Page 73 of My Real Love Affair

“Stop it,” I said out loud to my empty kitchen.

The Red Clay Strays sang about heartbreak and walking away. I took another long drink of my coffee.

I was not going to analyze this. I was not going to wonder what would’ve happened if I stayed. I was not going to imagine what it would feel like to wake up in Austin Bancroft’s bed, wrapped in his arms, with no rules between us.

Nope.

Not thinking about any of that.

After feeling properly fortified, I reached for my phone and checked the texts first. Maybe I was hoping for something from Austin.

There wasn’t anything, but there were several from Cleo. She included a link which I quickly tapped.

It led me to Femme Curve’s Instagram. Pinned to the top was a statement.

My mouth hung open as I read the apology letter and promise to do better. They completely exonerated me of any wrongdoing. Yes, they had some lame excuse about it being standard practice but they understood how important it was to be authentic.

“Holy shit,” I murmured.

I read it three times. Then four. Then I scrolled to the comments.

Finally. A real apology.

Okay, this is what accountability looks like.

I’m glad they owned up to this. Melody deserves this.

Still not shopping with them, but at least they admitted what they did.

Poor Melody. She really didn’t know. I feel terrible for jumping on her.

This is why we need to wait for the full story before canceling people.

Not all the comments were positive. Some people still thought I knew and somehow bullied them into putting out the statement. They weren’t entirely wrong, but it was the right thing to do.

The tide was shifting. The narrative was changing.

My phone buzzed with another text from Cleo.

Cleo:This is huge, Mel. Austin really came through.

Austin.

No. I couldn’t think about that.

I had kissed plenty of men in my life. But none of them had ever kissed me like Austin did. That had been a masterclass in kissing. It wasn’t all slobbering and tongue. It was a seduction. Slow and deliberate. He wasn’t racing for the finish line.

“Get it together,” I muttered.

I carried my second cup of coffee up to my room and walked into my closet. I had a full schedule planned. Cleo had mapped it out days ago. Monday was supposed to be dedicated to planning and organizing. Tuesday through Thursday were shooting days. Friday was for editing and engagement.

Simple. Routine. Exactly what I needed to get my mind off Austin Bancroft and his stupid perfect hands and his stupid perfect kiss.

I stared at some of the new pieces that had been sent last week. The tags still on and waiting to be worn and photographed.

But I couldn’t focus.

Every time I tried to think about outfit combinations or caption ideas, my brain supplied images of Austin instead. Austin leaning against his car. Austin negotiating with lawyers like he owned the world. Austin kissing me.