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“I met up with a friend from work, and they suggested it,” I tell her, giving her a half lie.

“Did you see Clem?”

“I did, actually.” It isn’t the whole truth, but being able to share some of it with Raine makes me feel less guilty about my intentions with her friend. It isn’t ideal, but it’s all I have for now. “We talked for a bit, in between her working. The café was very busy today.”

“Did she seem okay?” Raine asks, the concern in her voice unmissable.

“Yeah,” I lie. “She seemed fine.”

I know she isn’t okay, and it goes against every curious bone in my body not to ask Raine why, but I also don’t want to hear about Clementine’s life from anyone else but Clementine. I want the words to come offhertongue, the secrets to slip fromherlips. I want to earn the privilege to know the woman underneath and what it is that’s weighing her down.

But all of that takes time. And it takes patience. It’ll take her finding my number on a scrap piece of paper at the bottom of her bag and finding the courage to use it.

And when she does, I’ll be here, waiting, becauseourClementine is worth the wait.

Air. Light. Free.

10

CLEM

Showered and dressed, lying down in my freshly washed sheets, the night is ending way better than the day started. I stare at the ripped piece of paper, Zara’s name and number scrawled in handwriting that’s as pretty as she is.

It’s the third night in a row that I’m going to bed holding the reminder of her. And every morning, I’m that little bit more mad at myself for not using it.

“Knock, knock, knock.” Remy’s voice travels through my bedroom door. “Can I come in?”

Folding the piece of paper, I tuck it underneath my pillow and call out to him. “Yeah, of course.”

Wearing sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt, he ambles into my room and parks himself beside me on my bed. This isn’t unusual for us—late night conversations, catching up on all the things we’d missed during the week—but with everything going on with Lennox and him losing his hearing, we haven’t done it in a very long time.

“The house is so quiet,” he muses. “I’m kind of having trouble sleeping.”

“The house actually feels too big,” I say in agreement. “And I never thought that would happen.”

Like a big teddy bear, he wraps me in his arms, pulling me in for a hug. “Are you okay?” I ask, leaning against his chest.

“I just have a lot of feelings,” he reveals. “But I’m not sure what to do with them all.”

“You could talk about them,” I suggest, a hint of humor in my voice. “I promise to listen.”

I feel him shake his head. “Tell me what’s going on with you instead.”

I think of the paper underneath my pillow and the conversations I would usually have with Raine and Nina as I agonized over whether or not to call, and decide that if I want Remy to open up to me, I have to lead by example.

“I met someone,” I blurt out. “Well, I don’t know if ‘met’ is the right word, but I’m interested in someone.”

A man of few words, he gives my whole body a tight squeeze, confirmation he’s listening and encouragement for more.

“I have their number under my pillow, and I can’t decide whether to text them or not.”

“Well, why don’t you want to text them?” he asks.

My only reason is Raine, and even that has a solution if I contemplate coming clean about it to her. But I don’t tell him that, the silence answering his question better than I ever could with words.

“How about I leave you to text them?”

“No.” I raise my head, resting my chin on his chest. “Not before you tell me what’s bothering you. Or better yet…” I give his chest a light smack. “Whose Range Rover was that when you drove us to the hospital?”