I've always enjoyed processing my thoughts out loud, and I'm eager to do so with Polly as we walk Green Lake this morning. My mind has been racing with questions about Alex, but I put them aside and reflect on our dare I say enjoyable night together as I stretch my hamstrings on a park bench.

All-grown-up Alex is dramatically different from the one I remember from high school. Although that Alex was confident, she didn't have the swagger she does now. Long gone are her colorful tips of hair, round metal-framed glasses, and non-descript black jeans. Now she has luxurious, black hair that cascades over her shoulders, wears fashionable eyeglasses and expensive clothing. This Alex is much more alluring.

"Hey."

I turn to see Polly walking towards me with a stroller.

"No luck convincing Pete to watch Finn?" I bend down and smile at the one-year old.

"He had to work," she says. "I probably can't do brunch with Finn in tow if we walk around the lake."

"That's ok." I head down the slope to the paved path. "You'll never guess who I saw last night."

"Who?"

"Alex Vause."

She stops. "What?"

I nod. "She asked me to come over so she could explain stuff."

"She couldn't tell you whatever she needed to over the phone?" Polly starts walking again with a questioning look on her face. "And why would you care about her felonious life after high school?"

"Because we're in the same profession," I say, ignoring the whole we-could've-talked-on-the-phone thing. "She lives in one of the new high rises downtown—the one with that upscale Japanese restaurant on the ground level."

She gives me a dubious look. "Sounds like she's done pretty well for herself as an ex-con."

I relay our conversation to Polly who makes snide comments here and there. She's not wrong—Alex has had a checkered past since high school and finally faced dire consequences for her actions—yet I find myself defending her more often than not.

When we're almost done with our three-mile walk, she turns to me. "Why do I get the feeling you're intrigued by more than the fact that you share the same profession?"

I shrug. "She's fascinating."

Polly side-eyes me. "Don't tell me you're crushing on her?"

"What?" I swat the air. "No, come on. She's a felon!"

Her eyebrows climb up her forehead. "You are!"

"I just think she's…interesting." I look towards the lake as I feel a blush slowly creeping up my neck. Not only should I not admit that to my best friend, I shouldn't feel that way about Alex.

"You don't think she's hot?" Polly asks in a tone as if she knows she's caught me.

"She's stunning…" I picture Alex from last night, standing in the doorway to the balcony with her well-manicured toenails and snug sweater. "But that doesn't mean I have a crush on her."

"Good." I doubt she believes me. "She has always been bad news, Pipes."

"Well, she turned her life around," I say, giving her more credit than I probably should. "That ought to count for something."

I shift the conversation to Polly's life, but there's not much to share—she's consumed with raising a kid with a husband who doesn't help much if at all. I offer to take Finn one night so they could go on a date, and she promises to take me up on my offer in the near future.

"Thanks for listening to me the whole time," I say as we make it back to our starting point. "I promise I won't dominate the conversation next time."

She checks on a sleeping Finn in the stroller. "You didn't dominate it."

I think I did, but I needed to process everything out loud. "Let's do this again soon."

"And have a boozy brunch afterwards."

"Sounds good." I hug my oldest friend. "Thanks for meeting me."

"You, too…and don't get tangled up with that woman, Piper."

"I won't." I make a little cross over my heart. "Bye, Pol."

I pretend to be convinced by my own promise, but I can't say that I wouldn't like to see Alex again even with a neon WARNING sign flashing in my head.

The following Thursday, Jeremy barrels into my office before I've finished my morning coffee. "Did you hear the news? We didn't get the Kerry Park listing."

"I thought we were a shoo-in?"

"They chose Rainier Realty." He shrugs. "Turns out the guy who owns it is best friends with the man who owned the Hunt's Point mansion that Rainier sold this summer."

I set my coffee mug down, mentally preparing myself for the answer to this question: "Do you know who the listing agent is?"

He crosses his arms. "A.P. Vause."

"Al—" My eyes widen at the mention of her name even though I suspected she was the agent who nabbed the highly sought after property. "A.P. Vause?"

"She's the woman I told you about last week—the hot one who's only been in the business for a couple of years."

I'm afraid if I respond, I'll say something revealing; instead, I lower my eyes and shuffle the papers on my desk.

"She's doing an agent's open house tomorrow. Want to check it out together?" he asks.

"I have a crazy day tomorrow, but I might be able to swing by late." I tuck the papers into a manilla folder. "You should go—don't wait for me."

"Ok." Before walking out, Jeremy spins around. "You were right—we need to keep an eye on Rainier Realty and this A.P. Vause."

I nod and blink at him. "Yeah."

I wonder if this is one of those cases where once you're aware of something, you see it more frequently. Like if you're contemplating buying an Jeep, you notice them more on the road. There's actually not more Jeeps on the road, you're just keenly aware of their presence. I remember learning about that phenomenon in college, but I can't say that I've ever experienced it.

I'll definitely go to the agent's showing tomorrow, but I want to play it cool. It's public knowledge that Alex is the listing agent, so it's not like I can pretend I didn't know that when I show up. I have to find some other reason for being there. Hell, it's my job. Every agent in the city would kill to sell that house and get the commission on the multi-million-dollar home.

