Annabelle hesitates, which issounlike her. “I broke things off with Tim.”
“What?” I’m not sure I heard her correctly.
“I ended it,” she says quickly, ripping off the Band-Aid. “Two nights ago.”
I rack my brain. “Tim?” Pause. “TheTim?”
“No, Lucy—someotherTim I’ve been secretly dating behind his father’s back,” she deadpans. “Yes,Tim.”
I set my sauce spoon on the counter with a clatter. “But ... why? You two were—” I stop myself, because they weren’t actually muchof anything. They weren’tbadtogether, but I wouldn’t call them soulmates either.
I can hear the exhaustion in her voice. “It wasn’t working. I don’t know. I kept waiting for that feeling, but it didn’t come.”
I press my lips together. Idoknow that feeling. Or at least, I think I’m starting to.
I prod her for more details. “And?”
“And ... he’s a great guy. You know all this. He’s nice, smart, totally dependable. I feltnothing. Like,zero butterflies. Zero excitement. It was like dating an oatmeal-flavored protein bar.”
Translation: boring.
I shake my head, stirring the sauce again. “So you’re done done?”
“Well, yeah—obviously.” She says it as if it’s the simplest thing in the world to do. “It wasn’t fair to him. Or to me. I don’t want to be with someone because it makes sense on paper.”
No, she wouldn’t stay in a relationship that felt stale. Annabelle has always been the kind of person who choosesmore. More passion, more excitement, morefeeling. She doesn’t waste time on anything that doesn’t set her heart on fire.
“Besides,” she goes on. “It was mostly sex anyway. It’s not like Tim was taking me on dates.”
True. Tim had always been a little detached. Routine. The kind of guy who sendsthumbs-upemojis instead of an actual reply.
“No regrets?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.
She exhales, thoughtful. “Only that I didn’t do it sooner.”
“I’m proud of you.”
Annabelle made a choice. A clean break. She let go of something that wasn’t serving her, because whysettlefor lukewarm when you could have somethingelectric? I, on the other hand?
I have spent my whole life choosing the safe bet. I cling to routine like it’s a life raft, convincing myself that predictable meansstable. That steady, quiet affection isenough.
Simple meansright.
But Harris?
Harris is none of those things.
And now, with Annabelle’s voice still humming in my ear, I realize something terrifying.
I don’t think Iwantsafe anymore.
Iwantfire.
Iwantelectricity.
I want something that shakes me awake, something Ifeelin every nerve ending—something likehim.
“Are you still there?” Annabelle’s voice cuts through my spiral, pulling me back to reality.
