I met Connor the next afternoon, at a little coffee shop near my school. I wanted to do it properly. Face to face.

He'd brought flowers. Expensive ones.

“I messed up,” he said, before I could speak. “I know. I should have stood up for you. I was showing off for the guys. That's on me. But Grace, come on. We're good together. And now —”

“And now?”

He stopped.

“And now nothing,” he said quickly. “It's not about the money.”

“Connor, last night you said it changes everything.”

He looked at the flowers on the table.

“The part of me you laughed at,” I said gently, “is the part I'm proudest of. Not BrightPath. Not the money. Room 214. The kid in big glasses who figured out fractions by himself yesterday morning. That's the best thing I do.”

I stood up.

“I need someone who'd have been proud of that on Saturday night,” I said. “Before he knew about anything else.”

“But I didn't know,” he said.

“I know,” I said. “That's exactly the point.”

I left the flowers on the table. Someone at the next table took them. I hope they enjoyed them.