride rather than reality.
Then she saw him across a rooftop in downtown Chicago, and every rehearsed sentence disappeared.
The party was being held on the twenty-sixth floor of a renovated office building overlooking the river. Strings of warm bulbs crossed above an open terrace, music drifted from speakers beside the bar, and the skyline glittered beyond the glass railing. Freya stood with a wineglass in both hands, wearing a fitted black dress and the silver necklace her mother had given her when she finished graduate school.
Three women behind her had stopped pretending not to stare.
Leah Moreno leaned close enough that Freya could feel her breath.
“Is that him?”
Freya did not answer.
Maya Patel whispered, “That is absolutely him.”
Brooke Sullivan made a sound somewhere between outrage and delight.
“Oh, this is incredible.”
Freya turned.
“This is not incredible.”
“It is for us.”
“Brooke.”
“You told us he moved to Seattle.”
“He did.”
“Apparently Seattle returned him.”
Freya looked back.
Evan stood near the railing in a white shirt with the sleeves folded to his forearms, dark trousers, and the same stainless-steel watch he had worn when they were together. His brown hair was shorter now. He looked slightly older through the face, perhaps leaner, but unmistakably Evan.
Thirty-four now.
Thirty-one when he disappeared.
He was talking to a man Freya vaguely recognized from the architecture firm sponsoring the evening. Evan smiled at something the man said, then turned.
Their eyes met.
The smile vanished.
Not dramatically.
His face simply stopped.
Freya’s heart began beating so hard she became angry at her own body.
Brooke whispered, “He saw you.”
“Yes.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Nothing.”
Evan was still looking at her.
Leah said, “He looks like he’s seen a ghost.”
Freya laughed once.
“That would require him to remember I existed.”
Maya touched her arm.
“Freya.”
“I’m fine.”
Nobody believed her.
The event was supposed to celebrate the completion of Riverline Commons, a mixed-use redevelopment project that had taken nearly six years of zoning battles, financing changes, environmental review, neighborhood meetings, and construction delays. Freya’s planning firm had consulted during the public-access phase. Evan’s engineering company had joined later to resolve a structural problem in one of the older buildings.
Freya had known his company was involved.
She had not known he was.
That information had apparently existed in a part of the project she never opened.
Or perhaps she had avoided opening it.
Both were possible.
Evan said something to the man beside him.
Then began walking toward her.
Brooke’s eyes widened.
“Oh, he has nerve.”
“Stop.”
“I’m serious.”
“Brooke.”
“What?”
“Do not help.”
Maya almost laughed.
Freya gave her a look.
“No one help.”
Leah raised both hands.
“We are furniture.”
“Quiet furniture.”
Evan stopped several feet away.
For one second neither spoke.
He looked at Freya the way someone looks at a house they once lived in after discovering strangers have repainted the front door.
“Freya.”
There it was.
Her name in his voice.
Three years gone and somehow he still said the first syllable softly.
She hated that.
“Evan.”
His eyes moved briefly toward the women behind her.
Leah smiled politely.
Brooke did not.
Maya saved everyone.
“Would anyone like another drink?”
Leah nodded immediately.
“Desperately.”
Brooke opened her mouth.
Maya grabbed her elbow.
“We’re going.”
Brooke pointed at Freya.
“I am six feet away if you need a witness.”
“Go.”
They left.
Not six feet.
Perhaps fifteen.
Still watching.
Evan glanced after them.
“Your friends hate me.”
Freya stared.
“You sound surprised.”
“I am.”
That answer almost made her laugh.
“You have no idea why?”
“Apparently not.”
Her smile disappeared.
Of course.
That was exactly what a man who had vanished would say.
She lifted her glass.
“You don’t get to do that.”
“Do what?”
“Stand here smiling like we misplaced each other at a train station.”
Evan’s expression changed.
“I’m not smiling.”
“You were.”
“Because I was nervous.”
Freya stared.
“That is an interesting emotion for you to discover now.”
His jaw tightened.
“Okay.”