Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 121233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
I laughed at that, but then an acute sadness pierced my lungs. “God, that really was the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me.”
“He’s one of a kind, that boy,” Riley said softly, and for a moment, we were both silent. Then, she sat up, nudging me. “But so are you. And you’re going to be okay, no matter what happens next.”
“Thank you, Riley.”
She smiled, and then her eyes flashed somewhere behind me. “Your guest is here.”
She stood as I turned to find Shawn heading our way, his guitar case slung over his right shoulder. He gave me a tentative wave when he saw me, and I stood to join Riley.
“Thank you for telling me,” she said, and then with a nod at Shawn, she added, “And good luck.”
With a fierce hug, she was gone — just in time for Shawn to stop at the edge of the bench.
I smiled, gesturing toward the café. “Shall we?”
It was an awkward quiet as we stood in line and got coffee, and Shawn found an empty table right in the center of the shop once we had our drinks in hand. He sat first, angling his guitar against the table, and I took the seat across from him.
“Thanks for meeting me.”
He nodded. “How are you?”
“I’m…” I paused. “Awful, honestly,” I admitted, but it was with a smile. “But I’ll be okay. Eventually.”
“Is that why you called me? To talk?”
“Yes, but not really about me. Well, kind of.” I shook my head. “I just… there’s something I want you to know. Something you deserve to know.”
Shawn cocked a brow, and with one last sip of my coffee and a deep breath, I told him about the deal I’d made with Clay in this very coffee shop, about the part Shawn played in our whole relationship. I left out the details I’d told Riley, even some that I’d told my dad, focusing instead on apologizing for playing a game with him that he wasn’t even aware of.
It hurt the worst to tell him out of everyone, especially as I watched a cold resolve wash over him when he realized everything between us had been carefully construed. When I finished, I lifted my coffee to my lips, waiting for him to process.
He sighed, running a hand over his hair. “Well,” he finally said. “I won’t lie and say I don’t wish I would have noticed you before Clay fake dated you and then consequently swept you off your feet.”
I smiled.
“But,” he continued, “I’m glad to know you now.”
His eyes danced in the low light of the coffee shop as he said it, and I felt a wave of relief wash over me. “Really?”
“Really,” he said. “Maybe we could start over.”
Panic seized me, my face reddening. I hadn’t thought of this as a possibility, him still wanting to date me. In fact, I thought he’d be pissed. I thought he’d curse me out and call me a psycho before storming out of the café.
“Um...”
“As friends,” he clarified, leaning forward on a smirk.
He smiled even more when I let out a breath of relief, and then he stood, holding his arms open for a hug.
I stood, too, and slipped into his grasp, squeezing him just as tightly when he wrapped me in his embrace.
“Friends,” I agreed.
I looked up at him when we pulled back, and he shook his head, arching a brow. “I can’t believe you played me like a damn fiddle.”
“I can’t believe you were trying to hook up with someone who had a boyfriend.”
“Hey, in my defense, you made him seem like a pretty shit boyfriend.”
“Fair,” I conceded, and he slowly released me, both of us taking our seats again.
“Speaking of which… I’m sorry. About the breakup.”
I nodded, lungs squeezing painfully tight in my chest. “Thank you. So am I.”
And with the truth sitting out in the open between us, I felt a marginal scrap of closure wrap itself around my bleeding heart. Dad was right. It wasn’t going to happen overnight. I wasn’t going to stop hurting or stop missing Clay, not for a long, long time.
But I was still here. I was still breathing, still living.
And I didn’t want to shy away from the pain as I moved forward.
It reminded me of all that was, all the powerful emotions I’d felt with Clay in the time our lives were tangled together. I never wanted to lose those stinging lashes of pain, never wanted to forget how it felt to be held by him, touched by him, kissed by him.
Loved by him.
Maybe I didn’t get to have him forever.
But I’d hold on to every little piece of him that he gave me for the rest of my life.
And after, too.
Clay
I was so fucking tired of Boston winter.
And technically, it wasn’t even winter yet. We were smack dab in the middle of fall, but the sleety mixture of rain and snow piercing my skin like tiny branding irons didn’t feel like fall to me.