“About what?”
“About leaving here in the first place. About thinking I was too good for small-town life. About being a spoiled brat who didn’t appreciate what she had.”
Nora’s eyebrows shoot up. “Who called you a spoiled brat?”
Heat floods my cheeks. “Jesse.”
“Ah.” Understanding dawns in her eyes. “You’ve talked to him already.”
“If you can call it talking. It was more like him listing all my character flaws while I tried not to cry.”
“What exactly did he say?”
I give her the abbreviated version of our confrontation, leaving out the part about him grabbing my throat and the admission about our kiss keeping him up at night. Some things are too raw to share, even with my best friend.
“He’s not wrong,” I say when I finish. “I was spoiled. Truett did give me everything I wanted, and I did take it for granted.”
“Maybe. But you were also eighteen and grieving and trying to figure out who you were outside of this place. That doesn’t make you a brat. It makes you normal.”
“Then why do I feel so guilty about it?”
“Because you have a conscience. Which, for the record, spoiled brats usually don’t.”
Marge refills our tea glasses without being asked, a small kindness that reminds me why I used to love this place.
“Can I ask you something?” Nora says once Marge is gone.
“Sure.”
“Was this Daniel guy anything like Jesse?”
The question catches me off guard. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, was he tall and dark and brooding? Did he have that whole strong, silent type thing going on?”
I think about it, really think about it. Daniel was tall, yes. Dark hair, yes. But brooding? Not exactly. He was more…polished. Smooth. He knew exactly what to say and when to say it, how to make me feel special and wanted.
Jesse’s never been smooth in that way. He’s blunt and honest and sometimes cruel in his directness. But he’s also real in a wayDaniel never was. I’ve always thought I could fix Jesse if he’d only just give me a chance.
“Not really,” I say finally.
“Hmm.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. Just…hmm.”
I know that look. It’s the same one she used to get in high school when she was formulating a theory about why our chemistry teacher wore the same tie every Tuesday or why the quarterback always ate lunch alone on Fridays.
“Nora.”
“I’m just saying, it’s interesting that you spent something like seven years trying to get over Jesse Nelson and ended up with a guy who was the complete opposite of him.”
“I wasn’t trying to get over Jesse. There was nothing to get over.”
She gives me a look that clearly says she thinks I’m delusional.
“There wasn’t,” I insist. “We kissed once. Once. And then I left for college. End of story.”
