I groaned. “Please. I’ll drive up and be your taste tester before I head out of town.”
“Have you figured out where you’re going next?” Whitney asked.
“No. I had to cross off Idaho because none of the rentals in the area I wanted to go to had uninterrupted availability for three months. I might try again for the stint after this one.”
Wander cocked her head. “Aren’t you tired of moving around all the time? I thought you loved California.”
Not that I wanted to admit it to the girls or Ryan, but I had left California because I was tired of searching for what Whitney and Wander found.
The ring.
It was a life-altering moment to realize that I had been living in a holding pattern, simply waiting for the right man to come into my life. I went on as many dates as I could. I kept my apartment clean and cute outfits on deck in case fate decided to drop him into my life.
And I was miserable.
So, I sold everything that didn’t reasonably fit in my car, ended my lease, and hit the road.
It had been jarring enough to get me out of the funk. My books started to get more interesting. I grew more comfortable being alone. I went out to dinner by myself in Maine. I went on hikes alone in West Virginia. I did painting classes in Washington. I went out on the town in Las Vegas.
The more I spent time with myself, the more I fell in love with her.
But the longing forhimnever went away.
I didn’t know who he was yet, but I hoped that he was falling in love with himself, too.
“I’ll settle down when I find somewhere I want to be for more than three months. I always get the bug to move when the book’s done.”
“Okay, question,” Whitney said. “What’s the deal with the French fries? No judgment, but it’s not exactly breakfast food.”
I snagged one and bit into it. “We had this banter-y text about me killing Wander and French fry bouquets for the funeral.” I took a screenshot of the text messages between Ryan and me and sent it in the group chat.
Wander clapped her hand over her mouth. “That man isdown badfor you, Wills!”
I rolled my eyes. “He’s trying to win a bet. He’s not trying to win me.”
“Hey, you’re getting breakfast and mimosas out of it. Not a bad way to come out of putting your foot in your mouth on stage,” Whitney said.
At the mention of mimosas, I grabbed the bottle of sparkling rosé, popped the cork, and took a drink straight from the bottle. “Thanks for the reminder, Whit.”
The social media hysteria had simmered down, but it still bubbled right at the surface, waiting for some nugget of information to make it boil.
But I wasn’t going to say a peep about this little arrangement with Ryan. I certainly wasn’t going to admit to falling in love with him at the end of three months. I’d just have to figure out how to let the masses down gently.
The public loved to root for a love story, but it wouldn’t be mine.
This wasn’t a love story. It was a business arrangement.
I detested being on social media, but it was a necessary evil for my line of work. Generally, I avoided it as much as possible, but the last few days had taken that privilege away from me. No matter how much I was asked in comments or messages, theanswer was always the same:I am not ready to publicly share information about my involvement with Ryan at this time.
It was polite, to the point, and firm.
“So, what’s his angle?” I asked as I poured the rosé into a champagne glass and added a drop of cranberry juice so that it could be considered a mimosa with breakfast instead of pathetic day-drinking.
“The flowers are sweet and definitely say, ‘romance,’” Wander said.
“The food was thoughtful, but the fries and rosé are him recalling things he’s heard you say,” Whitney said. “Which is super cute and falls under week one of the Ford Method.”
Wander nodded in agreement. “The note is the same—it’s him recalling previous conversations to show you he’s listening, while also giving you an opening to text him something other than ‘thank you.’”
