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“Oh no, honey. Yes, he’ll blow your mind. But the next day, you won’t even be a memory, and it’ll hurt. And I have a feeling you’ve had enough of that in your life.” A small smile softens her expression before she turns to scan the room again.

I suck in a deep breath at her comment and feel like she’s just seen me naked, something I haven’t allowed anyone willingly. But clearly, I’ve let my guard down around her enough that she’s seen glimpses of the shadows behind my smile. I love her even more for also knowing they weren’t up for discussion.

We met on the first day of bar school. She’s an American qualified lawyer who had taken her first degree in London and then moved to New York but came to be called to the Bar here, too. At work, the steady stream of customers saves me from conversations that threaten to linger or delve into the personal. I tried my usual tactic at the first dinner I attended at The Inner Temple. I kept my head down, speaking only when necessary and as politely as I could without encouraging further probing. But Reena was undeterred. And when we discovered our mutual love of Anime and Lynette Yiadom-Boakye’s art, that dominated most of our conversation.

I’ve made quite a few good acquaintances, but she’s a realfriend.

“I’m going to miss you,” I tell her and squeeze her hand.

“Come see me!” she demands and then cranes her neck and lifts up onto her toes to scan the room. “All this talk about his sexual prowess makes me want to find him and make my last night in London really special.”

I force myself to smile through the sharp pang of jealousy at the thought of them together. It’s silly.

Omar Solomon dates women who look like Victoria’s Secret models and run billion dollar brands. And in the three months he’s been coming into my pub, I’ve never earned more than a passing glance from him.

“Well then go find him and mingle a bit before you drag him off into one of your dark corners.”

She laughs, but when her eyes come back to my face, whatever she sees there erases the humor in them. “Are you all right?”

I nod and take a long sip of my cold, bubbly drink to quench my dry throat.

Now that I know their history, I’m glad I didn’t mention my very loose acquaintance with Omar. But I hate lying to her. I shake my head to say “no” and take a deep breath.

She leans away from me with worried, wide eyes. “What in theworldare you about to tell me?”

“I don’t know why I didn’t say it sooner, but Omar comes into the pub where I work three times a week. I don’t know him, but he’s not a stranger to me.”

She blinks rapidly, and her mouth falls open. “Holy shit. Youlikehim.”

I don’t play coy or deny it. “From afar, yes. But he doesn’t even know I’m alive.”

“Thatcan’tbe true. But he’s so used to women throwing themselves at him, he’s forgotten how to make the first move.”

I force my smile wider and nod. “Yeah, maybe. But I’m not going to either. I mean, he’s like, an actual famous person. I’m just me.”

“Well, just you areamazing. The right person for you will see what I do.”

I roll my eyes and feign boredom. “And what is that?”

“You light up the fucking room without even trying. You are terribly kind and absolutely beautiful. If I wasn’t already in lovewith two people, I’m sure I would have fallen for you, too.” She glances down at my stilettos. “I’m surprised you haven’t chucked them already. You love to dance.”

“When the DJ plays something decent, I will.”

She scrunches her nose. “I know. It’sawful. But he’s a friend and offered. I couldn’t say no.” She presses a kiss to each of my cheeks and then glides away toward a crowd of people who cheer as she approaches.

We were each other’s date to every single one of the mandatory twelve dinners we attended in the year before we were called to the Bar. She knows me better than anyone I’ve met since I moved to London.

Having an unconquerable optimism sometimes feels like a curse. And like my thoughts conjured him, he walks through the door. I knew he’d be here, but this first glimpse of him still makes my heart skip a surprised beat.

He’s walked into the pub where I work countless times over the last three months, but I’ve never had a chance toreallylook at him. And I take full advantage as he crosses the room.

I can’t take my eyes off him and can’t understand why everyone else isn’t watching him, too.

He’s a walking wonder—tall, but not too tall, lean, but muscular enough that he fills out the bright bronze blazer he’s wearing over a black turtleneck. His slim-cut black trousers are tailored to hit right below his ankle, and his polished to a spit shine black Chelsea boots make his muscular legs appear to go on forever.

My dad used to say about anyone who was exceptionally good at something, “Now, that’s abreak.” I didn’t know what it meant, but he said it was something one of his teachers used to say whenever any of the students did particularly well. When he called me a “break,” I knew he was paying me the highest compliment.

Omar Solomon, in every way, is a break.