“Our new fundraising-savvy tech billionaire Amy Pennington?” I ask, my stomach now so filled with dread it’s not just knotted; it’s braided.

Amy’s leading the charge to launch a capital campaign for ReWild Washington at the fundraising event this weekend. It’s something they’ve never done before.

“Well, technically, it’s her dad who’s the tech billionaire, but yes,” Jack takes the camera off the tripod and puts it back in its case.

I’m completely green with jealousy now, but I have to admit Amy’s doing great things for ReWild. The private estate and the guest list she’s lined up for this weekend’s event is truly impressive. She’s attracting a whole new crowd of deep pockets for the non-profit. Right now, ReWild is small and focused on the greater Seattle and Northern Kitsap Peninsula regions. Its goal, however, is to be in High Schools across the state, and Amy could certainly help with that.

“So, what’s this exciting new gig?” I ask as I back towards the front door and open it, trying to sound normal, though my throat is so tight it aches.

“There’s a production company doing a documentary on her dad. Amy’s hired me to do external photography and some drone footage for it,” Jack says, as he and Butterscotch follow me.

“Nice,” I tell him with a small smile over my shoulder, though my legs are shaky and my mouth’s dry. Jack wants to do more photography and teach less. Becoming an adjunct professor sounded good during the pandemic, but in reality, he’s finding it too restrictive and scheduled for his active, energetic nature.

“Thanks for fitting me in earlier,” he says, “We’re meeting up tonight at their place on Bainbridge and then taking off for the Pennington estate in the San Juan Islands early in the morning.”

“Are you going to miss the fundraiser on Saturday?” I ask as we move through the dining room to the kitchen, too shocked to keep the alarm out of my voice.

“No, of course not,” he assures me, “we’ll take a break for that even if we’re not done shooting.”

We. My heart sinks lower. In my head, I hear Vivienne’s voice say, ask for what you want. One of the tenets in her coaching is to never assume anyone else is a mind reader, even if you think your actions have made things crystal clear.

“So, are we still planning together?” I try to sound casual as I get out some glasses for iced tea; it’s hard when I feel anything but.

“As ReWild’s dynamic video duo?” Jack sits on one of the bar stools, sets his camera on the counter, and rests the tripod next to him.

“Yes, exactly; you talked about it being a date to celebrate,” I say. I’m continuing my casual tone as best I can, busying myself with filling the glasses with ice.

“Mind if I make myself an espresso instead?” Jack asks, “I forgot to get one on the ferry.”

“Not at all,” I say, dumping the ice from one of the glasses and putting it in the sink, hoping he can’t see my hand shake as I do, “You know where everything is.”

“I wish we could go together like that, Alpine,” he says, sounding sincere as he takes a pod out of the tin of fancy coffee I keep on the counter primarily for him, “but I think it’s better if Amy doesn’t catch on to how close our relationship is.”

“Oh?” I ask, wondering if I have any Pepto Bismol anywhere in the house. I don’t like the bitter taste of coffee, no matter how delicious it smells. Right now, I feel like I’ve down a huge very bitter cup complete with the dregs.

“I wish it were only my talent I’m being hired for,” he sighs, focusing carefully on making his coffee rather than looking at me, “but I think her personal interest in me is a big reason I’m getting this job.”

“And you’re okay with that?” I scowl as I carefully pour myself some tea.

“Yes, actually,” he says, glancing at me, his dark eyes defensive, “it’s been a few years since I’ve had such a well-paying photography job. Alpine, it’s not like you and I were that serious, right?”

Were. Crap. I take a deep breath and let it out before I say, “Yes. It seemed like that’s exactly where things were going.”

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

“Look,” he sighs again, “I think we have a future, just not right now.”

“What does that even mean?” I ask, dumbfounded and hating that my ego is the tiniest bit happy he thinks we have a future.

“It means I want to travel right now and have adventures in amazing places to build my portfolio, and you want to stay here and garden and draw and save the world.”

“I want to travel and have adventures, too,” I start, hating the pleading tone in my voice.

“Locally and regionally sure,” he cuts me off, “and you’re an excellent hiking partner, but you’re such a planner, you’re so careful. I don’t want to wait to go to Iceland until next year when you’ve got it all saved up. I want to go now. I want to be available to the possibilities that can happen with Amy. She’s a crazy good opportunity. I didn’t grow up with interesting, well-connected parents who could open doors for me creatively as you did.”

