I told myself it was ridiculous, standing there in my own front hallway arguing with an empty apartment about whether or not to walk two doors down for coffee.
I made a second cup instead, sat at my kitchen table, and ate breakfast alone like a person with absolutely nothing complicated going on in her life.
I thought about calling June that second evening, laying the whole thing out for her properly this time … the kiss, the message I'd sent the next morning, the flat two floors below his, the coffee shop information he'd handed me through closing elevator doors like it was nothing at all.
I got as far as opening her name in my contacts again, the same way I had that first awful Monday, and closed it again without dialing, the same way I had then too.
I still wasn't ready to hear an
