I jumped into gear, prioritizing my goals and how to achieve them. Personal goals, especially dating-centric goals, would have to wait. Top of my list?
Growing my blog.
Getting fired was an experience unlike any other. Days ago, I thought my worth had been demolished because of it, but it made me realize how much I was worth away fromRoamer’s Digest.
I could do this. I knew I could.
I just had to figure out…how.
There were so many ways to improve but also so many ways to fail. I found myself with a newfound respect for anyone who started their own business. Without the set boundaries of an employer, how did you know what to do?
I guessed that was the point. You did whatever you wanted.
Write what you knowwas one of the first pieces of advice I ever received. It’d worked well for me in everything I’d done. So now I’d start with what I knew.
My laptop lit up with enthusiasm as I began typing—if only my brain could match that energy. I’d tried working from my apartment earlier, but the couch had me convinced it was a sanctuary for movie binges, not productivity.
The original plan was to camp out at The Burrow Café, but the idea of bumping into someone I knew felt counterproductive. Instead, I opted for a charming little neighborhood café with the coziest chairs and cheesecake so good it could solve existential crises.
I had only been here a few minutes, in the corner booth, when someone I knew walked in. Not just anyone.
Noah Hansley.
And he was wearing…a tie?
He paused in the doorway, his gaze sweeping the room like he was searching for someone. Was it me? Surely not. His wavy hair was smoothed back, his stubble freshly shaved, and his outfit—sharp and undeniably expensive—made him look like he’d stepped out of a high-end ad campaign.
Why was he so dressed up? Oh no. Was he on a date?
Fortunately, my corner booth was well hidden, so I was able to watch him walk to the table where a familiar-looking woman sat. I had to hold back a grin. That wasn’t any woman—it was the professor whose lecture we sat on at the University of Illinois Chicago.
Despite my residual anger toward what Noah did, the sight flooded me with joy. I hoped that meant good things for his application for the fall semester.
I turned back to my work, though the weight of seeing Noah still pressed against me. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, my mind already racing through everything on my to-do list. But something was different now—I was doing everything forme, not for anyone else.
Maybe, just maybe, I was building a better future. One where I could be happy and fulfilled. Or at the very least, one where I spent fewer late nights eating ice cream while revisiting old articles, searching for clarity that never seemed to come.
After a few minutes, I finally checked my email inbox. Spam, spam, new comment on the blog, spam, invitation to a resort, spam.
Wait.
I clicked on the email, my stomach twisting before I even read the subject line.
It wasn’t just any invitation—it was for a couple’s vacation.
My throat tightened.
Delete.
The email was gone, but the thought remained, stubborn and unshakable.
Memories of Opal Serenity crept in before I could stop them—the way the ocean breeze had tangled my hair, the lazy mornings in a bed too big for just me, the way Noah had looked at me across the breakfast table, his usual sarcasm softened into something real. Something dangerous.
I had gone into that trip thinking I knew exactly who Noah was—just another arrogant influencer with a carefully curated life and a knack for getting what he wanted.
But I had been so wrong.
He was different. So much kinder, more genuine than I had let myself believe. He remembered the little things, noticed details about me that I hadn’t even realized were worth noticing.
