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“Yeah. Amazing, isn’t it?”
She purses her lips together. “They are coming to Theo’s party.”
“I know.”
“Is that okay? I mean—I don’t want it to be super awkward.”
I put my hand on her shoulder. “Gabby, I told you that it was fine.”
“Yes, but that was before you saw them. Or knew about the connection to the Hillards.”
Gabby looks like she might have a panic attack.
“True. But if anything, seeing them has broken the ice, and Sara seems really nice.”
“Yes, she is—” She stops.
“Don’t do that,” I scold. “You don’t have to feel weird about being friends with my ex and his girlfriend.”
“I know. I just want to be considerate.”
“You’re always considerate.”
The sound of her phone startles her. “Finally. I’m sorry I’ve been waiting on this call.”
Gabby answers her phone, and I look at mine. There’s a message waiting for me from Jordan.
Just wanted to say hi. Hope all is well.
I sigh. Although I miss him, I’m more convinced than ever that it’s time for me to be on my own for a while.
* * *
After work I stop at the grocery store to pick up something for dinner. My roommates and I are hopeless in the kitchen, so most of our meals consist of takeout or easy to prepare meals. I totally live for charcuterie plates because they’re easy and delish. I recently read something about them being called fancy lunchables for adults. Oh well, I have no shame.
I’m walking through the produce department when I hear someone call my name. A jolt shoots through my body.
Um.
I turn around to see Cal holding a grocery basket and a bag of oranges. He’s wearing blue scrubs, which are somehow making his eyes look even more blue.
It’s been years since I last saw this man in person, and now I’ve seen time twice in a matter of days.
“Hey,” I say cautiously. “Are you following me?”
As soon as the words slip out of my mouth, I want to hide in a nearby freezer. “I’m kidding,” I add before he has a chance to respond.
He smirks. “Lila, you haven’t changed at all.”
“I was thinking the same about you,” I echo. “It’s so not fair that you haven’t aged.”
He laughs. “I wish that were true. And you’re one to talk—you look exactly the same.”
I shrug. “Pilates and Botox do come in handy. Oh, and the fact that I can’t cook, so I’m basically living on charcuterie plates, cereal, and wine. Not all together, of course.”
“You can’t cook, or you don’t like to cook?” he asks.
“Both.”
