Any minute, I’m afraid Wilder’s going to drop another truth bomb. And I’m still trying to clean up the mess from the first two.
I just don’t understand how we got here. The last year was so great. We fell in love. Fell deeper. Had fun. Some part of me even thinks we’ve grown up a little.
If that’s possible for Wilder.
For the most part, things have been easy. Other than Cash, and trying to find a few quiet minutes together, it’s been smooth sailing. No hiccups. No bumps. No truth bombs.
I naively believed that things with Wilder would always be easy. That’s not real life, though.
Jill Winthrop—my favorite walking paradox—believes life is like the seasons. Spring blooms. Summer burns bright. Fall lets go. Winter strips everything bare.
She may explain it a little differently with her rose-colored view of the world, but I’m starting to think she has a point.
Life is full of seasons.
Wilder and I might be in the middle of summer, but we’re going through winter.
“What can I get you?” the barista asks, her tone far too chipper for this early in the morning.
“Just a black coffee,” I answer as I fish my wallet out of my purse.
“Would you like room for creamer?” she asks.
I shake my head. “Nope. Just plain, black coffee.”
“Sweetener?”
“No.”
“Iced or hot?”
“Hot.”
“Whipped cream?”
I let out an exaggerated groan. “I just want you to grab a cup, pour the already-made coffee you have back there in the carafe into said cup, and hand it over.”
I’m being awful. I know I’m being awful.
But if one more person asks me one more question, I might combust.
“I—”
“I’m sorry. I just need coffee before one more question breaks me,” I say as I hand her over a five-dollar bill. “Keep the change. Just give me the coffee, for the love of all things—”
“Ma’am.” The barista holds up her hand. “I’m going to have to ask you to stop raising your voice.”
I blink. Raising my voice? She and Isla would get along great.
“Just give me coffee!” I snap.
She narrows her eyes at me before turning to grab a cup. Then, she fills it with coffee, puts a lid on it, and hands it over.
“Thank you,” I say to her. “Have a great day.”
I don’t stick around to hear her response.
Just as I step outside, my phone rings.
