OVERLOOKED TO IRRESISTIBLE

"You're late."

Aria burst through the gallery doors, her portfolio tucked awkwardly under her arm. Charlotte Reed had that kind of authority, you felt it the second you stepped into her space. Her silver hair was sharply cut, her gaze sharp enough to catch every detail you wished she wouldn’t.

“I’m so sorry,” Aria blurted. “The subway...”

“The subway is always a mess,” Charlotte cut in without looking up. “People who succeed plan around it. Shut the door.”

Aria's heart was racing as she shut it behind her. Great. First day and she was already messing up.

"Your resume looks good," Charlotte said, drumming her fingers on the desk. "California Institute of the Arts. Three years at Morrison Gallery. Good references." She paused. "But New York isn't California. Here, nobody cares about your potential. They care about what you can actually do."

"I understand."

"Do you?" Charlotte got up and walked to the window. "I'm putting you in charge of the Brooklyn Emerging Artists exhibition. Three weeks from today. You'll handle everything, curating, promotion, making sure actual buyers show up with their checkbooks."

Three weeks. Aria felt her stomach drop.

"Can I ask why you're trusting me with something this big right away?"

Charlotte's smile was cold. "Because if you screw it up, I'll know fast that I made a mistake hiring you. If you don't, you'll prove you belong here."

"I won't let you down."

"Good. Your desk is by the storage room. Not pretty, but you're not here for pretty."

By six o'clock, Aria's eyes hurt from staring at spreadsheets and artist files. She grabbed her stuff and headed outside, taking a deep breath of September air. Six years. That's how long she'd been gone from New York. Six years that somehow felt like yesterday and forever ago at the same time.

Walking to the subway, she passed Café Luca. New sign, same building. This was the place where she and Ethan used to hang out for hours, sharing one hot chocolate because she couldn't afford her own and he never made it weird. She could still see him at seventeen—messy hair, that easy smile, always knowing exactly what to say.

"Aria?"

She turned around and there was Lauren Kim, a girl from middle school, staring at her like she'd seen a ghost.

"Oh my God, it really is you!" Lauren practically ran over and hugged her. "When did you come back?"

"Last week. I'm working at Meridian Gallery."

"That's amazing! Want to grab coffee? Catch up?"

Twenty minutes later, they were squeezed into a corner at Starbucks, and Aria remembered exactly why she hadn't kept in touch with most people from New York. Lauren wouldn't stop talking about people Aria barely even remembered.

"So have you seen Ethan yet?" Lauren asked, and suddenly Aria's coffee tasted wrong.

"No. Why would I?"

Lauren got that look people get when they're about to drop some gossip. "He's still with Sienna. Can you believe it? All these years. Everyone thought they'd break up after college but nope. And get this, they're getting engaged soon. Like, any day now." She pulled out her phone. "Look at this post from last week. See the ring emoji?"

Aria didn't want to look but she did. Sienna looked the same as high school, just more put together. Perfect blonde hair, perfect smile. The caption said "Exciting things ahead with my favorite person."

"It's going to be huge," Lauren went on. "The Blackwells and the Hartleys? That's basically New York royalty times two."

"I'm sure it'll be nice," Aria said, surprised her voice came out normal.

On the subway home, Aria stared at her own reflection in the dark window. What was she expecting? That Ethan had spent six years missing his childhood best friend who ran off to California? That he'd somehow figured out the broke girl from Brooklyn was actually the one?

Her new Brooklyn studio was a joke, half the size of her San Francisco place but twice the price. Still, it was hers. She threw her bag down on the futon and stood there staring at all those unpacked boxes. Of course the one on top had "High School Stuff" written on it in old marker.

Don't open it.She opened it anyway.

The yearbook was sitting right there waiting for her. Aria flipped to the junior class section and there he was. Ethan Blackwell with that stupid smile that used to make her heart flip. She slammed it shut and shoved the whole box into her closet.

Six years of therapy and building a whole new life in California, and here she was, right back to being that sixteen -year-old girl who loved a boy who didn't even see her that way.

Her phone buzzed. An email: "Marcus Gallery Opening - Tomorrow Night - You're Invited."

