My apartment is not large enough for this many people.
Michelle, Hazel, Amber, Jo, and sitting in my one good armchair like a queen holding court is Grandma Hensley, who apparently orchestrated this entire gathering via a group chat I wasn't invited to.
“You look terrible,” Michelle says, handing me coffee.
“I haven't slept.”
“We know. Austen texted us.”
“Austen doesn't have thumbs.”
“It was implied.” She steers me to the couch. “Sit.”
I sit and drink coffee from Twin Waves Brewing, and it tastes like mercy.
“So,” Grandma Hensley says, steepling her fingers like a tiny matchmaking villain. “You told Scott he was just like your ex-husband.”
“I was upset.”
“I think you pushed him away because you were scared of being happy, not because you actually believe he's like David.”
The words land somewhere uncomfortable and true.
“He bought my building without telling me.”
“Yes. Foolish. Very male. Textbook case of 'I'll fix everything myself because asking for help or permission is terrifying.'” Grandma Hensley waves a hand. “Did David ever do anything like that?”
I think about it. “David never bought me anything that didn't benefit him more.”
“Exactly. David made decisions to keep you small. To keep you dependent. To make sure you never had enough power to leave.” She leans forward. “Scott made decisions because he was terrified of losing you. Stupid, clumsy, secretive, definitely should-have-asked-first decisions. But they came from fear of loss, not desire for control.”
“That's...” I trail off. “That's still not okay.”
“Of course it's not okay. He should have told you. He should have asked and treated you like a partner instead of a problem to solve.” She shrugs. “But the fact that he did it wrong doesn't mean he did it for the wrong reasons.”
Michelle sits beside me. “Scott Avery has been in love with you for years. He bought your building to protect you and wrote an entire book about falling in love with you.” She squeezes my hand. “David would never do any of those things. He wouldn't sacrifice his comfort, his money, or his pride for anyone—least of all you.”
I think about Scott on the beach. The way he looked when I told him he was no different from David. Like I'd hit him and broken something that might not heal.
“Oh no,” I whisper. “I'm an idiot.”
“Yes,” everyone says in unison.
“I need to apologize. Before I lose him for good.”
“Then go,” Grandma Hensley says simply. “What are you waiting for?”
Scott's condobuilding is the nicest on the harbor. All glass and chrome and the kind of architecture that screams “I have money and no idea what to do with it.”
The doorman recognizes me from previous visits and waves me through. I take the elevator to the top floor, my heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my teeth.
I knock.
Grayson opens the door.
“Jessica.” He looks relieved. “Thank goodness. I was hoping someone would show up.”
“Is Scott here? I need to talk to him.”
