My toes tingle. My fingers too.
And my heart.
My heart is tingling a little.
I tell it to chill out.
That it’s probably Daphne.
Maybe she’s not going to New York at all. She still has the connections to organize a hostile takeover of a college town’s closed-up drive-in movie theater.
Shehaslaunched a full-scale war against the Camilles since Logan started showing up everywhere my bus has been this week and since Jake posted that ridiculously condescendingjust because she’s not a great businessperson doesn’t mean a town like Athena’s Rest shouldn’t support hersocial media post on Monday, and since the whispers started about Damon Camille, patriarch of the assholes, wanting me to change my business name because of false advertising.
This is absolutely something Daphne would do.
But she’s not the only person in town who would do it.
And that’s what has me undecided on what to wear right up until Hudson tells me he’s going without me or taking me in the robe, my choice.
I grab the first sundress my hand makes contact with, belatedly realize it’s the same one I wore when I made barbecue chicken and risotto for Simon at Ryker’s farm, almost burst into tears, and then put it on anyway.
When I dash to the front of the apartment, it smells like Chinese food.
“We’re not going?” I ask Hudson.
He lifts a soft-sided cooler. “Post said to bring your own food. I heated up leftovers.”
Once again—I almost cry.
My brother grins at me. “Remember that time Griff ate the last Chinese leftovers when you were taking those classes that had you super stressed and you collapsed in the kitchen andcried for an hour and then Ryker drove home from college just to bring you more sweet and sour chicken?”
I flip him off.
He jerks his head to the door, grinning wider. “Yeah, I remember that time too. Let’s go. I want to know what they’re playing. I hope it’sRocky Horror. Iconic, you know?”
I care less what they’re playing and more who else might be there.
Specifically, if it’s Daphne.
Or if it’s Simon.
Daph’s right.
I need to give him another chance.
Will he hurt me again?
Maybe.
But will it hurt worse if I don’t try?
That’s what I keep falling back on.
I’ve spent the past ten years trying to live up to the example my parents set.
Why would I not take a chance at making things work with a man who’s made me feel more alive, more free, more like myself than I have at any time since I left college?
A man who wants to stand beside me while I figure out what I want to do.
