I opened my mouth. Then remembered something obvious.
We hadn't exchanged numbers.
"Okay. That's annoyingly fair."
His smile returned.
Sophie said, "For the record, I told him to go to the café."
Adrian gave her a look.
She ignored him. "He thought if you saw him without warning, you'd feel obligated to stay."
I looked at Adrian. "Is that true?"
He hesitated. Then nodded.
"You thought I'd pity you."
"Maybe."
That answer hurt. Not because it was insulting. Because I could understand it.
I sat down. Adrian lowered himself into the chair across from me.
For the next two hours, he told me the rest.
The surgery. Waking up unable to properly move his left arm.
Weeks of struggling to speak clearly. Physical therapy. Speech therapy.
Learning to button a shirt again.
Learning to walk without someone beside him.
There were pauses. Some sentences took time.
I waited.
And after about 20 minutes, I stopped noticing the pauses as much.
I told him about my year too. My promotion. My two terrible dating attempts.
My mother referring to him as "café man."
He laughed. "She knows?"
"Everyone knows."
"That's horrifying."
"You created the situation."
"Fair."
Later, Sophie left to get dinner.
Adrian watched her go.
Then he said, "There's one more thing."
I groaned. "If you tell me you're secretly married, I'm leaving."
He laughed. "No wife."
"International fugitive?"
"Emily."
"What?"