My landline buzzes, then I hear Tasha over the speaker. "Mr. Bloom is on line two."

I hit the reply button. "Which Mr. Bloom?"

"Guess."

I assume it's Larry, though I'd much prefer to talk to his grandpa. I sigh as I lift the receiver and examine my mood shift before speaking with my boyfriend. It's not good—I dread talking to him and prolonging this. It's time I do something about it.

"Hello?" I answer.

"Hi, Pipes," he replies. "I got two tickets to the Seahawks game on Sunday. It's been a while since we've gone to a game together. What do you say?"

"I can't, Larry." I cradle my forehead with my hand. "We should probably talk."

"I had a feeling this was coming," he lets out in a long breath.

I won't correct him—it has been coming. "Can you come over tonight?"

"If you're inviting me over to end things, I'd rather not be humiliated in person," he begins. "Just do it now, Piper."

"I was trying to be polite." I sit up straight. "But if you insist on having this conversation over the phone…"

"Yeah, I do," he baits me.

"I just don't see our relationship progressing." I bite hard on my back teeth. "I'm sorry."

"I knew it—you've felt like this for months and you couldn't pull the plug."

Is he chastising me for not breaking up with him sooner? Like I wouldn't have the courage to call it quits? "If you knew, why didn't we talk about it weeks ago?"

"I'm not the one who wants to break up!" he shouts.

"I thought maybe we'd just hit a rough patch, so I stuck it out," I reply. "But it's beyond that. I'm sorry."

"You're a real piece of work," he huffs. "Have a good life." With that, he hangs up and I hang my head.

I wanted our relationship to succeed—I wanted him to be 'the one' but it never materialized. I feel a pang in my chest; I never set out to hurt him, but I know I just did. However, it's better to cut things off now than to let it linger another week or more. I would've preferred to do it in person, but maybe it's better this way—yank off that Band Aid and try to heal.

I hear a knock on my open door and look up to see Tasha standing in the entryway.

"You alright?"

I'm sure I look as sad as I feel. "It's over."

She steps inside. "You broke up with him?"

I nod.

"That shit ain't easy." She shakes her head. "But you did the right thing—you haven't been feeling Larry for a long time."

"I know," I sigh. "That doesn't make it any easier. He's a good guy, Tasha."

"He'll be good for somebody else," she responds. "You feel like going for a walk or something?"

I shake my head. "I have a showing in an hour that I have to prep for, but thanks."

"Damn, I don't get that fancy dinner now." She smiles, instantly lifting my spirits. "Let me know if you need anything."

I give her the best smile I can muster. "Thank you."

The best thing for me to do right now is to throw myself into work—force myself to concentrate on something other than hurting Larry. I wasn't kidding when I told Jeremy that I have a busy day tomorrow, but I also have a jam-packed day today. It'll be good for me.

After a decent night of sleep, I go for an early morning run around Green Lake and try to grapple with ending my relationship with Larry. There's a weight lifted off me this morning, and while I truly am sad about hurting him, I know it's what's best for both of us. He doesn't want to be in a loveless relationship any more than I do. What good would it have done for us to stay together while growing apart?

My thoughts drift to the day ahead as I jog the last mile, and I remember there's an agent's open house at the mansion across the street from Kerry Park today. Alex is the listing agent. My lips tug up as I think about her and the unlikely fact that I knew her many years ago and now she's my competition. I don't have a feeling of wanting to beat her the way I feel about crushing Fig, which is strange considering she's gaining traction in the real estate market and is in direct competition with Shadwick-Bloom. Instead, I find myself intrigued by her and her life's story. Against my better judgement, I long to know more about her time in the cartel as well as her years in prison. I've never known anyone who served time.

I take a quick shower before meeting a couple in Medina to look at three homes. When my clients have a budget of nearly $3 million, I'll spend all day with them, touring houses that match their interests. The same is true if their budget is a meager $300,000, but the commission isn't nearly as nice.

It isn't until close to 4 p.m. when we're done house hunting, and the couple decides to talk about their options overnight with the potential of putting in an offer on one of them tomorrow. I meet with one other client in downtown Bellevue to look at a few condos, and then I head across the bridge to Seattle, hoping I have time to catch the last 20 minutes of the agent's open house in Kerry Park.

The view of Seattle from this park is arguably the best in the city, and with such a view comes lofty prices. I walk to the edge of the park and stare at the iconic cityscape. It reminds me how much I love living in Seattle. I pull in a breath of damp, cool air, and then cross the street to the home for sale.

"Hi, Piper," a realtor from Evergreen greets me as he jogs down the steps.

I wave. "Is it as nice on the inside as it is from the road?"

"It's gorgeous," he responds. "My guess is it won't be on the market longer than a day or two."

"You're probably right." I glance at the towering home with its well-manicured lawn and Spanish tiled roof. "I'm going to go check it out before the showing is over."

"See you around."

