Annabelle smirks. “You’re hesitating.”
I set my cup down with more force than necessary. “I’m not hesitating. I’m ...” I straighten my spine. “Know what? Maybeyoushould be focusing on your own love life instead of mine.”
Her smirk drops instantly. “Low blow.”
I lift a shoulder. “You said you haven’t gotten laid in weeks. Maybe that should be the priority—and not the fact that Harris is leaving.”
She regards me. “Can you be honest with me for a second? Be real ... Do you have feelings for Harris?”
The question lands like a weight on my chest: period, point blank.
I open my mouth to give her a casual brush-off, to make a joke about how feelings are for people with time for drama—and neither of us have time for that. But my words catch in my throat.
I can’t say them, because they are a lie.
Instead, my gaze lands on the table, and I pick at the edge of my napkin, doing my best to ignore the sting behind my eyes.
“Yes,” I whisper, barely audible. I clear my throat and say it louder. “Yes. I do.” I exhale. “I care about him alot.”
Annabelle listens, expression one of tenderness.
“It’s crazy, right?” Madness. “I barely know him, but Ihatethat he’s leaving. I hate that I knew from the start it was temporary and still let myself fall for him! How stupid am I? Like—I set myself up for this heartbreak.”
An idiot.
Stupid.
Selfish.
Annabelle reaches across the table; her fingers wrap around mine. “You’re not stupid, Lucy. You’re human. And that’s why loveis hard—our hearts are fickle creatures. They want what they want despite what our heads tell us.”
I let out a shaky breath, the tears finally spilling over. “I thought I could handle keeping things casual! I did. I thought I could keep things light. Easy breezy. But uh, Harris is so kind. He listens. He makes me feel ... sexy. And like I matter.” I wipe at my cheeks, raw and exposed, lowering my voice. “I didn’t realize how lonely I’ve been until he showed up. And now he’s leaving, and I don’t know how to go back to dating the same kind of boring men I dated before.”
There.
I said it.
My bestie reaches across the table, fumbling for my hand so she can squeeze it, her own eyes glassy. “You don’t have to go back. Maybe this is the part where you move forward.”
I laugh bitterly. “Move forward into what? He’s leaving tomorrow. He has a life. A career. One I’m not part of.”
She tilts her head. “Have you told him how you feel?”
I shake my head quickly. “Obviously not! What would be the point? It’s not going to change the situation.”
Then Annabelle’s expression shifts, eyes going wide. Her lips press together like she’s trying desperately not to laugh—surprised? Caught off guard? What is that look on her face? And why is she staring over my head?
“Wait.” I narrow my eyes. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
She blinks rapidly, cheeks flushing pink. “Uh. No reason?”
No.
Please no.
He can’t be . . .
My stomach flips. I freeze. “He’s standing right behind me, isn’t he?”
