Love, Theoretically by Ali Hazelwood

            “It certainly was.” Monica huffs. “Still, this seems . . . highly irregular.”

            “Not highly.” He shrugs. “More like middle of the road.”

            She stiffens. “Jonathan—”

            “Monica?” Volkov calls from behind. “Will you help us with the meeting minutes?”

            She turns away with a threatening look at Jack, and suddenly I’m very, very aware that coming here might not have been my best idea. For a number of reasons.

            “I’m sorry,” I say.

            He cocks his head. “Why are you sorry?”

            “I don’t know—I . . .” I gesture around us, then look, and it’s a bad idea. People are lingering in the hallway, and I don’t think they can hear us, but they’re sure looking, and I wouldn’t want to—

            Wait.

            No. I don’t care about people and what they think. “I figured you’d be in your office.”

            “Nope. We could go,” he offers. “Though if we disappear together into my office . . .”

            I nod. Okay, so I do care a bit about what people think. Just the right amount. Maybe I don’t want them to picture me bent over Jack’s desk. Maybe I’m still confused. I’ll think more on this later.

            “Elsie?”

            “Yes?”

            He’s laughing at me. And I hate it. And I love it. “What are you doing here?”

            “I just . . .” I clear my throat. “I know we had a really bad fight. And I didn’t answer your calls, because I was really mad. And I know you thought that that was it, and we would never meet again, but . . .”

            “I didn’t.”

            Oh. “Oh?”

            “I was giving you the space you asked for.” He looks patiently amused. “And there was something I needed to do.”

            “Right. The article. I know you wrote it because it was overdue, and not because of me, but—”

            “Both.”

            “—I still wanted to . . . What did you say?”

            “It was overdue. And I did it for you.”

            My mouth is sand dry. “For me.”

            He nods, and his amusement shifts into something more serious. “What you said was true. And it was the right thing to do. But also . . . Elsie, there’s very little I wouldn’t do for you.”

            My cheeks burn hot and ice cold. “I . . . Jack. I need to explain. I—”

            My phone chooses the worst possible time to vibrate. I glance down at the screen—Mom—reject the call, and immediately look back up at Jack.

            “Sorry, I . . . Honesty. We’re doing this with honesty.” I inhale. “I came because I have several honest things to say to you.”

            His mouth twitches. “Please, do.”

            “Right. Okay. Then . . . first of all, I hate that you didn’t like Twilight, and it invalidates all your other opinions—in movies especially, but not exclusively.”

            More phone buzzing. Which I ignore.

            “I see.”

            “You need to buy curtains, because your apartment is way too bright, way too early. And your grilled cheese is good, but it could be better if you added aioli.”

            “Of course.”

            “And—”

            The iTwat buzzes again, and—dammit.

            “Mom,” I pick up. “Not now, please.”

            “Elsie. Finally. Your brothers have been giving me so many headaches, and you’ve been AWOL. I need you to—”