Page 8 of XOXO, Yours

It’s not.

The chocolate has gone thick and hard to swallow, my throat working around it like it’s trying to buy me time.

“Do you know what happened?” I ask once I’ve swallowed. “Did Oliver tell you anything?”

“I was there. She got dizzy or something at my grandparents’ anniversary party. Oliver had her in his truck before anybody else figured out something was wrong.” He hesitates, then lowers his voice. “Mimz told us about the baby.”

Oh.

They know. Some of it, anyway. There’s nothing on his face but concern. He doesn’t know whose baby it is.

And it is not my news to tell.

My stomach drops again, all the way this time, a cold plummet that leaves my fingertips tingling.

Payton straightens away from the vending machine, his weight shifting like he’s bracing to catch something. “But Oliver’s with her.”

“That is not nearly as comforting as you seem to think it is.”

His laugh is a short huff of breath. “I mean, she’s not alone.”

Oh.

I hate the way that lands, hate the little unclenching in my chest, the traitorous relief of it, because Cora has never been alone.

She has me.

She has Hope.

We have each other. Three girls stitched together out of nothing else.

But this is different.

Oliver is different, and I don’t know exactly what the hell is going on between those two, but I’ve heard enough—the way Cora’s voice goes quiet when she says his name—to know he’s not just some cowboy from a bar anymore. Not to her.

Which is good.

It’s what she deserves.

It’s just⁠—

“Jules?”

I blink, and the hallway swims back into focus.

Payton is watching me, head tilted, eyes doing that unhurried thing again, except this time it isn’t heat that’s stirring. It’s something closer to concern.

“What?”

“You okay?”

“Peachy.”

The word comes out clipped, too fast.

His eyebrows rise. “Do people still say peachy?”

“I do.”