“We should go see Madame Petty.”
Margot slides a glance at her sister.
I pause with my tea halfway to my mouth.
“No,” we say together.
“Comeon,” Daphne says. “It’ll be fun.”
I shake my head. “There’s nothing fun about letting Madame Petty tell our fortunes.”
“This is the same fortune teller we saw right before you were cut off?” Margot says. “The one who more or less told you that you were about to be broke?”
“She’s super good for someone so young. I want to know what she thinks of Bea and Simon.”
Someone knocks on the door before I can once again tell her no.
I set my tea aside and head to answer it. My heart picks up a little.
Is Simon back?
Did he sober up and want to talk?
Don’t be stupid, Bea. He’s not coming back.
But my pulse is acting like a sugared-up middle schooler and I’m straightening my posture and swinging the door open with a smile as if he is.
As if I’d be glad to see him.
Which I would be, even if I don’t want to admit it to myself.
I’d like to know he’s not really angry with me. Not like I could’ve guessed I’d hit a nerve by using him to make my ex ragey when he didn’t care if I used him to get publicity for my business.
Or maybe I could’ve.
Actually, I probably should’ve.
And—oh, fuck me.
He’s not here.
Jake is.
Smile gone.
Jake’s in jeans and a casual blue button-down, with his hair immaculately in place, his cheeks freshly shaved.
I square my shoulders for battle instead of for flattering my posture as my pulse kicks even higher. “What do you want?”
He blows out a breath, then looks at me with a muscle ticking in his jaw. “Fine.”
“Fine?”
“Fine, I’ll take you back.”
Daphne makes a strangled noise.
Or maybe that’s me.
