. . .
Violet
Whitley’s giving me hell. I can always count on her for that.
“So, you didn’t break up with him?”
I hesitate half a beat too long, teeth sinking into the peach ring’s soft and sugary goodness.
Whitley’s mouth pulls into a flat line. “Judging by that horrific snack choice…” She glances back at the microwave clock. “At 8:03 in the morning, that would be ano.”
“It was a nice restaurant,” I say weakly. “There was candlelight.”
She just stares at me.
I chew. Swallow. Reach back into the bag. “I panicked.”
“There it is.” She points at me. “You’re not afraid of hurting him. You’re afraid of being the bad guy.”
I open my mouth to argue, then close it again. Because…yeah. That.
“It’s complicated.”
“It’s really not.” Whitley crosses her arms. “Either you want to be with him, or you don’t.”
I sigh, turning away to fiddle with the coffee maker. I’malready exhausted from the mental gymnastics of the past twenty-four hours.
“I just need to find the right words.”
Whitley snorts. “There are no right words for ‘I’ve been pretending to be into you for eight months.’ Just rip the Band-Aid off.”
“Harsh, Whit.”
“But true,” she counters, grabbing a mug from the cabinet. “And you know what’s harsher? Stringing him along while you’re mooning over your high school crush who suddenly reappeared looking like a cover model for a romance book.”
Heat rushes to my face. “I am notmooning.”
Whitley arches a brow. I chew the inside of my cheek. The longer I wait, the worse this is going to get. The guilt is already a knot in my stomach that won’t untie itself.
I take a deep breath. “Fine,” I grumble. “I’ll call him to see if I can stop by after work today.”
I reach for my phone on the counter, tapping Travis’s contact before I can chicken out again. My pulse hammers in my ears as I listen to it ring once, twice...
A woman’s voice answers, light and breathless. “Hello?” She giggles. “Travis’s phone.”
My stomach drops. I freeze, phone pressed against my ear. Whitley’s eyes widen across from me. She must see something in my expression because she’s suddenly at my side, mouthingwhat?
I hit the speaker button with a shaking finger and hold the phone between us.
“Babe, who is it?” Travis asks in the background, his voice muffled but unmistakable.
The woman giggles again. “It saysViolet? I don’t know, they’re not saying anything.”
Sheets rustle in the background, a curse sounds, and then Travis is on the line. “Violet,” he says. “Hey. I was just about to call you.”
My chest is hollow, like someone’s punched a hole straight through my ribs.
“Violet?” Travis prompts, sounding more alert now. “You there?”
