Chapter 2

TWO

Liam

“Hey, Iz,” I say. “Long time, no see.”

I knew coming in that Izzy worked at the Whitmire Group, and I hoped to see her today, but it’s a big company occupying several floors. I thought I’d have to seek her out, but then, there she was, light brown ponytail swinging as she zipped by the conference room, a phone pressed to her ear.

My heart thumped hard against my ribs the second I saw her, and despite my best efforts to stay on task, I never quite regained my focus. I was only through four of the five points in my presentation, but I ended up glossing over point five, promising to send further details in an email just so I could get out of that room and find Izzy.

Who is now seated on the steps in a stairwell, blinking up at me with wide eyes.

“What are you doing here?” she asks.

“I could ask you the same question. Or is this stairwell your office? It does have a great view.” I pretend to appraise the cinder block wall with dramatic flair.

Izzy laughs, but it sounds a little nervous. Which is odd for Izzy. I’ve never known her to be anything but confidently herself.

“I only wish this was my office,” she says with a guarded smile. “I’ve got a very fancy cubicle out there in the sea of other cubicles. I was just hiding in here to take a phone call. I usually go to the conference room, but it was occupied.” She gives her head a little shake. “Anyway, that’s not the point. What are you doing in Savannah? What are you doing at my work?”

There’s a slight edge to her question that makes nerves prickle up my spine. I’ve imagined a few different scenarios of how running into Izzy might go, and they mostly involved her jumping into my arms and hugging me hello.

This questioning, cagey version of her has me feeling slightly off-kilter. Has it been so long since we talked that things have shifted between us? My stomach sinks at the possibility.

I push my hands into my pockets. “I just moved into an apartment a few blocks east.”

Her eyebrows go up. “Like … for good? You left New York?”

I let out a little chuckle, but I’m mostly just confused. Knowing our family and how much they talk, I fully expected Izzy to already know I was in town. “Yeah. That was always the plan. Did no one in the family tell you?”

It’s not a fair question because I could have told her, and I didn’t. I haven’t seen or talked to Izzy since last Christmas. It’s the longest we’ve ever gone without communicating, and I’ve been well aware of the distance.

I suspected starting my own company would be time-consuming, but the past twelve months were even worse than I imagined. I barely left New York, working fourteen hours a day on development and beta testing, meeting with investors and designers. It’s always been my nature to be hyper-focused, so I’m only recently recognizing how isolated I’ve been. And cataloging what all the hard work might have cost me.

Hopefully not my friendship with Izzy.

Or the possibility of turning that friendship into something more.

“No, I …” Izzy says, her words trailing off. She bites her lip, and her brow furrows like she’s processing a whole ream of thoughts at once. “I hadn’t heard,” she finally finishes. “How long have you been here?”

“Just a couple of days,” I say. “I was planning to call you, but I’m still living out of boxes. And I hoped I’d see you here, actually.”

“You knew I worked here?”

I nod. “Mom has kept me updated. Congrats on your graduation, by the way. Sorry I couldn’t be there.”

She frowns again, and I start to wonder if we’re having two different conversations. Or maybe she has something else on her mind altogether?

“I’m sorry,” she finally says. “I know I’m acting strange. But … did you come here just to see me ?”

Yes, I want to say. But it’s not the exact truth. Seeing Izzy is more like a really incredible perk. But I’m not sure admitting how much she’s been on my mind lately is the right move. Not with how weird she’s being.

“I was hoping I’d see you,” I say slowly. “But I’m here for work. The Whitmire Group just signed a contract to use my software and recommend it to their clients exclusively.”

Her eyebrows lift. “Make Change? The one you were talking about last Christmas?”

I nod. “One in the same.”

For a split second, the uncertainty in Izzy’s expression melts away, and she offers me a genuine smile. “Liam, congratulations. That’s huge.”

She’s not wrong. It’s the biggest win of my career. My accounting software is designed specifically for nonprofits, and the Whitmire Group is a nonprofit consulting group for nonprofits. To have them on board and recommending me is a game changer and the reason I was able to finally move back to Savannah.

Move to Izzy.

“It’s just software,” I say, deflecting because that’s what I do when I’m nervous, and I’m definitely nervous. “I mean, software that took a year and a lot of money to develop. Not my money—investor money. I don’t have money. I mean, I have money, but I couldn’t just?—”

“Hey.” Izzy smiles, stopping the flow of utter nonsense coming out of my mouth. “Just a thanks will suffice. It really is awesome, and I really am proud of you.”

“Thanks.” An awkward pause follows as I try to recover from my lapse in social skills. I resist the urge to play with my glasses, a nervous tic I’ve tried to quell. Instead, I find myself rubbing the back of my neck and drop my hand.

“Can I sit?” I ask, gesturing to the steps.

“Um, sure.”

Izzy scoots back and tugs at her skirt again as I take a seat beside her. I’ve never seen her in professional workwear, and I like it. A lot, actually.

Maybe because it’s a fun juxtaposition seeing this buttoned-up outside view when I know the wildness underneath. I can picture Izzy leaping off the end of a dock; Izzy with cheeks smeared with dirt after a game of touch football with the family; Izzy, head thrown back, laughing as an ocean breeze whips her hair around her face.

And let’s not forget Izzy in a tiny bikini with sun-soaked skin—an image I spent years trying to scrub from my brain.

With little success, I might add.

I clear my throat, dragging my eyes back up to her face.

“So, the other cool thing about getting your company on board is that I’ll be working here for the next week.”

