And since when had she started thinking about marriage and babies? She and Michael weren’t in a real relationship. Would he date her if he didn’t need the money? If he were free to be with whomever he wished, would he pick her?

“Okay,” his mom said briskly. “That’s all of the pictures. Michael, come help Mẹ with my iPad while I find the aó dài.”

Michael gave a resigned sigh and stood.

“Can I look at these pictures longer?” Stella asked.

Mẹ smiled and nodded, but Stella had only looked at the pictures for a minute or two when Janie wandered into the room. She held a meaty textbook in her hands.

“So is it true you’re an economist?” Janie asked. She shifted her bare feet on the carpet until her knees pointed together.

“It’s true. You’re in your third year at Stanford, right? That’s a really good program.” Stella remembered now that Michael’s mom had wanted her to speak to Janie about her work. “What’s the textbook for? Do you need help with your homework?”

Janie hugged the book to her chest and sat down in the armchair she’d occupied earlier. “I was more hoping . . .” She took a breath. “I was hoping you could help me get an internship? Maybe send my résumé to colleagues who are hiring? I’m having a hard time getting interviews. I have no experience, obviously, and I did really bad my first year. My GPA hasn’t recovered. But I know my stuff. This is what I want to do.”

“Do you have a copy of your résumé handy?” As soon as the words left Stella’s mouth, she wanted to recall them. She sounded like she was in interview mode, and Janie looked nervous.

Janie pulled a sheet of paper from her textbook—an international macroeconomics tome—and handed it to her.

The résumé described her passion for economic theory in concise language, listed relevant coursework and skills, and displayed her grade point average. In her major, it was 3.5. Cumulative, it was 2.9. Definitely not the numbers she needed to get into brand-name institutions, even as a Stanford student.

As gently as she was capable, Stella asked, “Can I ask what happened in your first year?”

Janie stared down at her textbook. “It’s when Mom was really sick. It was a hard time for everybody. We had to take turns taking care of Mom and running the shop, and we were already overwhelmed with the repercussions of the separation and all that. I didn’t balance my time well. Honestly, I didn’t care about school at that point, which is stupid because it’s so expensive and we were hurting for money.”

Wait, why had they been hurting for money? Did it have something to do with Michael’s dad? From the outside, they looked well off. The shop seemed to do well. They owned this house. She wanted to ask so badly, her fingers clawed at the edges of the photo album, but that was rude. She might feel like she knew these people, but it hadn’t been that long since she’d first met them.

And the last time she’d pried, she’d put Michael’s mom in tears. She never wanted to make someone cry again.

Lamely, she said, “I see.”

“Do you think I have a chance of getting an internship with those grades? Is there anything I can do to make my résumé more attractive?”

With Janie’s grades, her résumé was easy to overlook. However . . . The beginning of an idea took root in Stella’s mind, and she tilted her head, looking at Janie in a new light. “Are you interested in econometrics?”

Chapter 22

Stella had filled out half of the necessary forms to open up an internship position in her department—of which she was the sole employee—when her phone buzzed. She dug it out of her desk and smiled at the message from Michael.

What is my Stella doing?

She texted him back. Paperwork.

Can you take a long lunch?

She hugged her phone and spun her desk chair in a circle before replying. Yes.

Never mind the untouched lunch sitting next to her keyboard that she’d had delivered. She could put it in the fridge for tomorrow.

His response had her smile widening.

Head over to my mom’s shop when you can.

She gathered the internship papers into a neat pile and prepared to leave. It was lunchtime on Friday, and everyone had left for the various restaurants downtown. She walked through the hallways and entered the elevator, expecting to make a clean getaway.

Philip stepped between the doors as they started to close.

“Are you actually heading out for lunch today? Care if I join you?” he asked.

“I’m meeting someone.”

“The same guy?”

She nodded.

“Lucky guy.”

She stared at the floor level indicator, wishing it would go from three to one much, much quicker.

“I heard you’re planning on taking an intern.”

“That’s right.”

“My cousin is a good fit.”

Her eyes jumped from the numbers to Philip’s face. “I already have someone in mind.”

He put his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “All right.”

“Wait . . .” She sighed. “Send me your cousin’s résumé.” As much as she wanted to hire Janie, she had to be fair about this. There was such a thing as professional integrity. The spot needed to go to the most qualified candidate.

Michael would understand. He didn’t let his sister win when wrestling just because she was younger and smaller and weaker. Stella had to go through the proper vetting process. She had a feeling, however, Janie was her girl. When you loved something—like she and Janie did—you were good at it. If you weren’t good right away, you got good at it.

Philip released an amused huff of breath. “All right, then.”

The elevator dinged, and she strode through the lobby. Frustratingly, Philip followed her to her car.

“Are you going to that charity benefit tomorrow?” he asked.

“How do you know about it?”

“My mom and yours are on the planning committee. I know, small world, right? Anyway, I was wondering if you have a date. My mom is going to find me one if I don’t get one on my own.” He smiled and hunched his shoulders in a way that made him seem far more approachable than normal.

Their situations were so similar, Stella couldn’t help sympathizing. “Mine threatened the same thing.”

“Look, Stella, I know you’re seeing someone, but . . . Before, you said you hoped it was serious, kind of like you weren’t sure. Is he your boyfriend or not?”

She looked down at the blacktop in the parking lot. “It’s complicated.”

“What does that mean?”

“I need to go. I don’t want to be late.” She gripped the door handle to her car.

He lowered a hand toward hers but stopped before making contact. Did he sense she needed her space? Maybe he really did understand her.

“Does it mean you’re just having sex? Because you’re better than that. I hope you know that. All that stuff I told you before about needing practice—it was crap. You intimidate the hell out of me, and I was trying to make myself seem more worldly. It’s stupid. All that matters is connecting with the right person. I think you can be that person for me, Stella. I’ve liked you for a long time.”

“Why are you telling me this now? We’ve worked together for years.” She could hardly believe her ears. He’d liked her all this time? Her?

“Because I have issues, and my tongue ties up when I’m with you and all that comes out is asshole garbage. I was waiting for you to ask me out because I’m insecure, but I’m asking you now. The idea that you’re seeing some guy who doesn’t appreciate you makes me crazy. You’re a ten for me, Stella.”

He thought she was a ten? Someone thought she was a ten. Her chest caved in, and her eyes stung. “I’m not a ten. I have . . . issues, too.”

“I know. Your mom told my mom. She told me. I have a whole slew of problems that change names every time I switch therapists. We’re perfect for each other. You’re still a ten for me.”

But he wasn’t her perfect ten. He might have been, though, if things had been different. There was a time when she would have been interested in exploring whether there was a nice guy inside him somewhere. She couldn’t fault him for sounding condescending when she often came across the same way. Besides, she wanted him to be good underneath it all. The idea gave her hope for herself.