Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 88460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
I scoff. “Why?”
“’Cause my love life is so boring.” Loud sigh. “Can I confess something to you, and promise you won’t repeat it?”
I shift the phone to my other ear, lowering the heat on the stove. “Of course. You know you can trust me.”
Annabelle hesitates, which is so unlike her. “I broke things off with Tim.”
“What?” I’m not sure I heard her correctly.
“I ended it,” she says quickly, ripping off the Band-Aid. “Two nights ago.”
I rack my brain. “Tim?” Pause. “The Tim?”
“No, Lucy—some other Tim I’ve been secretly dating behind his father’s back,” she deadpans. “Yes, Tim.”
I set my sauce spoon on the counter with a clatter. “But . . . why? You two were—” I stop myself, because they weren’t actually much of anything. They weren’t bad together, but I wouldn’t call them soulmates either.
I can hear the exhaustion in her voice. “It wasn’t working. I don’t know. I kept waiting for that feeling, but it didn’t come.”
I press my lips together. I do know that feeling. Or at least, I think I’m starting to.
I prod her for more details. “And?”
“And . . . he’s a great guy. You know all this. He’s nice, smart, totally dependable. I felt nothing. Like, zero butterflies. Zero excitement. It was like dating an oatmeal-flavored protein bar.”
Translation: boring.
I shake my head, stirring the sauce again. “So you’re done done?”
“Well, yeah—obviously.” She says it as if it’s the simplest thing in the world to do. “It wasn’t fair to him. Or to me. I don’t want to be with someone because it makes sense on paper.”
No, she wouldn’t stay in a relationship that felt stale. Annabelle has always been the kind of person who chooses more. More passion, more excitement, more feeling. She doesn’t waste time on anything that doesn’t set her heart on fire.
“Besides,” she goes on. “It was mostly sex anyway. It’s not like Tim was taking me on dates.”
True. Tim had always been a little detached. Routine. The kind of guy who sends thumbs-up emojis instead of an actual reply.
“No regrets?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.
She exhales, thoughtful. “Only that I didn’t do it sooner.”
“I’m proud of you.”
Annabelle made a choice. A clean break. She let go of something that wasn’t serving her, because why settle for lukewarm when you could have something electric? I, on the other hand?
I have spent my whole life choosing the safe bet. I cling to routine like it’s a life raft, convincing myself that predictable means stable. That steady, quiet affection is enough.
Simple means right.
But Harris?
Harris is none of those things.
And now, with Annabelle’s voice still humming in my ear, I realize something terrifying.
I don’t think I want safe anymore.
I want fire.
I want electricity.
I want something that shakes me awake, something I feel in every nerve ending—something like him.
“Are you still there?” Annabelle’s voice cuts through my spiral, pulling me back to reality.
I blink, gripping the edge of the counter. “Of course I’m here.”
There’s a beat of silence before she hums knowingly. “You were thinking about him just now, weren’t you?”
I exhale sharply, but I don’t bother denying it. “Yes.”
“So what’s stopping you?”
I open my mouth, then shut it.
What is stopping me?
On the other end of the line, I hear Annabelle starting what sounds like the bathtub. “Look. I’m not saying you have to marry the guy, but at least let yourself have fun.”
Marry the guy . . .
Marry.
The word lodges itself in my brain like a rogue splinter. I shake my head, forcing out a laugh.
“I will not be dating him, let alone marry him.” I nibble on my bottom lip. “He lives a plane ride away.”
Annabelle makes a noncommittal noise, and I envision her dusting her bathwater with lavender Epsom salts. “So?”
“So?” I repeat incredulously. “Hello! Long distance? Have you met me? I can barely keep up with my own schedule, let alone coordinate FaceTime calls across time zones.”
She exhales. “God, you’re exhausting.”
I frown. “Excuse me?”
“Lucy.” Her voice is patient but laced with amusement. “I said fun—not forever. No one is forcing you to pick out a wedding dress.”
Agitated, I aggressively stir the pasta water, staring into it to see if it’s boiling. “Then why did you put that word in my head?”
She laughs.
“How did this conversation go from you dumping Tim to my relationship issues?”
“Stop projecting.” Annabelle huffs. “You don’t need a five-year plan. You don’t need a color-coded itinerary mapping out your emotional availability. You need to . . . I don’t know—do what feels good for once.”
I roll my eyes. “I do what feels good all the time. I’m making pasta right now.”
“That is not the same thing.”
I stop stirring. “Annabelle—he is leaving. Why start something when it’s going to end?”
She goes quiet for a beat, and for a second, I think I’ve won. But then she says, “Why are you assuming it has to end? Did he tell you he didn’t want to see you anymore?”