Becca flushes but doesn’t correct Eden. “Unintentionally,” Bella adds.
“I’m cool with it,” Eden comments and looks at me.
“Living with my best friend? Yes, please.”
Becca squeals and launches herself at me.
“This place is going to be insane.” Eden laughs.
It is, and I can’t wait. I just need to tell my parents.
I left Eden’s place soon after agreeing to move in because the talk with my mom and dad needed to happen ASAP. It went as predicted. They tried to be supportive, but I could see they didn’t want me to leave. I told them they should rent out the pool house to a student or something now that they’d had it renovated.
I’m sure they think I’m being impulsive and that’s their right, but I know this is the right move for me.
Mom asks me to stay for dinner, which of course I say yes to. I message Eden to come over and head to thesupermarket to pick up the ingredients for one of Eden’s favorite meals. Mom insisted, which was beyond sweet.
It’s in the fresh produce section where I run into Bryce.
“Sloane Bishop!” he calls from the other end of the aisle.
My face lights up because I really like Bryce. He was the school’s quarterback and a really nice guy, not your typical asshole jock. We all became close to him in senior year. He used to throw the best parties, and it was at one of those parties that Eden and I started to date.
“Bryce, oh my god!”
We hug tightly and spend a few minutes catching up.
“I’m visiting Mom,” he says. “Dad’s away for a few months in India and she’s feeling lonely.”
“Best son ever,” I joke, causing him to laugh.
“So, how’s Eden?”
I don’t know how much he knows of our history, and the supermarket isn’t the place to tell him, so I keep it short.
“She’s great. Heading to the UK for a little while to look after her gran. Plus, she has a gallery opening coming up in London.”
Bryce whistles low. “Shit! UK is smashing it.”
I laugh at the nickname he bestowed on Eden.
“She really is.”
“A little birdie told me you’re not doing too bad for yourself either, Bishop. PT extraordinaire at Holcroft. Own business too.”
I shrug like it’s nothing. “What can I say? I’m an overachiever.” I laugh.
The truth is, my business is doing well. I landed a brand-new private client yesterday. The father of Holcroft’s linebacker plays competitive football. Not professionally, but he takes his football seriously—enough that he hired me to be his physical therapist. I’m hoping that by word of mouth and a stellar reputation I’ll grow my client list quickly.
“Well, I reckon this deserves a rager.” He grins.
“Bryce, we’re not in high school anymore.”
“Don’t I know it. We’re on the slippery slope to midlife,” he snorts.
“We’re twenty-two.” I laugh.
“And are losing the ability to recover from alcohol with each passing year!”
