I lift my glass. “I respect it.”
She clinks hers against mine—and then, without missing a beat—
“Did you ever actually date that model? The one—what was her name—Lena Cross?”
I choke. Just a little.
She watches me try to recover. “Too much?”
“No,” I answer, wiping my mouth, heart thudding for reasons that have nothing to do with surprise. “Just… bold.”
She shrugs, unapologetic. “Hey. You agreed to trading.”
“That escalated quickly.”
“That’s how I like it,” she says, reaching for another fry. “So?”
I study her for a second—how her cheeks pinch when she smiles, the way the string lights catch in her hair, the absolute lack of fear in her eyes.
“Briefly,” I admit. “Like a single, almost horrible date. Definitely not in the way the internet decided.”
She nods, satisfied. “I thought so.”
“You thought what?”
“I don’t know,” she says lightly. “I feel like it didn’t fit.”
I laugh before I can stop myself. “What makes you say that?”
“Is that your next question?” Sadie pauses, the wine glass in front of her lips.
Well played.
And I realize I’m already thinking about what I’m going to ask her next—something less safe.
sixteen
Sadie
Thethingabouttastingwine is that you never really know how much you’ve had until you realize you’ve maybe had too much. Or just enough. Depends on who you ask.
I’m sitting across from Colson and we’ve had a full tasting, plus a glass of our favorite kind. I’m trying to hide my pure amazement over him. With each minute that passes, it’s like he becomes less and less skittish. He seems more relaxed. Comfortable.
His cheeks are also pink. Probably from the wine.
“Okay,” he starts, “my turn.”
I smile. “Uh-oh.”
“You ask about internet gossip,” he says playfully. “I get to ask about your last relationship.”
I laugh once, surprised, and lift my glass. “Bold.”
“Fair,” he counters.
I consider skipping it or even talking about another failed date, then decide not to.
“Alright,” I answer. “I raise you one very public model date with a called-off engagement.”