I walk up the four steps leading to a grand, stained glass door that's propped open. The entryway looks like a castle with 30-foot-high ceilings and a gold chandelier. As I make my way to the living room, I see Alex talking to two realtors and my pulse quickens. She's wearing a red dress with cape sleeves and the black Louboutains I remember from that night at the Met. Her head rolls back as she laughs at something Darla from The Gemini Group says, and I'm drawn to her silky white neck.

I take a few more steps inside until I'm confident I've caught her eye, and a smile creeps across her face.

"Excuse me," she tells the two women as she heads in my direction. "Hi. Welcome."

"Hi." I don't know why I'm nervous, but I find myself wringing my hands together. "How's it going?"

"Really well," Alex replies. "We've had almost 40 agents come through since one o'clock."

For a moment, I forget that I'm not here to see Alex—well, I'm not just here to see Alex. I quickly shift into realtor mode. "I've always wanted to see the inside of this place."

"Want me to give you the tour?"

I nod. "Please."

I've done this long enough to know the listing agent rarely walks other agents around on a personal tour. The only time I've ever done that was when I had a slight crush on a guy from Sound Point Realty several years ago.

She takes me through the living room, formal dining room and kitchen and I'm not sure what I'm more impressed by—the totally remodeled home with its high end appliances or the way Alex moves and speaks.

"There's an outdoor kitchen, too." She opens the door and allows me to proceed in front of her.

I scoot by, taking in her scent of cedar and vanilla. My arm brushes her stomach in the tight space, and goosebumps prickle my skin.

She closes the door and walks towards the massive grill. "They just added the pergola this spring, so now you can sit outside in the rainy months and entertain."

I run my hand over the ledger stone. "Outdoor kitchens seem to be the new thing."

"You haven't called me Alex yet," she says in a lower voice, changing the subject entirely.

My head shoots up and I stare into her green eyes. "I'm trying."

"Good." She touches my wrist, and although it's an innocent touch, it somehow feels intimate.

I glance around the yard, ensuring no one is outside, and then look inside the large windows to see only two agents in the living room.

"I probably just won't refer to you by name for the time being," I reply.

"That'll work," she says. "Or you could call me Agent Vause."

My lips stretch up. "Like you work for the FBI or something?"

"Yeah," she says through a light laugh. "It sounds kind of badass."

"Agent Vause." I try the term out and can't help returning her smile.

She steps close enough for me to smell her minty breath. "Would you want to get a drink after this?"

"Weren't you the one who warned me about being seen in public with the competition?" My voice is an octave lower than normal.

"It doesn't have to be in public," she responds in a tone similar to my own. "You could come to my place again. Or I could go to yours." Her confidence knows no bounds.

I shouldn't spend time with her; I know that. She's an ex-con for fuck's sake.

"I have a Red Mountain cab I've been dying to open," I say instead of listening to the better angels in my head.

She takes a step back, and the intimacy of the moment is all but gone. "Text me your address."

"You're assuming I saved your number," I reply.

She smirks, and then turns towards the house. "I'm willing to bet on that assumption."

There's no other way to put it—Alex is hot. The way she walks, talks, flirts, smells, stands. She also makes me all nervous inside—kind of like the time I went sky diving and looked out of the plane that soared 10,000 feet above ground. There was risk in that jump, but it was exhilarating all the way down.

"Aren't you going to finish showing me around?"

"Yeah." She holds the door open for me. "There's plenty more to see."

And just like that, she's back in business mode.

One of the two remaining agents joins us as we tour the library, basement and second floor. It's far less special with Gretchen in tow, but I still enjoy watching Alex glide across a room and describe the master bath. I imagine she would've been a good drug dealer with her seductive sales skills.

"Here's a flyer with all the specs." She hands both of us a colored printout, and I don't tell her that the intern gave me one when I first walked in. "We're listing it at a conservative $4.3 million, but I'm guessing we'll have multiple offers over asking price."

"Bring on the bidding wars," Gretchen says.

"When will you begin accepting offers?" I ask, looking up from the glossy paper and wishing Gretchen would disappear.

"Tomorrow, but we won't review them until Monday," Alex announces. "My contact information is at the bottom. Grab my card on the side table on your way out if you'd like."

"Thanks, A.P." Gretchen waves as she steps outside.

Alex glances at her phone, presumably to check the time. "Would you mind shutting the door and the gate on the way out?"

"Yeah." I smile at her once more, then follow the other agent. "Thanks again."

She sticks one hand up. "You're welcome."

I get to my car and lean my head against the steering wheel, closing my eyes. It's hard to fathom this is the same girl from high school, but there are moments when the similarities are striking. I reflect upon when we ran into each other at the Met and I had no idea who she was. Now, that seems almost impossible. I need to find the box in my basement with old high school paraphernalia, hoping the yearbook from my freshman year is among the relics. I'd like to see if what I remember about her is accurate or if time has tainted those memories.

Before driving away, I find Alex's original message in my phone, which of course I saved, and then text her my address. I debate whether to leave it at that or to write something more. I decide to keep it simple: See you soon.