“Don’t be catty. It’s unbecoming,” he murmurs smugly.

I catch the curious glances that Calloway employees are casting our way as we pass. David and I used to start our days strolling in together like this, albeit a touch later. By noon, half the company will assume we’ve reconciled. “Don’t walk so close to me,” I warn, edging away.

“Why?”

“I don’t want anyone to think we’re back together.”

He sighs with exasperation. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Piper. I’ll see you upstairs.”

Gus nods politely as David speeds through the security gate with barely a glance, and then turns his big brown eyes to me. They’re full of wariness, the question in them unmistakable. “Good morning, Miss Calloway. You look especially lovely today.”

“Thanks.” Maybe the cherry-red lipstick was too punchy for a Monday morning, especially when I rarely wear anything beyond a light layer of gloss.

“And how was your weekend?”

“Quiet. I spent it alone.” Just me and Elton, who afforded me nothing more than a cross-eyed glare when I filled his bowl with overpriced canned cat food.

Gus seems to get my hidden meaning—that it was not spent making up with David—because I catch the soft sigh of relief that escapes him. “Good. Everyone needs a weekend to themselves every once in a while.”

“So . . .” My stomach does an anxious flip as I steal a glance at the empty seat. There’s a half-finished cup of coffee sitting on the desk in front of it, so Kyle must be here. But, after my first humiliating encounter with him, I don’t want to let on that I care one way or another, even to Gus. “Do you miss Ivan yet?”

“It’s an adjustment, that’s for sure.” Gus smiles warmly. “But people come and they go all the time. As old as I am, I’ve gotten used to it by now. I figure I’ll just be thankful for the precious time I get with them.”

Unless they were your first love and they fell off the face of the earth, only to resurface thirteen years later and not remember you at all.

Gus looks up at me expectantly, and suddenly I feel foolish for standing here, chatting him up, though it’s something I do every Monday morning. This time, however, I have an ulterior motive, and I’m afraid he knows it.

“I’ll see you later.” I wave my pass over the pad, wait for the light to turn green, and push past the metal arm.

“Have a good day, Miss Calloway,” he offers as I stroll toward the bank of elevators, the click of my heels echoing through the cavernous atrium. I absently paw at the elevator button, my gaze on my phone screen, distracting myself from my disappointment with messages. The doors open and I step forward.

And plow into a solid body.

“Excuse me. I assumed it was empt—” My words cut off as I peer up into familiar eyes. “Oh . . . hey.”

A few beats pass before Kyle responds with a soft “Hey.”

“I . . . my phone. I wasn’t paying attention,” I admit in a stammer, before clearing my throat.

His gaze flickers downward to linger on my mouth for a moment, before flitting back to meet my eyes.

That’s when I see it. The smallest upturn of his lips, the tiniest knowing smile.

It’s just for a second. It’s just long enough.

Actually, I like the red on you. Like, really like it.

I take a deep breath, as an odd mix of vindication and sorrow washes through me.

“It’s good to see you again, Kyle.”

“Good to see you, too, Piper,” he finally offers, his jaw tensing as he peers down at me, though his eyes show a hint of softness that wasn’t there before.

“Not Sarah?” I keep my voice light, casual, as if Friday’s slight didn’t leave a deep wound, didn’t keep my mind spinning all weekend long.

The tip of his tongue catches the corner of his mouth, where nothing but a faint scar from his lip ring remains. “Yeah. I’m . . . That was . . . Sorry about that.”

“How could you forget my name?” This time, I can’t hide the hurt.

His lips twist with thought, as if considering how to answer. “I didn’t,” he finally admits, his gaze landing on his black boots. “I was surprised and unprepared. I was . . . a jerk.”

“Yeah. You were.” And the lobby at seven thirty on Monday morning is not the place to demand a better explanation.

His broad chest lifts with a deep sigh. “So, how are you?” His voice remains cool. Does he really want to know? Or is this just a formality?

I push aside that thought. “I’m good. Great, actually.”

“Yeah, seems like it.” I detect a sardonic flavor in his tone as his hazel eyes roam the atrium’s architecture.

“And you? You seem to be doing well.” My gaze drifts over his uniform.

“Can’t complain. Rikell’s a decent company. I get benefits and holidays. You know, that sort of stuff.” He folds his arms across his chest, making his biceps look that much bigger and more sculpted in the short sleeves of his uniform shirt.

And I catch myself staring at them, for far too long. So long that he begins shifting on his feet. “How many is that now?” I nod toward the sleeve of ink, even as my cheeks flush.

He stretches his arm out in front of him, slowly turning it this way and that, as if admiring his own tattoos. “I stopped counting a long time ago.”

“I’ll bet.” I clear my throat. “Do you live in the city?”

“Summer Heights.”

“Oh, yeah? Nice. We have a few buildings out there.” It’s a good half-hour commute by car—longer, by public transit—an area considered more affordable for young families and people just starting out.

“Yeah, well, we’re renting for now. We’ll see how we like it.”

We’re renting.

We’ll see how we like it.

Of course Kyle’s living with someone. He’s thirty years old. My stomach tightens as my gaze drops to his left hand. There’s no wedding band. Not even a tan line of one. An unexpected wave of relief hits me, followed by that voice inside my head, reminding me that a missing ring doesn’t mean he’s not married. Or at least madly in love with someone: that the next step isn’t inevitable.

I push that painful thought aside. “I just live a few blocks from here. With Ashley and Christa.”