Page 55 of The Boyfriend Algorithm

“He doesn’t—” I catch myself. “Right. I’ll take two.”

I’m grabbing two croissants from the tray when Josh walks in.

He’s in a polo and shorts, freshly showered, and Audrey is beside him in a sundress, looking as effortlessly pretty as she did last night. They’re holding hands. They’re always holding hands. They walk to the coffee station, and Josh glances around the room and sees me.

“Ruby! Morning.” He walks over, coffee in hand, Audrey trailing. “Big day, huh?”

“Big day,” I agree.

Aiden is not here. I don’t have my buffer—no warm body beside me, no steady presence, no hand on my back or fingers laced through mine. It’s just me and my coffee and my two croissants, and Josh is smiling his easy smile and Audrey is being genuine and lovely, and I have to do this alone.

“Where’s your guy?” Josh asks, looking around. “Adam?”

“Aiden,” I correct, and something about the fact that he doesn’t remember the name—doesn’t care enough to remember—settles something in me. “He’s upstairs.”

“Cool, cool. Hey, last night was fun. He seems like a great guy. Intense, but—” Josh does the trailing-off thing. Lets the sentence dangle, waiting for someone else to finish it.

I don’t finish it. I just look at him and wait, and the silence stretches, and Josh shifts his weight.

“Well,” he says. “See you guys out later then.” He retreats with Audrey, and I watch them go, and I feel—

Nothing.

Not the jealousy or the inadequacy or the quiet devastation of watching someone you used to love be happy without you. Just a mild awareness, like noticing weather. Josh exists. He’s fine. I’m fine. That’s it.

Huh.

“I never liked him,” Mom says after Josh is gone.

“You told me you liked him!”

“I told you he was nice. Nice is not a compliment, Ruby. Nice is what you say about a casserole you didn’t enjoy.” She picks up her tea. “Aiden is not nice. Aiden is good. There’s a difference.” She leans closer. “And he’s hot.”

I stand there in a hotel restaurant with my coffee going cold and my mother offering unsolicited wisdom that is, annoyingly, exactly right.

Nice is not a compliment. Nice is what you say about a casserole you didn’t enjoy.

And Aiden is hot. He’s just not human.

I’m heading back through the lobby with the croissants when I hear my name.

“Rubes.”

It’s Ben. He’s coming from the gym, dressed in workout clothes, with a towel around his neck, looking slightly sweaty. Even off-duty, even at a wedding, the man keeps his routine. He falls into step beside me and presses the elevator button.

“Hey,” I say. “Good workout?”

“Decent.” He looks at the plate. “Eating for two?”

“One’s for Aiden.”

He nods. “Right. Aiden.”

My stomach drops. “What about him?”

He pauses, but there was something about the way he said his name carefully, like he’s testing its weight. “He’s interesting.”

I clutch the plate a little tighter. “He’s nice and treats me well, Ben.”