“What do you want, Cadence?” I asked bluntly, in no mood for her games. It had taken me six years—and one spectacularly blindsided dumping—to figure out that games were her specialty. I didn’t repeat mistakes.
Her smile faded, replaced with a dramatic pout. “I’ve missed you, Henny.”
I shook my head. “No, you haven’t. In fact, I recall that the last time we were face to face, you said, and I quote,‘I wish I hadn’t wasted four years of my youth on you.’”
Cadence’s eyebrows shot up, but at least the pretend pout went away. “And I’ve regretted it for years.”
“And yet, I haven’t heard from you for years … until you suddenly started blowing up my phone, coincidentally right around the time the app took off.”
She dropped into the seat opposite me, pouring herself a glass of iced water from the carafe on the table. She took a sip, watching me over the rim of the glass.
“I’ll ask again, Cadence. What do you want?”
Cadence set the glass down, fingertips drawing patterns in the condensation. “I was a kid when I left you, Henry. I was a stupid kid who didn’t know what she wanted, and while I understand why you wouldn’t be interested in rekindling anything with me, I do miss you. I miss your giant brain and the conversations we had. I miss being able to bounce ideas off you.”
I leaned back, tucking my hands into my sides like I could hold myself together. That tight, swirling feeling always hit when I wasn’t sure I could believe someone, even if what she was saying sounded genuine.
Trusting people had always come naturally to me—too naturally, according to Lucian. I never saw it as a flaw, wanting to believe the best in people. But over the years, I’d learned the hard way: fool me once, shame on you… fool me twice, shame on me.
I refused to be Cadence’s fool.
“Do you have something specific you wanted to bounce off me?” I asked sharply. “Something related to all the messages you’ve left with my PA about ‘the compatibility of our brands’ and ‘a match made in marketing heaven’?”
She cleared her throat. “Well, it’s kind of true, Hen. And I really think a partnership would?—”
“I recall telling Liv to connect you with the ad team. Or—wild idea—just set up an advertiser account like every other business using Tickle for marketing.
Cadence raised an eyebrow. “I’m not sure I like being on the receiving end of your sarcasm.”
I narrowed my eyes. “I’m still sure I didn’t like you bringing your side piece to the dinner where I was going to propose.”
“Okay. I deserved that. It was a shitty move, and I know that now with the benefit of hindsight. But I had no idea you wanted to marry me, let alone that you were going to ask me at that dinner … come on, Hen, I was barely twenty-two! I wasn’t ready to settle down.”
“Not with me, anyway,” I muttered, staring down at my cold, unappetising toast. I’d stopped grieving whatever I thought we had a long time ago. But the humiliation? That still sat low in my gut, hot and sour.
Cadence reached across the table, tentatively brushing her fingers over my knuckles. I clenched my jaw, refusing to flinch away from the touch despite it being that featherlight contact that crawled under my skin.
My discomfort must have been written all over my face, though, because she pulled her hand back. “I haven’t settled down withanyone. You and me … that’s been the longest relationship I’ve ever had.”
It’s been the only relationship I’ve ever had, I thought bitterly. Cadence found it so easy to be intimate with people—not just sexually, although clearlythatwasn’t a struggle for her—but she had that kind of outgoing, bubbly personality that people flocked to. She had a natural ease in socialising. People just seemed to open up to her. It was how she’d wooed me.
Fool me twice …
I stood. “Well, I have a Zoom meeting with Atlas in …” I glanced down at my watch, “ten minutes, and I need to bring the cats up to their run first.”
Cadence got to her feet, eyes lighting up. “Oh! You still have Abs and Trink?”
“Abernathy and Trinket are only seven, that’s barely middle aged for a cat,” I replied indignantly.
“Can I…?” she asked tentatively.
I swallowed, searching for a way to say no without sounding like an arsehole. But my face gave me away.
Cadence nodded with a tiny smile and a shrug. “Never mind. Just… tell them I said hi. And… I’ll look at an advertiser account. It was rude of me to expect special treatment. We’re not friends anymore.”
I said nothing as she saw herself back down the gangplank. There was nothing to say. She was right. We weren’t friends, and I owed her nothing.
“… and Gonzo—what a name, right?” Atlas’s animated face filled the computer screen. “It’s on his birth certificate and everything—he’s got some crazy good ideas about increasing monetisation. Honestly, Chewy, the sky’s the limit for Tickle. They’re all so fucking jealous they weren’t the ones to come up with it!”
