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“He might be a little loopy as he wakes up,” the nurse warns me. “It’ll pass.”

Lorenzo is stirring, but it takes a few minutes before he opens his eyes. He blinks a couple of times but doesn’t seem to notice me sitting next to the bed.

“Hey, L,” I say softly, placing my hand on his arm.

He turns to me. “Hey.” His voice is gravelly. “You came.”

He’s cute when he’s confused. “Yeah, I’ve been here all morning, remember?”

He hesitates. “No.”

I smile. “That’s okay. Dr. Halpert says everything went perfectly. You’re going to be feeling great pretty soon.”

“I feel pretty fucking great right now,” he says, a languid grin taking over his face. He closes his eyes, the smile fixed in place.

I like Lorenzo when he’s high,I think guiltily. He’s grown so uptight in the last few years, not that I blame him. But this reminds me of how he used to be back when we were teens. Before the accident, Lorenzo made everything fun.Too fun,I can imagine him saying with regret in his eyes. He doesn’t let himself do that anymore.

I shift in my chair to grab my phone from my purse, and Lorenzo’s eyes open.

He reaches over, his hand finding my knee. “Don’t leave.”

My heart tugs. “I’m not. I’m right here.”

With some effort, he turns his head to look at me straight on. His eyes are round and not quite clear, and I wonder whether he’s even seeing me at all. He’s looking at me like he wants to say something, so I offer an encouraging smile. But he gives a little shake of his head and turns back, closing his eyes again.

I settle in my chair, wondering how long it’ll be until he’s lucid enough to be released. I have a slow-cooker chicken stock simmering away in Lorenzo’s kitchen, and I’m eager to turn it into a nice soup in time for dinner. A fresh baguette from the French bakery would pair perfectly, but Lorenzo’s raspy voice reminds me he’s been intubated and crusty bread probably isn’t on the menu yet.

Lorenzo’s fingers twitch, his hand still on my bare knee. And even though I sort of like it, I move his fingers gently so they rest against mine. He’d never leave his hand on my leg like that in a normal state.

“Ruby?” Lorenzo’s eyes are still closed.

“Yes?”

“Do you ever think about us?”

My breath hitches. “What?” Surely I misheard him.

“Do you ever think aboutus?”

Nope, I didn’t mishear. He actually said “us.”Us.What an incredibly loaded word. Us the friends? Or us the other thing we’ve never let ourselves be? He can’t mean it like that.

“Yeah, like that,” he says like he knows exactly what I’m thinking. “That’s what I mean.”

My heart pounds. Honest answer to his question? I try really hard not to. But I find myself giving him no answer at all.

“Because I do.” He opens his eyes and blinks down at his lap.

I’m still as a statue. “Okay,” I say idiotically.

“I mean, look at us. Look atyou.” He turns toward me, a smile playing at his lips. “You’re my best friend. You’ve had my back since I was eight years old. And you’re a knockout.”

I hope he’s too bleary-eyed to see color, because even in my mouth-agape, shocked state, I know I’m blushing madly. “I don’t know, Lorenzo,” I say meaninglessly. My pulse beats in a panicked rhythm. I was prepared to play nurse today. I was even, in some small way, prepared to never see my best friend again. But I wasnotprepared for him to tell me this.

“So think about it,” he says like he’s asking where I want to eat for lunch. “We should just give it a shot.”

If I didn’t think about everything else—our friendship, our families, our diverging futures—and said what was in my heart, “yes” would have already left my lips. But I have to think about those things, because I don’t trust myself around Lorenzo if I don’t have careful control over my deepest feelings for him.

I nod, but now he’s smiling openly, and I don’t know what to make of that. Does he mean any of this? Does he even know what he’s saying? He can’t. After thirteen years of friendship, you don’t say something like that with a stupid grin on your face.