Jake texts her Sunday afternoon. Two words.
Come in.
Rachel drives to the office. The floor is empty, all screens dark. Jake sits at his desk with a folder and a cup of coffee that's clearly been there a while.
He doesn't stand when she walks in.
"You lied to me," he says.
"I lie to everyone. Specify."
"Yesterday. Broker meeting." He turns the folder around. "There's no broker in Old Town."
Rachel sits on the edge of his desk.
"How long have you known."
"Three weeks." He leans back. "You get a look when you come back from somewhere. You had it after Chicago. You had it worse on Monday." A beat. "Twice since."
"You've been counting."
"Yes."
She almost laughs. "You're twenty-two."
"And you're thirty, you're married, you're sleeping with at least one other person, and the way you
