My dad was never my whole world.
But she is.
And every mile closer to California feels like another mile I’m losing her.
Chapter Twelve
The Breakfast Convo
Ingrid
I fill up a cup of orange juice when I hear someone clear their throat behind me.
I turn, and Cash is standing in front of me, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans.
His blond hair falls across his forehead and I remember—for a brief moment—that I used to love him.
Not the way I love Wilder. No, that’s different. Loving Wilder is like bottled-up lightning—rare and electric.
I loved Cash the way the trees always remember to bloom in the spring and shed their leaves in the fall. Simply, and only for a season.
“What’s up?” I ask him as I pick up my plate and motion to a free table in the hotel dining hall.
He exhales and follows me.
“I’m sorry about last night,” he starts as I plop into a chair across from me.
My orange juice sloshes around the plastic cup as I bring it up to my lips and take a sip.
“It’s fine,” I say, waving him off with a flick of my wrist before digging into my strawberry yogurt.
Cash shifts uncomfortably in the seat across from me. “I know how it looks,” he starts.
I raise a curious eyebrow. “It looked like you were having a great time, Cash. Really, you don’t have to apologize.”
“Oh good.” He sighs in relief. “I was worried you thought I was still hung up on you.”
That’s an odd thing to say.
I set my yogurt down. “Why would I think that?”
Cash shrugs, and says a little too quickly, “No reason.”
I’ve known Cash for a long time, and I know there’s something else going on.
But right now, I have an even bigger problem.
Wilder.
He’s been acting weird this whole trip, and I really hope it’s not because he’s hiding something from me.
I wouldn’t even know what it is.
We spend every waking moment together. If there was something going on, I would know about it, right?
“So, we’re good then?” Cash interrupts my mental spiral.
Speaking of spiraling, why is Cash keeping this pen pal under wraps?