“You mean like my job with my mom’s friend Pamela?” I scoff, “The boss who promised I’d have time to finish my illustration degree if I worked for her but kept me so busy doing mostly admin work, I never did?”

Even now, my unfinished degree, which I’m still paying for, feels like a colossal failure.

“But you got your foot in the door with a thought-leading storytelling agency,” he counters. He must realize this tactic isn’t working from the expression on my face, “Okay, how about this? Think of Amy like a free pass with a celebrity crush. Don’t you have one of those?”

“Amy Pennington is the celebrity you want a free pass for? Sure, she’s rich and gorgeous, but seriously?”

“Originally, no, it was Britney Spears,” he admits sheepishly, “but now at thirty-eight, I think yeah, Amy Pennington’s a much better choice. I may never have a chance like this again.”

“So, you want us to what, go back to being platonic friends while you make the most of what this rich, influential woman can make happen for you?”

“I get that I sound like a complete jerk, but yeah, I do,” he huffs a breath out and starts tapping his left hand nervously on the counter. Jack doesn’t like to sit still for long, “It’s my 20th high school reunion this August, and I want to be in a better place with my goals…” he tappers off, looking around the room as if the correct answer will be written on one of the kitchen cabinets.

“And I’m somehow holding you back?” I say, my voice rough.

“No. It’s not that. You’re an amazing friend, Alpine. I’m grateful for all the help you’ve given me. You got my social media looking so sharp and included me on this fun project for ReWild…but you’re so careful right now. You’re so focused on saving pennies, and saving the planet, and transitioning to illustration.”

“You’re saying those things as if they’re bad somehow,” I say, very close to tears, which is humiliating.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to,” he shakes his head, “They’re not at all. But I want to live a more interesting and exciting life right now,” he stands up and walks across the kitchen to look out through the laundry room to the back porch, “Don’t you ever want to cut free and be a bit extravagant? Don’t you know at least one hot, famous person you’d drop anything if you had the chance for a wild fling someplace you could never afford otherwise?”

“I don’t think I’d drop anyone for it….” I counter, thinking this sounds very much like a mid-life crisis rather than a smart career move.

“There’s got to be someone you pined for big-time back in the day,” he ignores my previous quip.

“All right, Asher Dillion,” I say rebelliously.

“Sounds vaguely familiar,” Jack pulls out his phone and types with his thumbs, Googling Rune. I’m tempted to grab the phone out of his hands, but then I think, no, two can play this game. It’s not as if Google’s going to announce he’s right next door recording an audiobook.

“Interesting, a pretty boy,” Jack laughs a little condescendingly, “that wouldn’t have been my guess. But I can understand the appeal. He’s certainly photogenic. If you had a chance to run away with him for an adventure, I wouldn’t stand in your way.”

Great, I think, I’ll ask him what he’s doing after Lorelei goes to bed.

“Alpine, neither of us is interested in having kids, right?” Jack puts his phone in his pocket and catches my eye, albeit briefly. It would be nice if he’d use my first name occasionally. Somehow, I doubt he’ll call Amy by her last name.

“I’d like to adopt,” I say sadly, focusing on the white tile of the kitchen bar countertop willing myself not to cry.

The bummer about premonitions is that they don’t shelter you from the emotional pain even when you knew ahead of what might happen.

“I want to settle down someday and maybe even adopt,” Jack says, walking back and sitting back down at the counter, “And you’re the person I can totally see that happening with, but not for another couple of years.”

God help me; my ego preens a little at this.

“What if Amy wants to marry you?” I huff, risking a brief glance at him.

“She’ll never marry again,” he laughs, “Her dad forbids it; they like their money too much,” Jack takes a sip of his espresso, holding my eye. “Alpine, it’s not like you’re really ready to take things to the next level either.”

“What do you mean?” I ask defensively.

“When I spend the night here,” he motions with his head towards the downstairs spare room, “we have sex on the fold-out couch because you haven’t dealt yet with cleaning out Theo’s room.”

“I thought you didn’t mind,” I say, both surprised and embarrassed, “we have the extra padding and everything….”

“I don’t mind. I’m happy sleeping in the dirt. It’s the fact that you’re still sleeping in the room your grandma set up for you as a kid with a set of twin beds that’s the issue. That’s not the behavior of a woman ready for a serious relationship.”

I flinch at this. He has a point. Jack stands and finishes his espresso in one swig, and then comes to the sink to rinse out the cup.

“How are you set for your meeting with Trident tomorrow morning?” He asks in that way he has that signals he’s done with the previous topic of conversation.