She turns her face to meet my gaze. Her brown eyes are wide, and she’s blinking more than normal, like it’s helping her brain process.

“Here? Like, here here? Every day here?”

“Not here in the stairwell, no. But in the conference room. Which might mean more stairwell phone calls for you?”

Izzy doesn’t smile or laugh, so I guess I better hold off on telling her the other important part about me working here—the part that will impact her directly.

If she’s not thrilled about me being here generally, she definitely won’t be happy about that .

But why wouldn’t she be happy I’m here?

This is Izzy. I know I’ve missed a lot over the past year, but if something were off with Izzy, someone would have told me.

Maybe her weird mood is about something else? Could it have to do with her phone call?

Did I interrupt something important? She was hiding out in a stairwell, after all. And she definitely looks … nervous? Or maybe just uncomfortable? Izzy has never been either of those things around me.

Understanding dawns, along with a fresh wave of disappointment. I’ve been keeping pretty close tabs on Izzy through Mom’s updates and the occasional stalking of her Instagram account. She was dating a guy last Christmas, and they were together until she graduated in May, but Mom made it sound like it ended, and Izzy wasn’t all that broken up over it.

It’s been a few months though, so she could absolutely be dating someone new. And why wouldn’t she be? She’s gorgeous, funny, smart. Any guy with a chance would be an idiot not to take it.

What if she is, and she was talking to him?

I fight a wave of frustration, cursing my often overly analytical brain. I haven’t dated at all since I broke up with Natasha, mostly because once I saw her and Izzy together at Christmas, it became obviously apparent that no woman was ever going to measure up to Izzy.

Feelings slammed into me like a punch to the gut. I’d always loved Izzy—we’d known each other since we were kids—but this was different. More.

But I couldn’t start something with Izzy while I was still in New York. I barely kept myself fed while I was getting Make Change off the ground. There was no way I could handle a long-distance relationship, assuming Izzy would have wanted one with me in the first place.

But clearly that was a stupid call because waiting until I could be here in person might mean that I missed my window of opportunity.

I clear my throat and force myself to ask the question bouncing around in my brain like an errant ping-pong ball. “You said you needed a moment for a phone call.” I nudge her knee with mine, hoping the question sounds more casual than it feels. “Talking to a boyfriend?”

“Just a friend,” she quickly answers. “I, um, I’m not seeing anyone right now.” The faintest hint of color rises in her cheeks, and she gives her head a shake. “Sorry. I know I’m still being weird. I’m just surprised to see you.”

I swallow the urge to cheer out loud over her single status and offer her a small smile. “Good surprise, I hope?”

“Of course,” she says a little too quickly. “It’s just been a while. I can’t believe no one told me you were moving home.”

“I probably haven’t talked to the family enough,” I say. “A lot has changed for me in the past year.” I stop just short of mentioning that I’m single too .

On the heels of her own confession, it feels like it might be presumptuous to layer the info on now, especially with how odd she’s acting about my presence here.

Surely she knows I’m single though. Even if she hadn’t heard about me moving, which is admittedly odd, I broke up with Natasha almost a year ago. There’s no way it never came up in all the family gatherings I’ve missed. I mean, I know how many cavities Uncle Jake had last year and also what he said when he was coming down from the laughing gas after a root canal. Aunt Eloise especially tells everyone everything .

Not to mention the Oakley Island gossip account on TikTok. Frank—who isn’t even family—probably had the news up for his followers by midnight the same day. I know for a fact Izzy follows Frank’s account. We used to laugh about it together all the time.

But whether she learned the info or not, the point is, she’s single, and I’m single, and I’m not going to let this opportunity go to waste.

I lean forward, propping my elbows on my knees. “Listen. I’d love to know how you’ve been. We should get together sometime. Catch up.”

“Yeah.” Izzy’s single-word answer is not convincing. “Should be easy since we’ll be working in the same office.” She fidgets for a long moment before adding, “Speaking of … I should get back to work. I’m pretty sure my cubicle mate tracks the time I spend away from my desk.”

Well. Okay then.

The hope in my chest fizzles the slightest bit, but I push away my disappointment and quickly stand, offering Izzy my hand. “Not sure that sounds like a very healthy work environment, Iz.”

She ignores my comment, but she at least slips her fingers into mine and lets me gently pull her up. If I happen to tug her closer to my chest than strictly necessary, oh well. Carefully, I watch her expression, still clasping her hand. She doesn’t step back immediately but instead hovers, swaying a little closer. When she glances up at me, her eyes are heavy-lidded.

A heavy awareness settles between us, and I give her fingers a tiny squeeze. She might just read it as friendly, a simple gesture, but I’m hoping she senses the question I’m asking.

Does she feel the same tug between us that I do?

A second later, Izzy drops my hand, stepping back as she runs her fingers over her hair.

Something is still holding her back, and I plan to find out what.

Unable to help myself, I reach out and give the end of her ponytail a little tug. “Can’t wait to see more of you, Iz.”

“It will definitely be … something,” she says, hand on the door.

Before she opens it, I say, “Izzy, wait.” Considering her lackluster welcome, I still don’t feel great about saying what I have to say next, but at this point, it can’t be helped.

She looks at me over her shoulder. “Hmm?”

“You don’t need to worry about your cubicle mate tracking you. At least not for the next week or so.”

“Why?”

I take a breath, hoping I made the right call by asking for this in the first place. Knowing I could never live with myself if I didn’t try.

“I spoke to your boss and requested support. Until Christmas, you’ll be vacating your cube and working in the conference room—directly with me.”