And yet as much as Julia complained to Liz that Blake hadn’t said a thing, she’d known what he’d been trying to tell her.

Because it wasn’t just any postcard. The picture showed Victoria Falls seen from the Zimbabwean side. Massive, churning, the spray misting across a chasm flanked by green. Julia wasn’t sure whether to feel good that something had made him think of her, or whether it hurt all the more knowing that he could gallivant anywhere, seeing whatever he wanted, and there was nothing special about the fact that for a few days, he’d done so with her.

She hadn’t written him back. What was she supposed to say? I love you, don’t fuck anyone else under the waterfalls?

Liz was wrong. A postcard didn’t mean anything. The only option was to move on.

“I’m not going to Australia,” Julia repeated emphatically. “There’s nothing there for me. All we did was have a good time for a week and everybody knows that’s not what a relationship is.”

Liz groaned. “I hate to break it to you, Julia, but relationships don’t have to be suffering. It’s supposed to make your life better, not hold you back.”

But Julia already knew there was no use wondering about something more with Blake. Besides, there were plenty of men who didn’t live 9,238 miles away—she’d Googled it—and who would actually say they wanted to be with her instead of bail without warning, send a cryptic postcard, and leave it at that.

She just hadn’t met any of them yet.

She was about to remind Liz that she was supposed to be rooting for what’s-his-name, the guy Rob was setting her up with that night, when the buzzer to her apartment rang.

“Hang on,” she said, dropping the shirt she’d pulled from her closet and going to the intercom. “The door buzzed.”

“Package?” Liz asked.

“I didn’t order anything.”

“Ooh, end of school year present?”

“I hope you got me something good,” Julia said with a laugh. She pressed the button on the intercom.

“Hey,” came the voice from the sidewalk, and for the split-second before Julia registered what was happening she had the strangest sensation that everything was tingling from her fingertips down to her toes, so that she was more worried about what was wrong with her than about what was to come.

Her “Hello?” came out barely a whisper, so that he had to buzz again and ask who it was.

But Julia didn’t have the same question. Even with the static from the intercom there was no mistaking that voice, the accent light and buoyant, so distinct she could practically hear him running his hand through his curls.

“Julia?” he said. “This is—”

“Oh my God.” Julia squeezed her eyes shut, the phone still pressed to her ear.

“What is it?” Liz asked, at the same instant the intercom buzzed again.

“Oh my God,” Julia repeated.

“Jules,” Liz said urgently. “Are you there? Is everything okay?”

“It’s him,” she whispered, staring at the intercom.

“It’s who?”

Julia could barely form the word. “Blake.”

Liz gasped over the phone. “What?”

The intercom trilled again.

“It’s him. Liz, what do I do? It’s him!”

Julia turned away from the intercom, taking in her apartment strewn with papers, the morning’s dishes left in the sink, the clothes she’d just now dumped all over the floor. How many nights had she lain awake fantasizing that she hadn’t heard from him because he was on his way over right that second, so desperate to see her that he couldn’t settle for the phone or email or any way in which his true intentions might be misconstrued?

But now that it was happening—or something was happening, she couldn’t say what—she had no idea what she wanted. How could she run to him after all the silence and distance between them?

On the other hand, how could she not?

Liz’s voice cut through her panic, so loud Julia had to pull the phone away from her ear. “What do you mean, it’s him? Downstairs? Now?” Liz inhaled sharply. “Are you going to tell me what the hell is going on?”

“The door buzzed, I said hello, he said hello…” Julia couldn’t remember what came next.

“And?” Liz prodded.

“And now I’m freaking out talking to you!”

“He just said, This is Blake?”

“No. He just said, Hello.”

“But you know that it’s him?”

Julia didn’t want to say that she’d know his voice anywhere. That she heard it at night in her dreams, whispering to her. That she imagined him mouthing the words as he wrote The Everlastings. That no matter what she said about moving on, she would have given anything—everything—for the chance to hear him say her name again.

“And now he’s downstairs?” Liz asked.

“Uh huh.”

“Okay.” Liz paused. “So explain why you’re still talking to me?”

“Because I don’t know what to do!” Julia cried.

“Inviting him in would be a good start.”

Julia gripped the phone. “I can’t.”

“I’m hanging up now.”

“No! Don’t go.”

“You have things to do.”

“I know—what time are we meeting for dinner?”

Liz barked out a laugh. “You, my dear, are not coming to dinner tonight. I’ll tell Rob’s friend you had to cancel. And suggest he not get too hopeful about rescheduling.”

“There’s no way this is happening. I don’t even know what to say.”

“Julia. You’re not marrying him. You’re just telling him he doesn’t have to wait on the sidewalk. Did you know he was in the States?”

“No.”

“That’s a long way to come to say hello to you through an intercom and turn around again.”

Julia didn’t move.

“Do it,” Liz said.

Julia still didn’t move.

“Do it before he thinks you don’t want to see him and leaves.”

Julia’s breath caught. The thought of him buzzing up to her, knowing she was there, knowing she knew who it was, and then waiting for an invitation that never came…

Chapter Twenty-Four

Blake kicked his toe against the front stoop, waiting. She’d heard him, right? It was possible she hadn’t known who it was, but he doubted it. He’d heard her inhale as soon as he’d said her name.

And then nothing. No hello, no buzz of the door letting him in. Did he have the wrong apartment number, scratched on a piece of paper she’d given him with her email and mobile before things went sour for them? Or was this her way of saying, Go away?

But he could wait for her to be ready to see him. He could wait however long it took.

He’d already waited for the months he’d been traveling, for the time he’d been back home, for the end of the school year so he wouldn’t be interrupting when he knew she’d be at her busiest. He’d waited for the more than twenty-four hours it took to get from Sydney to Chicago, the image of her dark hair spurring him on. He’d even waited once he arrived, spending the night in a hotel so he wouldn’t show up completely bedraggled on her doorstep, despite the fact that it was torture to be in the same city and not rush over in the middle of the night.

And then he’d waited all day while she was at work, giving her what he hoped was enough time to come home.

Hoping she’d come home and wasn’t out with friends or colleagues or—an unimaginable thought, he pushed it aside right away—a boyfriend, someone she’d met since her return.

It didn’t matter. He was here. And this time he wasn’t going anywhere.

He was done making mistakes, done running away, done stopping himself from going after what he wanted no matter the difficulties that stood in the way. She might not want him, but that didn’t mean he was going to slink off without giving it a try.

He buzzed again, squinting up at the building to see if he could tell which window was hers. Let me in, he willed from afar. He stamped his feet against the pavement and looked down the street. Chicago was massive, sprawling, and colder than he was used to—he should have brought a jacket now that evening was settling in. He tried the door again, thinking maybe he hadn’t heard it buzz. But it banged uselessly, locked.