Charles was anxious as he waited for Liza at JFK. Should he have brought flowers? That felt a little pathetic. He brought her Nicole Krauss' novel Forest Dark instead - it didn't feel like he was trying too hard, and reading ahead was an ideal way to pass the time until she arrived.

He'd found a spot in the International Arrivals terminal where he could perch on a metal railing and had read about thirty pages by the time she called his name, walking quickly in his direction.

"Hey," Liza smiled broadly, slinging her bag to her shoulder so she could lean in and give him a hug. Charles reciprocated with a chaste kiss on the cheek.

"How was the flight?" he asked, stuffing the book in his jacket pocket.

"Fine, but I'm glad to be home," she said. "It was a beautiful ceremony, but it's a long trip."

"Ceremony?" he asked, furrowing his brow.

"Sorry, I was sure Kelsey had told you - Josh and Clare, uh, got married over the weekend," Liza shrugged, looking uncomfortable as she tried not to think about the last time Charles and Josh had seen each other.

"Ah," he replied, surprised. "Well, uh, all my best to them. Just wish I would have known - I would have suggested a punch bowl as a gift," he smirked, embarrassed and searching her eyes, silently imploring her to change the subject to anything else.

"Ha," she said. "So what were you thinking - dinner? Drinks? Anything but airplane food."

"Let's talk and get a drink near your place. I won't keep you out late. I'm sure you're jet-lagged, and it's a school night," Charles replied, nodding toward the exit. He took her rolling suitcase for her, and they walked together toward the doors leading outside.

"Oh, I forgot," he said, patting his jacket pocket as they waited for a cab, "I brought you this. Knowing you, you've already read it," he shook his head. He handed her Forest Dark, and she smiled as she thumbed through it. He'd written her an inscription on the title page.

"You should read it later," he nodded.

"Thank you! That's very thoughtful," Liza said, clearly flattered. "I love her - the book's been on my radar, but I hadn't picked it up yet." Charles was pleased to have picked something she hadn't read.

After getting into a cab and getting on the road, Charles couldn't help flashing back to sitting in the back of the car with Pauline the day before. It felt right having Liza by his side instead. She brought him out of his brief daydream by asking about what happened on GMA.

"I'm not entirely sure what happened," he admitted. "It was just so fast, and it still doesn't feel like it was real."

"It was definitely real," Liza said. "I watched from Ireland. Nice answer to the Hamptons question," she smiled, avoiding eye contact and looking out the window instead.

"You liked that?" Charles smiled. "I hoped you knew I was kidding. It was the one thing I could do. I just felt used." He shook his head, as if he was trying to dislodge the painful memory from his mind. "You know, I could rationalize publishing the book because it was a work of fiction - and a good one." Liza nodded, listening.

"But after it came out and all of this blew up, it all felt like a slap in the face - personally, professionally, to the company my family started." He looked at her, offered his hand and smiled weakly. She grasped it and rubbed the back of his hand with her thumb. "To you. And it's my own fault for agreeing to publish it in the first place."

Liza pressed her lips together and nodded slowly, her hand resting in Charles'. "I get it," she said. "But it was the right thing to do for Empirical - and, let's face it, for Pauline. You gave her a second chance to try to mend her relationship with you, the girls, her friends..."

"I thought we were in publishing, not granting wishes," Charles grimaced.

"Charles, this story is powerful," Liza said, turning her gaze away from him to look at the traffic ahead and avoid eye contact. "I was thinking about it on the flight back, actually. If you really want to take control of the narrative, now that the book's got good buzz, you could publish your own account of what happened. How it hurt you. What it feels like from the other side of the story."

"Absolutely not," Charles said, flatly, taking his hand back from hers and shifting in his seat.

"Hear me out," Liza said.

"Liza, that's stooping to her level," he protested, his voice quiet but emphatic. "I'd never breach her trust and do…"

"What she did to you," Liza finished his sentence. He exhaled and leaned back against the headrest in the back seat, pinching the bridge of his nose. He was shutting down, like he did every time he got cornered.

"This is not what I had in mind for tonight," he said, annoyed.

"What did you have in mind?" she asked. "You picked me up from the airport."

He hesitated for a second.

"You're right. I'm sorry," he said, shaking himself out of his anger and regaining his composure. "I'm taking this out on you, and that's not fair. It's been a sore spot for a while now, and it's been a hard few days. I wish you'd been here."

Liza glanced at him, then out the window. "I do, too."

The traffic had dissipated, and the cab pulled off at her exit in Williamsburg. After negotiating side streets, they pulled over down the block from Liza and Maggie's place. Charles paid the fare and lifted her suitcase from the trunk.

"Do you mind if I run home and drop my stuff off quickly? I'd ask if you wanted to come up, but I'll just be a second. I just don't want to get beer on my suitcase wheels. You know how sticky bar floors in Williamsburg are," she said, immediately realizing that he had no idea what bar floors in Williamsburg were like. He tilted his head and smiled. "Be right back," she said, hurrying toward her door as he stood on the street out front.

Maggie was on a later flight home, so the apartment was dark when she opened the door. Liza pushed her luggage into the kitchen and ambled down the stairs.

As she set the book on the counter, though, her curiosity got the best of her, and she peeked at the note he'd written her on the title page. "Liza," it said, with the date in the top right-hand corner. "To wherever our own story takes us. Yours, Charles."

Charles was more complicated than she'd thought when she first met him - he was anxious, romantic, a bit of a loose cannon. She couldn't predict how he'd react if he ever found out her real life story. But he was there now, waiting for her, and whatever she wanted to tell him.