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She cleared her throat. It was the first time I’d heard her nervous. It gave me back a shred of dignity, boosting my resolve.

“I was hoping we could talk.”

I worked at a splinter on the edge of my table, tearing bits of wood off shard by shard. “So, talk.”

Again, the conversation was stilted by her unfamiliar hesitation. “I—would rather—well, not like this. I thought maybe we could speak in person, if—”

I wasn’t going to let the fact that I loved the lilt of her accent, the low, full tone of her voice, trick me into letting her lead me on. What was her plan? Hop on another twelve-hour flight back to California? Show up on my doorstep to wish me goodnight? Make out with me beneath the Santa Monica Pier? Maybe we could drive up PCH for another one-night stand in the heart of Fog City?

Nah, that was so last week.

“Yeah, sorry. I’m leaving for Greenland to shoot a film. I don’t know if you heard, but I’m in this new movie. It’s got my schedule pretty tight for the next few months.” I hatedthe bitterness in my voice. But she deserved it. I wasn’t the one who’d cut and run. Still, I couldn’t help adding, “I’ll be in Scotland after that. I know London’s not exactly around the corner, but, if you happen to be on the same land mass at the same time, and want to meet for a cup of coffee, you know how to reach me.”

I didn’t want to shut her out completely. Honestly, I didn’t want to shut her out at all. But my feelings were hurt and I didn’t want her to think I’d let her off scot-free. I was tired of being walked over.

New Year, New Me. My new mantra.

As if any of that motivational shit worked anyhow.

“What part of Scotland?” she asked.

“Aberdeen.”

“Ah. It’s beautiful up there. You should drive to Stonehaven if you get the chance. See the ruins of Dunnottar.” In other words, she wasn’t coming. “When do you leave for Greenland?”

“In two weeks. Why, is there a particular glacier you think I should see? Any other tourist tips?”

Shit.Shit. I’d taken it a step too far. This was a girl I actuallydidwant to see again, regardless my injured ego. But my mouth was on a one-track effort to sabotage the likeliness of that ever happening.

“No,” she sighed. “I haven’t been there.” In the background there was an announcement from the conductor. I needed to say something before she got off at her stop.

“Look, Dillon,” my voice had lost its edge, the wind quickly spilling from my sails. “Last week—I—I just—I don’t know. It wasn’t what I expected. I really like you, to be honest. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hoping our paths will cross again.”

“I’d like that, too.” She sounded sincere. But then again, she’d sounded sincere all along. I waited.

Please, please, please say something else.

She didn’t. There was just a long pause of silence.

“Well,” I finally said, “Happy New Year, then.”

“Happy New Year, Kam.” And that was it. She hung up.

I returned to my script as another gunshot went off.

An hour passed before I realized I’d reread the same page at least two dozen times.

I flipped the script onto my coffee table and shoved myself to my feet. It wasn’t even nine yet. The ball hadn’t even dropped in Times Square, but all I wanted to do was go to bed and wake up next year. Or maybe the following century. One where I hadn’t screwed up everything.

Discovering my bathroom drain was clogged, I was brushing my teeth in the kitchen sink when I was interrupted by a knock at the door.

Sophie’d talked about stopping by after leaving the Night Market in Silver Lake, but I can’t lie—an unwarranted flicker of hope begged for it to be Dillon, teleported five thousand miles across the sea, showing up on my porch to make things right.

Of course, that wasn’t the case.

I cracked the door to find two men, dressed in disheveled three-piece suits, standing on my stoop.

“Can I help you?”