Elissa Sussman

He was so beautiful.

I was so fucked.

“The biggest challenge with a role like this is doing it even when you know you don’t deserve it.”

He laughed. It was a great laugh, all low and dark and rich. If chocolate cake had a laugh, it would be that.

I’m about to head inside, when I feel a hand on my elbow.

I turn, already knowing it’s him.

“Chani,” Gabe says.

He has a beard now.

But he still knows how to say my name.

“Who really feels that they deserve the good things they get?”

I want to be mad at a man, and this one will do just fine.

“My past self deserves it. She was foolish and naïve and stupid. She believed things she should have known better than to believe.”

He lets out a breath.

“And now…”

“I’m doing good,” I say.

It’s the dumbest thing to say, but Gabe grins.

“Yeah, I can see that,” he says.

Everything shifts.

“You’re two years sober?” I ask.

He nods.

“I’m divorced,” I say. “Happily divorced.”

“Are you?” he asks. “Happy?”

I lift a shoulder. “I could be happier, I guess. Couldn’t we all?”

He reaches a hand out, his fingers sliding through my hair, thumb brushing against my temple. I shiver. Not from the cold.

“I could make you happy,” he says.

I swallow. Hard.

“Yeah?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he says.

I was overwhelmed with all the faces—some of which were very beautiful, but also many who were beautiful in a normal kind of way. It made me feel a little less out of place.

“You’ve read them,” I say instead.

“I thought we’d established that I’ve read everything you’ve written.”