Delight fills my chest. That’s what I said to Skye when we first met. Am I in this book? I continue reading.
The wind was as crisp as the crunchy leaves beneath Sorcha’s tires. She rode her bike home from coffee at the pub as usual that morning, blissfully unaware that day would be the day that changed her life.
As the castle that had been her home all her life came into view, so did he. He was tall, dark, and oh so handsome, but he was dressed ridiculously for a Wednesday morning, in a kilt and tuxedo jacket, his bow tie hanging loosely around his neck, and a backpack slung over one shoulder.
Holy shit. It’s me. She’s writing about me, about us meeting. But why? I thought this was a mystery. Does she kill me? Am I the victim? Or, oh no, am I the murderer? I keep reading until the words are swimming on the page.
It’s not a murder mystery at all.
It’s a love story.
Skye has written our love story.
SKYE
The bar is loud, too loud, stereo blasting the Sex Pistols. I want to go home. That’s not even true. I want to go back to somewhere only we know and back in time to before Miles and I made the stupid agreement to keep our relationship light.
A fling? Really? What was I thinking? There had been so many times when it seemed like Miles was about to tell me he loved me. What if I had let him instead of changing the subject or kissing him to shut him up?
Finn comes over and puts his arm around me, his whiskey sloshing in his other hand. When he picked me up, we came to Grogg and Gruel for Nate’s show. He finished playing half an hour ago, and everyone is still hanging out, drinking steadily—everyone except me. I cut myself off when I nearly sent Miles a drunk text saying…
That was part of the problem. I don’t know what to say.
“Need a refill?”
“No.” I want to ask when we are going to head out, but I don’t want to be rude. Finn rescued me twice tonight. I should be gracious enough not to push him to leave. But at the rate he’s going on the whiskey, we won’t be able to drive anywhere, unless he lets me drive his car for once.
As if reading my mind, Finn says, “Nate’s going to let us stay at his place. He has a nice big couch.” Finn pulls me closer to his side. “We can share it. We’ve snuggled up in tighter spaces.”
I don’t want to share a small couch with Finn. I don’t want Finn at all. We don’t have anything in common anymore. His life is filled with shows, drinks, and buddies. Even if we did have similar lives, I don’t have feelings for Finn anymore.
As the night drags, Ava holding Miles’s hand in those skimpy shorts replays in my mind. It’s very clear to me now that I’ve been fooling myself that I could just keep things light with Miles.
Finally, we head back to Nate’s. It’s a small one-bedroom apartment above a bakery. It has beautiful hardwood floors, big bay windows, and enough houseplants that I’m pretty sure Nate doesn’t travel much for his music.
Nate gets us a sleeping bag and a couple of pillows, then stumbles to bed after telling us to make ourselves at home. I kick off my boots. All I want to do is sleep. My eyelids are heavy, and my heart weighs a metric ton.
Finn sits next to me on the couch, so close that his thigh touches mine. I scoot over, but am met with the armrest. He reaches out and clumsily tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear. It’s an old move, one that used to send chills through my skin, but now I don’t feel anything.
“Finn,” I start, but before I can continue, his mouth is on mine. So many years, I thought this was all I wanted—for Finn to return, for us to get back together, for him to want me. But it’s not what I want, definitely not what I need. I am no longer in love with Finn McDougall.
I push him away. “Finn, no.”
“I know I hurt you by leaving. But I’m here now, really here. I’m not going anywhere. I won’t ever leave you again. I love you, Skye.”
I shake my head. “It’s fine that you left. I get it. Either way, though, I don’t love you anymore, Finn.”
My head is poundingout the tune to Beck’s nineties classic, “Loser.”I sit up on the couch and bring my ear to my shoulder, each vertebrae popping on the way. Finn is on the floor, his bare leg half out of his sleeping bag, his mouth wide open, snoring peacefully.
Water. I need water. I head to the kitchen and move some dishes out of the sink so I can pour myself a glass. Finn took my rejection well. He said he’s not even really sure if he’s going to stay or head back to America. He graciously took the floor and let me sleep on the couch alone—all alone—as I should get used to being for the rest of my life, apparently.
Out the window, the snow lining the street is too bright but gorgeous. I wonder what Miles is doing. I wish we could be snuggled under a blanket somewhere, watching the light snowfall with steaming mugs of coffee. My head tingles. I just want to be with Miles all the time. I want to wake up with him, go to bed with him, and watch Netflix with him.But that's all a silly fantasy.
My stomach writhes, and I head to the bathroom. I grab my bag and rummage around for my toothbrush, I notice my manuscript is gone.Bloody hell.It must’ve fallen out when I dropped my bag. Oh well. It’s just a copy and not even finished. I’m still not sure how to end it.
I brush my teeth and check the time. It’s only eight thirty. I can’t possibly wake up Finn for a couple more hours, but all I want to do is go home.
I try curling up on the couch to sleep some more, but I can’t stop thinking about Miles. Instead, I get out my phone, and without checking myself, I go to Miles’s Instagram page and start to doom scroll. I’ve never checked out his page before. I was so enamored withusthat I didn’t want to see him with anyone else or be reminded of his other life in LA. The one he would be going back to after us. I expect to find picture after picture of Ava.
