I want to say You made me feel amazing, or I couldn’t stop thinking about you. But I can’t say that without muddling past and present. I’ll accidentally admit it’s still the same way: I can’t stop thinking about you.

“I didn’t not want you,” I try.

He taps his fingertips gently against the naked cup. “Wow. Good for me. I didn’t not please you, and you didn’t not want me. I hope you don’t mind if I don’t not think that’s the worst compliment I’ve ever had.”

I swallow. I don’t make sense, I know, but it’s the best I can do. “I shouldn’t have come,” I mumble.

“Wait.”

I don’t remind him that I have to wait because he drove.

He keeps his eyes safely on the cup. And when he starts talking, it’s so soft and low I have to lean closer to him so I can hear. “I’ve been thinking about something. But I need you to just listen for now, and at the very end you can tell me that I’m insane. Okay?”

His tone pulls me closer. “Okay.”

“I started thinking about it a few days after we broke up, and it’s gotten bigger and bigger in my mind, and it’s the only reason I didn’t turn around and walk away when I saw you tonight.”

My fingers are trembling and I don’t know why. I clench them into fists and tuck them under my thighs.

“You remember the night I made dinner for you?”

I nod. My life is full of forgettable nights. That is not one of them.

“And you explained to me that you and Mo were just friends, and that was all you would ever be?”

I nod again.

“I believed you. Even though I was still getting over being cheated on, and I didn’t believe for a second that he didn’t want you like, well, how I want you, I just believed you.” He looks up from his cup and stares at me. His eyes are pulling at me, trying to take something I can’t give. “I still believe you.”

He’s blurry. But tears pooling aren’t a confession. I’m not admitting to anything. I blink them away.

“But I think you lied about other things,” he says. “I know you said Mo got a student visa, and I don’t know much about immigration stuff, but I know that marrying a US citizen is the golden ticket. And I know that when we were together, when you were supposedly cheating on me, I . . . I think I know that you weren’t. I think you were falling in love with me the same way I was falling in love with you.”

I’m stone. But the pressure is building behind my eyes, and I feel like I could crack and split open at any moment, and everything would come pouring out.

“If I’m wrong . . .” He stops and shakes his head, and his hair falls over the front of his glasses so I can’t see his eyes. “If I’m wrong, I’m nuts. Certifiably postbreakup insane. But I’ve spent the last couple of weeks thinking about you, I mean, what kind of person you are, and what you might do for someone you love. I don’t know. It’s not too much of a leap to think you may have married Mo so he could stay.”

The truth feels like fire. I’m sitting too close, and it’s so searing hot I might melt. I didn’t plan for this. Being confronted and having to deny it all—I need time to prepare, but I don’t have time, and I don’t have energy because I’m so exhausted from walking around missing him. That’s it. I miss him. I miss him too much to be hearing this.

The tears are finally pushing through. I fold my arms on the table and drop my head so at least he can’t see my face. A few seconds. I need a few seconds.

But then I feel warm, strong hands around my upper arms, and it feels like I’m being held together. It feels like sympathy. I’m not sure anyone’s ever given me sympathy like this. I dissolve. Crying like this—head down, no sound, held by Reed—is so sweetly awful I don’t know if I want to stop.

I wait till I can control my breath to speak, but I don’t lift my head. “Please don’t tell.”

He squeezes my arms. “Why would I tell?”

I lift my head, and he’s staring at me in total confusion.

“I don’t know,” I stammer. “Because what we’re doing is really stupid? And illegal? Or because you hate me for lying to you? Or because you hate Mo—”

“I don’t even know Mo.”

“But I hurt you to help him. I would understand if you hated him. Or me.”

“I will never hate you. I’ve already tried. And you’re not in love with him, right?”

“No.”

“And you never actually . . . cheated on me?”

“No.”

He pulls his hands away and I’m instantly colder. “Unreal,” he mutters. “But what about the people who really know you? I mean, your parents—they must know.”

I shake my head.

“What? They think you’re actually married?”

“Shh!” I glance around. The barista is playing a game on her phone, and the middle-aged types are no longer typing but having a real conversation with each other. “I am actually married. They just don’t know that Mo and I aren’t . . . you know.”

