Tyler would be coming home on Monday.
I wasn’t ready for reality to come crashing down on me.
The last two weeks with Gavin had felt like a month, like Tyler was some distant memory far in the back of my head, and my wedding to him wasn’t just three weeks out. Although, the texts I kept getting from Tyler’s mother ensured I remembered it. Apparently, rain was forecasted for that week, and there was no telling her that weather forecasts three weeks in advance weren’t reliable at all. I wondered if that was why Tyler had left so close to the wedding—so he wouldn’t be stressed about the little things coming from his family.
My family didn’t seem to be bothered. All my mother kept asking was if her dress was nice enough. She had bought one but continued shopping to look for others in case she found a nicer one.
Despite all that, I still felt like I was in some giddy little bubble. As if that was the nightmare and my days with Gavin were reality.
Every workday, I spent too long staring at the elevator doors, my heart jumping every time its bell chimed in anticipation of Gavin making an appearance, and every night, it was him I was texting right before I fell asleep.
I wanted to be mad at Gavin for making me a silly teenager all over again. It felt like the beginning of a relationship—something I had sworn to myself I would never feel again—where there was so much hope, butterflies, and downright bliss. The kind that kept you up at night because, for once, your reality was better than your dreams.
It was disgusting and terrifying and amazing all at once. The last time I’d felt this way, it had turned into something I barely escaped.Thatthought kept me level and reminded me not to trip over my feet as I strode further and further toward a four-letter word that I refused to utter.
But it was so fucking hard denying it.
“Your toaster is smoking,” Lana said over our video chat on Friday morning.
The smell of burning toast broke me out of my daze as I stared at my phone, waiting for Gavin to text me back.
“Shit,” I said, scrambling for the toaster. The black toast burned my fingers when I grabbed it, and I nearly threw it onto my plate. “Fucking hell—“
My phone buzzed, and I forgot about the burnt toast so quickly that I practically gave myself whiplash.
So early, baby, he replied in response to my saying something about the beauty of the sunrise.
Here I thought gods woke with the sun to work on their chiseled physiques, I texted back.
I usually do that after coffee. Why? Would you like to come over and watch me sweat?
No, I blurted.
I love when you lie.
“So… who are you texting?” Lana asked in a sing-song voice.
I didn’t even realize I was grinning at my phone. Had forgotten I was on a video call with her.
“It’s nothing,” I said, basically throwing my phone across the counter.
I wiped my face with my hands and pushed my hair back behind my ears, forcing myself to ignore my phone when it buzzed again.
Shit.
“Could it be a certain ginger god?” she teased.
I chewed at the inside of my mouth to keep from smiling outright, looking down at the counter to hide the heat on my cheeks. “No,” I forced out.
“God, you are the worst liar—“
“If you were here, I’d throw something at you,” I said as I turned and removed a carton of eggs from the fridge.
“Skydiving, texting every minute of the day, burning your food, lunch dates… tell me, Clo, how exactly have you managed not to fuck him yet?”
I cracked open an egg into the pan. “Extreme willpower and lots of toys,” I muttered.
Lana snorted, and I glared at her over my shoulder.
