Chapter 1

The day before Valentine's, my boyfriend told me he had a three-day work trip to New Orleans.

I offered to come along, but he said:

"It's a company project. Bringing you wouldn't be appropriate."

The very next day, I saw Chloe—my best friend—post on Instagram: a nighttime shot of St. Louis Cathedral.

The caption read: "NOLA is stunning. Thanks Ethan, for showing me these lights tonight."

I called him. He picked up right away.

In the background, Chloe's flirty voice chimed in, "Ethan, this skewer of shrimp is for you."

My voice went hoarse. "Aren't you supposed to be on a work trip alone?"

He answered lightly.

"Oh, Chloe wanted to get out for a bit, so I brought her along. It's on the way anyway."

"The company's covering it. It's just one extra hotel room."

After I hung up, Chloe posted another Story.

She and Ethan at the French Market, each holding a Cajun shrimp skewer, both beaming.

It wasn't until the evening of the third day that I finally got a message from Ethan.

"Nora, I'm coming back tomorrow. Want anything as a souvenir?"

I stared at my screen. Chloe had just posted her eighth New Orleans location tag.

The caption read: "Third trip with Ethan. Perfect."

I typed slowly: "No need. Just have fun."

He replied instantly: "You're so understanding. I'll take you next time."

I didn't respond. Because I knew—there wouldn't be a next time.

...

That night, when Ethan came home, he brought Chloe through the door with him.

I was sitting on the couch, lights off, just sitting there.

The door opened, and Chloe's laughter poured in first.

"Nora!" She had her arm hooked through Ethan's, the other hand hauling two stuffed paper bags. "We brought back so much for you!"

Ethan changed his shoes, glanced my way, tone casual:

"Chloe's place is out of the way. She'll stay in the guest room tonight, just make do."

I looked at him.

He'd already hung up his coat and was leaning down to take the paper bags from Chloe, setting them on the table.

Chloe unpacked everything one by one—pralines, beignet mix, a bottle of Cajun spice, a limited-edition mini Tabasco.

And a tote bag printed with the wrought-iron balconies of the French Quarter.

"Come on, Nora, sit over here!"

She patted the couch, and once I moved over, she launched into stories about NOLA.

"Did you know, the moment they lit up Jackson Square at night, I just froze."

"Ethan was right there next to me. I told him I'd never seen anything so beautiful in my life!"

"She stood there for a good twenty minutes. I couldn't pull her away."

Ethan chimed in, a smile at the corner of his mouth.

"And then Bourbon Street!" Chloe turned to him. "Ethan, how many oysters did you have that night?"

"A dozen."

"Right! A whole dozen! I told him, you can really eat—"

The two of them chatted and laughed. I couldn't get a word in.

Not that anyone cared whether I could.

I suddenly remembered a week ago, when I'd leaned over the desk and shown Ethan my Valentine's Day plans on my phone.

I'd looked up a couple's restaurant in advance.

He'd pulled me close then, resting his chin on top of my head, and said:

"Valentine's is just us two. Nobody's gonna get in the way."

Valentine's was here now. So this was his idea of nobody getting in the way?

"Nora?" Chloe called.

She switched topics, now telling me about a vintage photo studio in the French Quarter, how Ethan had picked out a cream-colored Southern-belle gown for her, and how passersby had stopped to take pictures when she tried it on.

"Ethan said I looked like I'd stepped out of an old movie. Isn't he too sweet?"

Ethan lowered his head and laughed, not denying it.

I looked away and stared at the pile of stuff on the table.

Their laughter filled the whole living room. I sat at the end of the couch like a decoration someone had put in the wrong place.

Ethan must have noticed how quiet I'd gotten. He casually pulled a few items toward me and said:

"These are for you. Picked them out just for you. Don't overthink it, alright? I was just bringing her along for a change of scene. You get it, right?"

I looked down at the items.

A bottle of Tabasco, a bag of pecan candies, and a box of cookies with a crushed corner.

Picked out just for me, he said.

Get it.

I rolled the phrase around silently, didn't say it out loud.

Then I got up and walked toward the bedroom. Neither of them noticed. They kept laughing in the living room.

I closed the bedroom door behind me. The sounds outside didn't disappear, just got a little quieter.

Ethan's backpack was slung over the back of a chair. I bumped it when I shut the door.

The zipper hadn't been closed properly. A lipstick rolled out and landed on the floor.

I bent down to pick it up.

Strawberry flavored. Not my shade.

I peered inside the bag and saw a Polaroid.

Bourbon Street. A whole neon-lit wall as the backdrop.

Ethan on the right. Chloe leaning sideways against him. His hand on her shoulder. Both of them laughing.

Underneath was a hotel receipt.

Yeah. One room.

I put everything back, closed the bag, and looked out the window.

Out in the living room, Chloe was asking Ethan what building was printed on the tote bag.

He was explaining, she was laughing. Their voices sounded close enough to be in the same room with me.

I didn't sleep that night.

At three in the morning, I opened my phone and pulled up an email I'd left sitting for two months.

It was from my advisor in Paris, inviting me to a three-year research program in France.

The last time I'd opened it was one evening when Ethan was propped up in bed watching a show.

I'd hesitated for a long time, snuck a glance at him, and finally closed it.

Back then, I couldn't bear to leave him.

Now, I opened the reply box:

"Professor Laurent, I'm confirming my acceptance of the research position. Please advise on the next steps."