Gallery openings were good for work stuff. Meeting people, seeing what other curators were doing. Just professional. Nothing else.

That night, she lay in bed scrolling through Instagram, telling herself she wasn't going to look up Ethan's profile.

She looked anyway.

His last post was from a couple hours ago. Central Park at sunset, all gold and pink. The caption just said "Big things coming."

Everyone in the comments was already congratulating him. Asking when he was going to propose. Saying they were the perfect couple.

Aria's thumb hovered over the Follow button. She could message him. Something casual like "Hey, heard you're still in New York. We should catch up."

No. That was pathetic.

She closed Instagram and stared at her ceiling. Tomorrow she'd go to that gallery thing, network, focus on her job. She was twenty-four, not seventeen. She was over this.

She was over this.

That night she dreamed about Central Park and a boy who never picked her.

The next evening, Aria stood on the sidewalk in her black dress, staring at the entrance to Marcus Gallery. People kept walking past her, heading inside like they owned the place. Through the glass she could make out champagne being passed around, everyone dressed to kill, the type of crowd who'd never spent a single second wondering if they deserved to be somewhere.

Stop overthinking this, she told herself. You worked hard to get here.

She pushed through the door. The place was absolutely crammed with people. She managed to snag a champagne glass from someone carrying a tray and started weaving through the crowd to look at the artwork. Lots of contemporary abstract stuff—the kind with prices that literally made her wince when she saw the numbers.

She was staring at one painting when someone behind her said, "Aria? Aria Castellano?"

That voice. Six years disappeared in a second.

She turned around slowly, and there was Ethan Blackwell.

Older. More polished. Same eyes.

"Oh my God," he said, breaking into that smile that still—after everything—made her heart skip. "I can't believe it's really you."

"Hi, Ethan."

She was proud of how normal she sounded, like her heart wasn't about to explode.

"When did you get back?" He pulled her into a hug before she could get ready for it. He smelled different. More expensive cologne or something. But the hug, too tight, too long ,that was the same. "Why didn't you tell me you were coming back?"

Back. Like New York had just been sitting here waiting for her.

"It kind of happened fast," Aria said, stepping away. "I got a job at Meridian Gallery. Just started this week."

"That's amazing." His smile reached his eyes. "You always talked about working in the art world."

A waiter walked by and Ethan grabbed two champagne glasses, giving her one even though she already had one. She took it because she needed something to do with her hands.

"What about you?" she asked. "Still working for your dad?"

"Yeah. Blackwell Investments." He made a face. "It's not exactly changing the world, but it pays well and my dad's stopped threatening to cut me off."

There it was. That thing he always did where he made fun of his own privilege. She'd forgotten how much she used to love that about him.

"I'm sure you're good at it."

"I'm okay at it." He laughed. "But forget about boring finance stuff. Tell me about California. Six years is forever. You just left."

"I went to college."

"And then stayed out there for three more years without even visiting." His voice was light but something flickered in his expression. "I thought maybe you were mad at me."

Mad didn't even come close. Heartbroken. Embarrassed. Desperate to get away from being that girl who waited around for him while he dated Sienna.

"I just needed a fresh start," she said.

"I don't get it." Ethan moved closer. "One day we were hanging out all the time, and then you were just gone. I missed you, Aria. A lot."

She'd imagined him saying that for years. But now all she could hear was Lauren's voice: They're getting engaged soon.

"I missed you too."

"So tell me everything. Did you date a bunch of tech guys out there? Break some hearts?"

"A few." The lie came easy. "Nothing serious. I was pretty focused on work."

That was closer to true. She'd dated, even had a relationship that lasted almost a year. But nobody was Ethan, and that had always been the problem.

After that, talking got easier. Ethan touched her arm when he laughed, stood close enough that she could feel him. An hour went by like nothing.

"God, I forgot how easy you are to talk to," Ethan said, finishing his third glass of champagne. "Everyone in my life just wants something from me or is trying to impress my dad."

"That sounds lonely."

"It is." He looked at her in a way that made it hard to breathe. "We should get dinner. Like a real dinner, not just bumping into each other here. What are you doing tomorrow?"

Tomorrow. Dinner. Just them.

