“He shouldn’t be with someone who recently learned the reason why planes stay in the air,” I continue. “He should be with someone who can match his brilliance. Not someone who doesn’t know what she wants in five years. Or three. Or next Tuesday.”
Rylee snorts. “First of all—no. Second of all, that’s bullshit.” She tilts her head, eyes sharp but kind. “Yeah, your life’s a little chaotic. But it’s your chaos. You built it. You’re running a business, launching an app, and showing up for your mom. That counts for a hell of a lot.”
“And now I’m pretending I don’t care that I basically taught him how to impress someone else.”
“So?” Rylee shrugs. “You could learn all that book stuff too. Or—better yet—let him teach you.”
I pause, the bar towel going still in my hands.
“And,” she adds, stepping closer, “you taught him plenty. You helped him find his confidence. You showed him how to flirt. That’s kind of the point of relationships. You don’t know everything right from the start. You figure it out together.”
Her words smack me across the face. Maybe the problem isn’t that I don’t deserve Miles. Maybe it’s that, deep down, I’m terrified I might—and that means I could actually lose him.
The bar door swings open with a familiar creak, letting in a rush of late-afternoon air and one unmistakable laugh.
“Well, if it isn’t my two favorite women.” Lach grins as he strolls in.
Rylee rolls her eyes. “You’re only saying that because you forgot to stock one of the beer coolers last night.”
Lach shrugs.
I force a smile and lift a hand before sliding a glass under the tap. “Hey, Lach.”
He leans across the bar, flashes Rylee a grin, then drums his fingers on the counter in front of me. “How’s the slow-torture shift?” He glances around the mostly empty bar.
“Thrilling,” I deadpan. “I’ve wiped the same spot twelve times.”
He chuckles, then his expression shifts—just slightly. “So Eve and I were at the library earlier. Story time with Asher.”
My hand stills around the glass.
“And?” Rylee asks, already suspicious.
Lach scratches the back of his neck. “We saw Miles there. Talking to the librarian. Maggie.”
There it is. “Oh—yeah,” I say quickly—too quickly. I plaster on a brittle smile. “That makes sense.” Rylee’s eyes snap to mine. “He’s always liked her,” I add, reaching for a coaster. “He got what he wanted.”
Lach frowns. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I say instantly. “I’m great.” I set the pint down in front of a customer with more force than necessary. “I just—I need to grab something from the storage room.”
Rylee opens her mouth. “Nora?—”
“I’ll be right back,” I insist, already moving.
The door swings shut behind me, and the smile I’ve been holding together collapses. The storage room is dim, the air thick with a musty cardboard smell the citrus cleaner can’t quite cover.
I brace my hands against the metal shelving. The cold bites through my palms as I drag in a breath that only makes it halfway down before it catches in my throat. The sting hits instantly, and my vision blurs. I blink hard, scrubbing at my eyes. This is stupid. Completely stupid. I told him to go after her. Of course he went to the library. Of course he talked to Maggie. So why does it feel like someone just knocked the air out of my lungs?
Instead of going home to my apartment and spiraling alone in my own thoughts, I drive to my mom’s place. We haven’t done a sleepover in years, but tonight the tiny, unforgiving couch feels better than silence.
My laptop rests on my knees as I stare at the OneDate dashboard. Another milestone. Four thousand subscribers. Four thousand people trusting something I built. Four thousand lives intersecting because of an idea that started as a simple solution to a problem.
I should be celebrating. Texting Eve. Calling Rylee. Instead, a knot twists in my stomach. Because the one person I want to tell—the one person I want to hear say “I’m proud of you”—is the same person I pushed out of my life.
A sudden thud from upstairs rattles the house. Not a normal sound. Not a harmless bump. Something heavy.
I sit up instantly, adrenaline flooding my body. “Mom?”
