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Chapter 1

Bri

"Aromance author who doesn't believe in love, that's gotta be some kind of oxymoron!" Ava exclaims, throwing her arms skyward like she's summoning Cupid himself. Clearly hoping a well-aimed arrow will cure me of my affliction to love—all without spilling a single drop of wine. I'd be impressed if it weren't entirely on brand. "All we're saying is, if you keep closing yourself off, you'll be that lady, the one with seven hundred cats, drinking wine solo. You definitely deserve better, right, Lottie?"

“Please, don’t threaten me with a good time.” I laugh, leaning back into the sofa and tucking my legs under me. “Besides I write romantasy not romance, it’s not the same thing, it’s make-believe, therefore love can exist, but in real life love is just, well… It’s unrealistic… Not that your marriages are unrealistic, they’re just exceptions to the rule, you know?”

Damn why do I always have to be so blunt and awkward?

We’re currently sat in Ava’s living room, two bottles of wine deep into our monthly Saturday girls’ night while the sound of her daughter Noelle’s happy stimming drifts faintly from the playroom down the hall. Her house is always our default meeting place. Partly because she has the best snacks, but mostly because she hates being too far from Noelle for long. Honestly, the setup suits all of us better anyway. Bars are overpriced, overcrowded, and so loud you have to practically scream to hold a conversation. We joke that we’re too old for it now that we’re in our forties, but really, it’s a sensory nightmare. At least here, we get to enjoy cheap wine in our comfy clothes, and actually relax around people we like.

“I know you hate hearing it and never believe a word we say, but you are amazing, Bri. You deserve to be loved, we just want you to be happy,” Lottie says, reaching over to top up our wine, completely ignoring my half-hearted protests.

“I am happy,” I insist, sipping carefully from my overfilled glass. “I just don’t believe in soul mates and love and any of that other romantic nonsense that movies and books sell you… Real love doesn’t exist.” At least not for me. I mean… The one person who’s supposed to love you unconditionally doesn’t even love me, and that’s kind of the baseline, right?

Besides my track record in dating isn’t exactly a glowing endorsement for convincing me that love is real. The last one was enough. That was eight years ago, and I’ve been single and independent ever since. Life got calmer after that. Quieter. Safer. I’ve figured out how to be on my own and I’m really good at it.

I simply do not believe in love because I have never experienced it in my forty-one years of life. Which is confusing, because, Ava and Lottie love me, don’t they?

My brain hesitates, which feels awful, because of course they do. Don’t they?

No.

Yes. Yes, they do.

And I love them. I know I do. That part is locked in, even if I overthink it to death. But that’s really not the same thing, is it?

Ugh why is my brain like this?

What I do know is that people say one thing and do another, so I’ve learned to trust actions over words. Even with these two.

I never see it coming when someone pulls away, completely missing the signs everyone else catches easily— blindsided, running back through every conversation trying to find the moment I messed up.

“Earth to Bri, come in Bri, over.” Ava waves a hand in front of my face.

“Sorry, what were you saying? I zoned out.”

“We noticed,” Lottie teases. “Thinking about all the hot men you’ll meet this weekend?” She winks, giggling softly into her wine.

“Absolutely not, I was just…”

“Thinking about hot men,” Ava interrupts, cracking up.

I laugh despite myself. “You two are insufferable.”

“We know,” they reply in unison, giggling like a couple of school children.

Sighing, I roll my eyes for dramatic effect. They really are insufferable, but I’m lucky to have them. At first glance, we make no sense at all. Lottie is all soft edges and sunlight. Petite with pale freckled skin and wild honey curls that she can never quite tame. She looks like she’s just wandered out of a music festival into real life completely by accident. Ava is her exact opposite. A gothic, tailored beauty, with a sharp mahogany pixie bob that’s always perfect. She’s covered in the most exquisite tattoos, a mix of poisonous plants, skulls and insects that are effortless, intimidating, and kind of beautiful.

They’re both Scottish, like myself—but they’re both stunning, happily married and obsessed with love.

And then there’s me. Somewhere in the middle, yet not in a cool, balanced way. Just here. Light brown skin, long copper coiled curls that honestly are my only great feature. Curvy… Plus-sized some would say, and usually in dungarees, because they’re comfortable and require minimal decision-making.

We met ten years ago at a tarot night in that little witchy bookshop, the one that smells permanently of incense and old paper, and somehow, we just… Clicked. Like calls to like I suppose since we’re all autistic, although I’ve got the full collection with bonus tracks, AuDHD.

Meeting them is honestly the best thing that’s ever happened to me—besides adopting Mr. Meow, but I’ll never admit that out loud. Prior to our friendship I didn’t fit in anywhere. Constantly watering myself down to please others, convinced that if I could just explain better, be better, take up less space, I’d finally be enough. I never was though. So I stopped expecting love or acceptance from anyone. Until Ava and Lottie.

I still don’t fully understand why they stay. Part of me is always braced for the moment they realise they could do better. Which is why, when they launch into their hopeful ‘maybe you’ll meet someone’ speeches, I wish they’d just let it go. This isn’t a part of me that can be fixed.