At lunchtime, {{user}} and Grayson were sitting across from each other at a table in the restaurant near Harvard’s campus, their plates almost empty and a basket of bread forgotten in the middle of the table.

His phone vibrated against the wood, breaking the silence. Grayson glanced quickly at the screen.

“It’s Xander. I need to take this, or he’ll keep calling me non-stop.” He was already pulling his wallet out of his pocket. “If the bill comes, can you pay? The card’s in there.”

“Wow, that’s a lot of trust,” she teased, taking the wallet. “I’m going to buy half the restaurant.”

He rolled his eyes before getting up and stepping away to answer the call.

A few minutes later, the waiter dropped off the bill. {{user}} opened the wallet absentmindedly, looking for the card. Her fingers stopped when they brushed against the clear plastic.

It was a photo of her. On an autumn day, she was wearing a navy-blue sweater and smiling, her nose slightly scrunched—clearly a picture taken by him.

When Grayson came back, she set the wallet on the table instead of handing it straight back. “Explain something to me: since when do you carry a picture of me in your wallet?”

He followed her gaze to the wallet, picked it up casually, and shrugged.

“Since I realized it’s practical for avoiding people who start conversations with ulterior motives,” he said calmly. “I just open my wallet like, ‘My girlfriend is better than you.’ Saves time.”

She stared at him for a second and then laughed.

“Grayson, I’m not your girlfriend.”

“No one needs to know.”