“It means you’re stuck. Circling Nolan, the pitch, the past, the future, waiting for the perfect moment. The right sign. Like it’s going to hit you over the head with clarity.”
“I’m just being careful,” I say, quieter now. “I’ve worked too hard to screw this up.”
“I get that.” Laurel’s voice softens too. “You’re scared. But if there’s something there, don’t run away from it.”
I shake my head. “I can’t deal with this right now. Winning Asher is the only thing that matters right now.”
“You sure about that?” she asks, not unkindly.
I hesitate. “Yeah. Very.”
She shrugs. “Okay.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying… you’re not moving. So, it’s time to pick a direction and start.I hear North is nice this time of year.” Laurel glances over at Nolan’s table which just happens to be facing north and then winks.
I swallow, something tight and tangled lodging itself in my chest.
North & Anchor.The phrase my parents lived by. The compass that pointed forward when they were lost. The mantra I’d been raised on.
“I don’t know which way North is.”
Laurel leans in and looks me dead in the eyes. “North will find you. Maybe it already has.”
This time, I throw my restraint aside, and my gaze finds Nolan.He’s looking back at me—soft and unguarded, a man staring back at the one person he can’t stop thinking about either.
And for a second, it’s not tension or lust or the remnants of what we were trying to be.
It’s longing.
It’s everything we’re not saying.
And it rips my heart open.
Is Laurel’s right?
Has North already found me? Was I too scared to fight for it?
“Just make sure you’re the one steering, Rorie,” Laurel says. “Not the past. Not the pressure.Not friends.” Her eyes swivel over to Jeremy. He shrugs innocently. “And definitely not a man who looks genetically engineered in a lab for the purpose of making women lose all common sense.”
Jeremy snickers into his drink. “I mean, if hewaslab-made, they did a damn fine job.”
Groaning, I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Can we please stay focused?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying, Rorie.Focus.But focus on whatyouactually want, not just what you think you’re supposed to do based on what other people want.”
What I want?That’s the problem. What Iwantis messy. Complicated. Something that rewrites your insides and never asks permission first.
I’ve spent so long chasing what’s safe—what looks good on paper—that I don’t even know if I’d recognize whatIwant anymore if it was standing right in front of me.
Which, unfortunately, it is.
With forearms. His signature smirk. And deliciously sweet dimple.
Clink. Clink. Clink.
Shelby stands at the head of the table, poised, her sundress catching the light as she lifts her glass.