“What about your dad being so overprotective? They’ve got to at least suspect.”

“Being overprotective of me is not the same as knowing me.”

“But you wouldn’t even let me meet your dad. He must’ve completely freaked out over this.”

“He did.” I sniff and wipe my cheeks with my palms. I’m finished crying. “My parents have always thought Mo was trying to get into my pants. Especially my dad. It’s like they can’t imagine that he just likes me as a person. And the fact that he’s Muslim freaks them out because they don’t know many Muslims. Or any Muslims. Whatever.”

“So they bought it.”

“Yeah. They bought it because it was their worst nightmare come true.”

He nods, processing this.

“We aren’t exactly talking right now. They think I’ve been brainwashed and kidnapped by jihadists—I think they should make an effort to be slightly less racist.”

“And your friends?”

“Mo is my friend.” I’m over being embarrassed by how this sounds—like he’s my only friend—because it’s been true for so long. “Everyone else is just whatever. And they all think we’ve been secretly together for years anyway.”

“I can’t believe . . .” He reaches out and strokes the back of my hand with his fingertips like it’s instinct, like he can’t not do it. And it’s a few delicious seconds before I realize that I’m in public and jerk my hand back. I glance around, but I don’t think anybody saw.

“Right,” he says flatly.

I swallow and, with my eyes, plead for him to understand. “The worst part has been hurting you. I hated letting you think I cheated on you and making you hate me. I can’t change anything about how things are now, but I still miss you.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“We promised we wouldn’t tell anyone, and what would it have done? It wouldn’t have made it any easier. I’d be in the same position I’m in now, and I have no idea where we go from here. Nowhere really. I’m committing a felony. Mo and I will have an interview in a couple of months, and if they think there’s something fishy going on, we could be investigated.”

“Is that likely, though? It seems like the government has bigger threats to worry about than some kid in Elizabethtown, Kentucky.”

“He’s a seventeen-year-old Muslim male, born in the Middle East. According to the lawyer, that means we don’t get to slip through the cracks. And considering the timing of his dad’s visa running out, and his family leaving, and our age, they might really send people out to snoop around.”

“You still should’ve told me.”

“But what if you were mad or sad or indifferent and told someone about it?” I shake my head. “You remember a second ago when you touched my hand?”

He looks at my hands now, wrapped safely around my cup, held close to me. “Yeah.”

“That’s why I didn’t tell you. If anyone in this armpit-sized town finds out I’m not in love with my husband, that’s it.”

“But now I do know.”

“Now you do know.” I sigh. “And we’re sitting at Starbucks together. Alone.”

“Is that really such a big deal?”

“Happily married newlyweds don’t get coffee at night with guys they used to go out with. At least not here.”

Reed looks around. The middle-agers are back to gazing into screens. “You want to leave?”

Yes. No. Yes. But leaving Starbucks puts me one step closer to saying good night to Reed, and good night has to be good-bye. So no. I never want to leave.

“Let’s go,” he says.

We make it to the car without touching. But once the doors are shut, he slides his fingers through mine and pulls my hand to rest on his leg. It doesn’t feel wrong. We’re completely alone, and it feels necessary and perfect. For the entire length of the drive I focus on the heat between our palms. Nothing else.

Reed pulls into the Kroger parking lot, and I feel his fingers tighten slightly. “I don’t see your car.”

I point to Mo’s. “I . . . gave the Explorer back.”

He doesn’t say anything, just shakes his head and pulls up next to the Camry.

It’s time to go. I can do this, piece by piece. I start by letting go of his hand. “Thank you for the coffee. And for listening and not hating me. And for not telling anyone—”

But he’s too close. His finger draws a line beneath my chin, turning my head to him, and stopping the words in my throat. “Nobody is going to find out if I give you one kiss.”

My heart is beating so loud I can’t hear my thoughts. He’s right. But I can’t lean in to him because there’s something worse than someone finding out. There’s ripping open my heart at all its ragged edges, only to be scraped out all over again.

“Just one,” he says.

I don’t say yes, but I can’t say no. He kisses me so soft and slow I forget everything. There’s a black night, a dark car, and the perfect rhythm of us.