“I wish I had his number.”
Both of them look confused.
“Jax’s number,” I clarify. “We never ... we never actually exchanged numbers. It was an emergency rescue situation. He had my info from the cabin registry, but I never got his personal number. And now he’s gone and I can’t ...” My voice cracks. “I can’t even reach out if I want to.”
Riley’s eyes light up. “I can find him. Look, I already found his socials.”
“No.” I shake my head firmly. “If he wanted me to have his number, he would have given it to me before he left. He made his choice.”
“He told you to process everything,” Maggie points out. “Maybe he’s just giving you space.”
“Babe, you also told him you were leaving to go on a girls’ trip, literally ten minutes after your ex showed up and caused a scene. Maybe he thought you needed an out.”
“Or maybe he realized I’m a disaster and wanted nothing to do with my mess of a life.” I cry.
“Or …” Maggie says gently, “maybe you should stop catastrophizing and just ... breathe. You’ve been through a lot. Give yourself time before you make any decisions about anything.”
She’s right. I know she’s right. But it doesn’t make the ache in my chest any easier to bear.
Day three, and I can’t stop talking about him.
“The thing is,” I say, pacing the cabin while Riley and Maggie watch from the couch, “he had this very specific way of making sandwiches. Like, there was a correct order. Meat, cheese, lettuce, tomato, condiments. In that exact order. And if you suggested putting condiments on both pieces of bread, he looked at you like you’d personally offended him.”
“That’s ... weirdly endearing,” Riley says.
“It is, right? And he was so competitive about Monopoly. Like, ruthlessly competitive. He bankrupted me three times before I finally beat him, and when I did, he acted all offended, but I could tell he was proud of me.”
“Sloane,” Maggie says carefully. “You’ve been talking about him for twenty minutes.”
“Have I?” I stop pacing. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize, but tell us more,” Riley says.
So, I do. I tell them about the farm he inherited from his grandparents. About the twenty acres of woods and the creek where he fishes in the summer. About the old farmhouse with good bones that needs work. About his five brothers, his parents, and his grandmother, who terrorizes everyone. I tell them about watching Christmas movies together. About how his grandmother got him into them and how he genuinely loves the cheesy, predictable plots. About how safe I felt curled up against him on the couch, just existing together.
“You really fell for him,” Maggie observes quietly.
“In three days,” I say, laughing bitterly. “I fell for a guy I knew for three days. That’s insane, right?”
“Love doesn’t follow a timeline,” Riley says with uncharacteristic seriousness. “Sometimes you just know.”
“How can I trust my own judgment when I wasted nine years on Chett? When I couldn’t see what was right in front of me?”
“Because Jax isn’t Chett,” Riley says firmly. “From everything you’ve told us, and there’s been a lot, he’s the opposite of Chett. He encouraged you. He listened. He made you feel seen. Chett made you feel small. There’s a difference.”
“And what if I’m just rebounding? What if I just latched onto the first guy who was nice to me after Chett?”
“Were you attracted to Chett when you first met him?” Maggie asks.
“Yes, but ...”
“Did he make you laugh?”
“Sometimes …”
“Did he make you feel safe? Protected?”
I open my mouth to answer, then close it. Because the truth is, no. Chett never made me feel those things. Not even at the beginning.
