Mia sniffs each case carefully, like she’s taking her duty seriously. Then she snatches the treat from Sara’s romantic comedy, and Harper groans dramatically.
“Betrayed by my own canine companion,” Harper sighs, flopping backward.
“She’smydog, actually,” I say, managing something almost like my normal voice.
“Mia has excellent taste,” Sara says smugly, loading the DVD.
My phone buzzes against the cushion, screen illuminating. Zayn has called eighteen times since I fled his office. Eighteen unanswered calls. Eight unopened texts. My hands tremble as I flip it face-down again, hiding his name.
What if he’s calling to say goodbye before leaving for New York? What if he’s calling to explain why he’s choosing his career again? What if?—
“Earth to Sophie?” Harper waves a hand in front of my face. “Red or… well, we only have red wine.”
“Red’s perfect.” I force my attention to the opening credits, trying to lose myself in the familiar apartment warmth, trying to think about anything except Zayn’s expression when Cameron dangled that golden opportunity.
Harper gives wine glasses as the movie starts. Mia settles against my leg, warm and solid. The blanket is soft, the wine smooth, and for one fleeting moment, I almost forget about Zayn and New York and how my heart shattered all over again in his office.
Almost.
I take a large gulp of wine. Sara watches me over the TV glow. When Harper disappears for more popcorn, she shifts closer.
“You don’t know what he chose,” she says quietly. “You left before he could answer.”
My grip tightens on the wine glass. “I don’t need to hear it,” I whisper. “It’s New York, Sara. Partnership. Double salary. Corner office overlooking Central Park.” Each word tastes bitter. “It’s everything he abandoned me for before, except so much better.”
“Maybe he’s changed?—”
“Nobody refuses their dream job for a small-town veterinary clinic,” I cut her off, voice cracking. “Nobody chooses—” I can’t finish.Nobody chooses me.
“You didn’t give him a chance to?—”
“I gave him that chance five years ago,” I say sharply. “I know exactly how this story ends. I’ve lived it already.”
Sara’s expression is so compassionate it physically hurts to see. “Sometimes stories have different endings, Sophie.”
Harper returns with the popcorn bowl, glancing between us. “What’d I miss?”
“Nothing,” I say quickly, downing more wine. “Just discussing the movie.”
But as the film plays, I can’t focus. Sara’s words loop through my mind.You don’t know what he chose.What if she’s right? What if I don’t have the full story? What if five years genuinely changed him? What if?—
The doorbell rings.
I freeze, wine glass halfway to my lips, nearly spilling burgundy across my blanket. Harper and Sara lock eyes in that telepathic way—they both know exactly who’s at the door. I can hear blood rushing in my ears as I carefully set my glass on the coffee table. It has to be Zayn. I’ve been simultaneously waiting for and dreading this moment since I ran from his office.
“I’ll get it,” Sara offers, starting to rise.
“No.” My voice comes out louder. “I’ll go.”
Harper sits up straight, protective instincts activated. “Want me to get rid of him? I can be extremely intimidating.” She cracks her knuckles for emphasis, but I shake my head.
“It’s fine.” Except it’s not fine. Nothing about this is remotely fine.
Mia follows me to the door, nails clicking in rhythm with my racing pulse. Each step feels like wading through concrete. I smooth my hair, tug at my ratty college sweatshirt, then feel ridiculous for caring how I look.
The doorbell rings again. I freeze with my hand hovering above the knob, fingers icy despite the apartment’s warmth. Deep breath. I pull the door open.
Zayn fills our doorway looking wrecked—dark shadows under bloodshot eyes, hair standing at odd angles like he’s been repeatedly dragging his hands through it, dress shirt wrinkled and half-untucked. He doesn’t look like the polished attorney anymore. He looks like someone who hasn’t slept or eaten since I left him standing in his office.
