Her phone, lying face-up on the blanket between them, lit up.
Julian had planned a surprise—a picnic on the rooftop deck overlooking the city lights. He’d popped open a bottle of vintage champagne. He looked at her over the rim of his glass and said, “Lila, I have to tell you something. I’m not going back. I’m taking the permanent position here. I want to see where this goes. For real.”
Or so she thought.
He didn’t believe her. She could see it in the slight tightening of his jaw. But he let it go.
The text was from a saved contact. The timestamp was wrong—Mark had deliberately backdated it to look like it was from last night, a cruel trick. But Julian didn’t know that.
“Oh my God,” Lila gasped, grabbing a stack of napkins. “I am so, so sorry. I’m a disaster. A human earthquake. My mother says I shouldn’t be allowed near liquids.”
“Julian,” she began, setting down her glass. “Before you say anything else, there’s something you should know. About before. About a guy named—”
