“I assume all expenses will be covered?” Dominic asks.

“Within reason,” Kent says. “You’ll both have your company cards.”

“Good. Because I tend to get really hungry on weekends. Thirsty, too.” He stares Kent down. They look like two lions about to fight over a gazelle, though I’m not sure what exactly the gazelle is in this scenario.

“As I said, the station will cover it within reason.” Kent stands. “Emma will give you all the information. I have a meeting with the board. I trust we’re done here for now?”

“Actually,” I say, because some part of me thinks that if I give in, if I make this weekend mess easier, then maybe he’ll give me something I want in return. “Hey, Kent, while I have you.” I feel the weight of his gaze and Dominic’s, and I try to power through my anxiety. “I wanted to talk to you about this Ex Talk idea I had about, um, about grief and loss. Ruthie wanted me to run it by you, since it’s sort of a heavier topic for the show—”

“This really isn’t the time, Shay.”

A swift kick to my chest. It’s the first time Kent has outright dismissed me. I’ve always assumed he liked me, or at least respected me.

It makes me wonder what he would have said if Dominic had suggested it.

“I—okay,” I say, wishing Dominic hadn’t heard me get shut down. “I guess we’ll just go to work, then.”

Kent smiles. “Good plan. And enjoy the weekend, really. You should probably head out this afternoon if you want to beat traffic.”

My legs stop working as soon as we leave Kent’s office.

“I was going to go to a cake tasting with my mom this weekend,” I say, crumbling against the wall. “And—and I’d have to take Steve, but he’s never been on that long of a car trip with me, and I’m not ready to leave him with someone else yet. I—” I suck in a deep breath. My lungs are tight. Panic mode. Shit, shit, I don’t want him to see me like this.

“Shay.” He stands in front of me, placing strong hands on my shoulders. I don’t like what my name in his mouth does to me, and I like even less the way his palms settle so naturally into the fabric of my blazer. “This sucks, I know. I’m just as pissed as you are. But it’s one weekend. We can do it. We do this, and maybe we can take some short days next week, and you can be with your mom. It’s for the show, right? Neither of us wants to see this show go down.”

We’re not supposed to touch like this, and we’re not supposed to take elevators together or long car rides or spend an entire weekend on an island together. Distance. Professionalism. That was supposed to be my strategy.

“Besides,” he says with a half smile, “I want to meet your dog. Also, how many cases of beer do you think is ‘within reason’?”

I roll my eyes, but his reassurance makes me feel a little better.

Except it’s not going to be easy to avoid him while trapped in a house together all weekend.

I pray to my radio gods, the ones who act cool and collected in even the most hostile of interviews. If Terry Gross survived her nightmare interview with Gene Simmons, then I can do this.

Terry Gross, Rachel Martin, Audie Cornish—give me strength.

19

Three hours in Friday rush-hour traffic. One and a half hours on a ferry. Eleven minutes waiting for Dominic to pick the right snacks at the island mini-mart. Another half hour in the car. Twenty minutes arguing over the Google Maps directions telling us to swim across a body of water that would have taken us into Canadian territory.

That’s how long it takes for Dominic and me to get to the Airbnb house the station rented for us on the northern tip of Orcas Island, a little horseshoe-shaped piece of land in the northwest corner of the state.

This is also when it starts raining.

“Gotta love the Pacific Northwest,” Dominic mutters as we shut the car doors and make a run for the house with our luggage.

Steve pulls to the end of his leash, looking for the perfect tree to pee on. “This is Steve Rogers,” I told Dominic when I picked him up. “The furriest Avenger?” he asked. It was the only moment of levity on our entire trip. Shortly thereafter, I learned that Dominic has horrendous taste in music. Even though I was driving, he kept insisting we listen to his favorite radio station from his teen years, which used to play alternative but now plays whatever the hell “adult contemporary” is. I am an adult, and adult contemporary is garbage. Finally, we agreed to turn my Spotify to random.

Inside, Dominic drops our bags in the entryway before manspreading across the couch in the living room.

“I guess this is where we bond,” I say.

“Right,” he says, an edge to his voice. “Because Kent assumes we can conjure a relationship from thin air.”

That stings a little. Like we don’t have any kind of relationship at all when the past couple of months, we’ve gained at least a modicum of closeness.

Though, to be fair, that drunken kiss might have obliterated it.

The house is cute and quaint, mahogany furniture with blue accents and a real wood fireplace. Hanging plants, sprawling landscapes by Orcas Island artists. Exactly the kind of place two people might enjoy spending time together if they enjoyed spending time with each other.