Blake tried to separate out the different strands of thoughts tangled inside him. He was surprised to find that it was nice knowing she’d mentioned him to her friend. It wasn’t like he was a secret, after all, and it meant that even as a fling it had enough significance to warrant a conversation. If she was telling the truth, which she’d given him no reason to doubt, then it had just been curiosity and appeasing a friend’s prurient appetite for detail.

“I felt like it was snooping and told Liz that it was weird,” Julia said softly, lowering her eyes. “But it’s a good thing I looked at your passport that one time because I would have been totally mortified to have been gushing to Liz about you and then been forced to admit I didn’t even know your last name.”

Two pink spots darkened on her cheeks from where her previous flush hadn’t gone down. Blake leaned forward, intrigued.

“Gushing? Do tell.”

Julia rolled her eyes. “Whatever, Josh.” But she stuck out her tongue when she said it.

“I was always Blake growing up, but then when I started writing professionally it was J.B. Williams, so I became known by my first name instead.” Blake shrugged like it had just happened, but actually he’d made a conscious choice to create his public persona as Joshua, the first name he never used. When he became Josh Williams, it felt like the real him, the one who had always been and would always be Blake, was still the same inside, no matter where his career went.

It had wound up being a blessing to have that extra layer separating who he was inside from the man he was to everyone else. When the acclaim started rolling in, it was weird to read about this Josh guy who was sort of like him, but also sort of not. And when everything in the tabloids was about the Josh who’d been cheated on and dumped, turned against by Australia’s favorite celebrity couple both on and off the screen, the one thing that kept him sane was that at least all that was happening to Josh and not him.

It wasn’t really true, of course, but it was also a way to test how well people knew him. If they saw only the celebrity side, they knew Josh. But to his family, his friends, and the people he loved, he was Blake.

To Julia, he would always be Blake.

Their waiter came by and for a minute they were quiet as he refilled their glasses, taking away the empty plate and leaving them the soup to polish off. Julia soaked up the creamy bisque with a slice of bread and Blake followed her lead, splitting the last prawn with his knife for them to share.

“I’m sorry about Liam,” Julia said so quietly Blake thought he’d misheard. It was so not what other people had said to him when they heard about the scandal. He must have looked completely confused because Julia repeated it again. “Your friend, Liam. I’m sorry, that sucks.”

“Yeah,” Blake said slowly, chewing on the last bite of bread. “It did suck.”

He sighed then, deeply. A sigh that, as soon as he let it out, he realized he’d been holding in for months.

“God this wine is good,” Julia mused, taking another sip, and Blake couldn’t help it. It was so ridiculous, he laughed as she put the glass down.

“What?” she asked, looking over her shoulder like maybe she’d missed something funny.

“I just—” Blake shook his head.

“It sucked? This wine is good? What’s so funny?”

“I’ve spent months dealing with the fallout from this, so much so that if I had to hear one more word of fake pity, or commentary on how I must have had it coming, I probably would have done something that would not have reflected favorably upon Australia’s largest TV network. Which was why it was definitely time for me to flee the coop for a while, so to speak. “

“And?”

“And then you come along, and I don’t want to tell you this stuff because God, who wants to talk about it? I nearly had a heart attack when Chris and Jamie started talking that day in the van, like what if they said something incriminating… But you Google me and you find probably the worst, most salacious websites on the planet and all you can say is, Sorry about your friend?” He exhaled again.

“Wrong thing to say?” She furrowed her brow.

“Perfect thing to say.” He smiled warmly, meaning it.

“Friends should be your friends. Otherwise, what’s the point?”

“It sounds so simple when you say it.”

“It is,” she said, and the look in her eyes was fierce and protective. She’d said that she’d been friends with Liz since they were kids; he had a feeling that when she was close to someone, she didn’t let them go.

He’d sensed that what they were doing was new to her. But now he felt a warning, too. She’d acted fine with their fling and fine when he said he was leaving for Argentina. This was different, though—whatever it was. He didn’t want her to be hurt when January first came and they were inevitably done.

But he didn’t want to remind her of that. All he said was how lucky Liz was to have Julia in her corner.

Julia made some kind of half-laughing, half-huffing noise that could only be described as a snort, something so out of character for her normally composed features that it made him laugh. “At least the girl knows it,” she said. Blake raised an eyebrow but she didn’t elaborate.

Their main courses arrived, grilled flounder with coconut rice and fried plantains and a spicy fish stew with coconut milk, tomatoes, cilantro, and lime. The fish was fresh and flaked off the bone, the stew rich but still light, balancing sweetness with a spicy kick.

“Remind me again why I live somewhere landlocked,” Julia commented as she pulled apart pieces of fish in the stew to soak up the broth.

“I have no idea,” Blake said, spearing a plantain and passing it to her to try. “I’m a coastal boy, remember?”

She imitated the way he said “remember,” slow and particular and then garbling the consonant on the end. “You’ve got that accent and don’t appear to know what a sunburn is. How could I forget?”

He teased her about American Midwestern accents, cracking up until they realized people at the other tables were looking and they’d better pipe down. By the time they finished eating and had polished off the wine, the sky was a brilliant orange lighting up the palm trees. It made the mountains look like they were on fire over the sea.

“Dessert?” Blake asked when their plates were cleared.

Julia shook her head. “I’m stuffed.”

“Too stuffed for chocolate soufflé? I’m sorry, I’m not familiar with that sensation.”

“Oh, if there’s going to be chocolate involved…” Julia conceded that she might have a little extra room.

It was dark and drizzled in raspberry sauce, with a dollop of homemade brown sugar and rum whipped cream dusted with pistachio bits. Blake groaned in delight.

When they left the terrace, the beach was empty but the streets were starting to fill, the pulse of the Brazilian nightlife singing its siren song. Blake wondered what he’d be doing right now if he were in Buenos Aires. Would he have found a group to latch on to? Would he be in a bar, with tourists or locals or grizzled gauchos swapping stories before parting ways the next day?

Would he be thinking about Julia? And if so, would he be congratulating or kicking himself for letting go?

But there was no way to know. It was impossible to picture what he might be doing if he weren’t in Ipanema, like it was impossible to imagine what he’d be doing with his life if The Everlastings hadn’t broken through.

If he’d grown up with a father. If he hadn’t scrapped an old script that was giving him endless agony and started furiously sketching out new ideas fast as he could, the wisps of ideas turning real as bricks the faster the words poured forth.

If he hadn’t met the right people who saw the idea and helped bring it to life. If he hadn’t known the perfect aspiring actor and actress to play the leads.