“I already reached out to him. I don’t want to seem desperate and keep trying to contact him. Maybe I should call him, but after all this time?” I shake my head. “But what if I’m right? What if he got what he wanted, and now he’s done? What if calling him just confirms that I’m the pathetic woman who caught feelings in a fake relationship?”
“What if you’re wrong?” Joanie counters. “Why don’t you call him?”
“I can’t.” The admission comes out small. “Maybe I’m being a hypocrite. But I can’t be the one who reaches out again. I already texted and put myself out there. If he wants me, he knows where to find me.”
Joanie sighs. “Fine. But you can’t just disappear from your platform either. Your followers are worried.”
“I know.” I set the phone down. “I’ll figure something out.”
After she leaves, I sit alone in the glow of my ring light, and I think about the woman who emailed me. The one who took a chance at fifty-three and found her happily-ever-after. She was brave and reached for what she wanted, even though it terrified her.
But maybe there’s another way for me to be brave.
I turn the camera back on. The red light blinks.
“Hey, loves,” I say, my voice husky and raw. “I wasn’t going to film today. I’ve been... going through it. And I didn’t know how to show up for you when I’m struggling to show up for myself.”
Once I start talking, the words flow more easily.
“You know I don’t talk about my personal life much—mostly because what personal life, right?” I laugh weakly. “But things changed for me a couple of weeks ago. I met someone, and we had the most magical date you could imagine. It felt like a genuine fairy tale, the kind I’d stopped believing in. It felt like the kind of connection I help you all find, and that I’ve hoped would happen to me.”
My jaw aches from clenching, but I keep going.
“And he’s ghosted me. It hurts so much that I let myself believe it was real. And now I’m wondering if I made the whole thing up.” I swipe at my eyes, not caring that my makeup is ruined. “You know what I always tell you.If he wanted to, he would. I don’t have any wisdom for you today. I don’t have a neat lesson or uplifting story. I just have this: I’m struggling. And that’s okay. Maybe it’s okay not to have it all figured out, even when you’re supposed to be the expert.”
“For now, I’m going to go to my favorite spot so I can think through things and clear my mind.”
I reach for the camera, ready to end the recording.
“Until then, be gentle with yourselves. And I’ll do the same.”
I export the video without watching it back. If I watch it, I’ll delete it. I’ll see all the flaws, the vulnerability, the cracks in the armor I’ve built around Curvy Cupid’s confidence.
My finger hovers over the publish button.
This is the brave thing. Even if it’s not the brave thing I should be doing. I can bare my heart to thousands of strangers, but I can’t pick up the phone and call the one person who actually matters.
I press publish anyway.
CHAPTER 9
ARCHIE
Whittaker drives.
I’m in the passenger seat of the company SUV, grinding my molars and watching Cupid City slide past in the blue-gold light of early evening. My phone sits in my hand like a dead thing. One text sent, unread. Three calls, straight to voicemail. She blocked me, and I can’t even be angry about it because it’s exactly what I would have told her to do.
“Where am I taking you?” Whittaker asks.
“Her place. Millbrook Street—the townhouse with the blue door.”
He signals left. I stare at the phone, then open Tessa’s page out of habit. Her page loads, and the first thing I notice is the silence. No new posts since the day after the gala. Five days of nothing from a woman who posts three times a week like clockwork.
The comments are worse.Tessa, are you okay?
Missing your stories!
Girl, where are youuuu? We need our Thursday live!!
