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And we did say vows in front of a freaking pastor.
And then his reply comes in.
@MountainBoyNYC:She left. Hates me, actually.
My eyes focus on the screen.Hates?
I mean, I did. I hated him with every fiber of my being. But the thing is, when it comes to Brian, I’m all out of hate. And what’s left is this warm, unexpected feeling bubbling up—like a cozy fire on a crisp mountain night.
A few seconds later, more bubbles.
@MountainBoyNYC:She walked out. Didn’t say a word. Took a cookie for the road and left the ring. Not that I blame her. It was a really good cookie. But still...
@MountainBoyNYC:If I’m being totally honest, I didn’t want it to end like that.
@MountainBoyNYC:Not that she would believe me, but I didn’t want it to end at all.
The tension in my chest tightens, refusing to let it go. I pick up my phone, my fingers moving on their own.
@SydneySun:You didn’t?
@MountainBoyNYC:Maybe it’s just a broken heart talking, but I need to talk to you. From that first article, it’s like you know me better than anyone. Granted, you were a little rough on me with the second one, but I probably deserve it.
@MountainBoyNYC:Coffee?
I blink at the screen, my heart stumbling over itself. He’s heartbroken? Overme?
I should tell him. I should come clean right now and admit it’s me. That it’s been me all along. That me and Sydney Sun are one and the same.
My fingers hover over the keys, ready to spill the truth, when another message pings.
@MountainBoyNYC:Tomorrow. Noon. Coffee shop. Or I’ll hunt you down at the Herald.
I go to type a reply, but he’s gone. Offline. Deliberately.
A classic Bishop move.
One step ahead.
Always playing to win.
CHAPTER 36
Jules
I’ve been nursing the same lukewarm latte for what feels like forever. I’m tucked into a cozy table for two at the very back, but my eyes keep darting to the door.
Where is he?
I glance at my phone again and huff out a breath.
Twenty minutes late.
And military man Brian Bishop isneverlate.
No calls. No messages. Not even those stupid bubbles that give you false hope that someone’s typing.
My foot bounces under the table, the impatience building. Maybe he’s not coming. Maybe this was all some kind of twisted payback for leaving his ring behind. Or maybe he’s still pissed that I ate his last cookie.