"I'd like that."

"Perfect." He pulled out his phone. "Give me your number and I'll text you where."

She told him her number and watched him type it in. Even his phone case looked expensive.

Right after he saved her contact, his phone buzzed. The screen lit up: "Sienna: Where are you? You said you'd be home by 9."

His whole face changed. Guilty. He locked the phone fast.

"I should actually go," he said, not looking at her. "Early meeting tomorrow."

"Yeah, of course." Aria kept her voice normal even though disappointment hit her hard. Of course he had to leave. Of course Sienna was texting. Nothing had changed.

"But I'll text you tomorrow about dinner, okay? I really want to catch up for real." He squeezed her arm, his hand staying there just a little too long. "It's really good to see you. You have no idea."

Then he was gone, disappearing into the crowd. She was left standing there with two champagne glasses and that old familiar ache in her chest.

Aria finished both glasses and was reaching for another when someone behind her said, "Drinking alone at art openings. That's bold."

She turned around. A guy was watching her, looking amused. Tall, dark hair, maybe early thirties. His suit probably cost more than her rent.

"I'm not alone," she said. "I'm networking."

"With the champagne?"

"It's a good listener."

He almost smiled. "How's that going?"

"The champagne thinks I should go home and rethink my life."

"Smart champagne." He moved closer, looking at the painting she'd been pretending to study. "What do you think of this one?"

Aria glanced at it. "Honestly? It's technically good but it doesn't make me feel anything. The artist is just showing off without actually saying something."

"Harsh."

"But true."

"The artist spent six months on this."

"Then they wasted six months." Aria met his eyes. "Spending time on something doesn't make it good."

He actually laughed. "You're completely right. I've been staring at it trying to feel something and nothing's happening."

"That's the problem with a lot of art now. People forget that being good at technique doesn't matter if you're not making people feel something."

"You sound like a curator."

"Junior curator. Just started at Meridian Gallery this week."

"Ah." Something changed in his expression. "Charlotte Reed's gallery. How's that going? Is she terrifying or just really intimidating?"

"Both. You know her?"

"I've put money into a few galleries in the city. Charlotte and I have met." He held out his hand. "I didn't introduce myself. That's rude."

Aria shook his hand. His watch looked expensive. "And you are?"

Before he could answer, someone yelled across the room. A woman in a red dress was waving at him.

"I have to go," he said. "Enjoy the rest of this. And maybe slow down on the champagne. Future you will be grateful."

"I don't take advice from strangers."

"Good policy." He smiled and left.

Aria pulled out her phone to get an Uber. The gallery was getting too crowded and she'd done what she came to do.

The ride home was all streetlights and traffic. She kept thinking about Ethan the whole way.

When she got to her apartment building and climbed the stairs, there was something taped to her door.

A cream-colored envelope.

Her stomach dropped before she even touched it. She knew that kind of paper. Expensive. The kind used for important announcements.

The invitation had gold letters on thick paper: "Mr. Ethan Blackwell and Miss Sienna Hartley request the honor of your presence at their engagement celebration."

Next Saturday. At The Plaza Hotel.

Aria read it three times. The words kept blurring. She flipped it over and saw a note in Ethan's handwriting:

"Please come. I know this is awkward, but you're important to me. I want you there."

She stood in the hallway for a long time, holding that invitation and trying to remember how to breathe.

Aria threw the invitation across her apartment.

It landed on a moving box. The gold letters caught the light like they were laughing at her. She wanted to rip it up. She wanted to burn it. She wanted to go back in time and tell her seventeen-year-old self that leaving New York was smart, and coming back was stupid.

Instead, she poured herself wine and sat on her futon, staring at the card.

Important to me. I want you there.

"Unbelievable," she said to her empty apartment. "He wants me there."

Her phone buzzed. A text from Ethan: "Got home safe? Was really great seeing you tonight. Let's do Tuesday for dinner? I know a great Italian place in the West Village."

Aria stared at the message. He just went home to Sienna, the woman he's marrying in a few weeks. And now he's texting her about dinner. What was she supposed to do with that?

She typed three different responses and deleted all of them. Finally she sent: "Tuesday works. Text me th