Page 113 of While You Were Trending

That she’s told me herself many times before that I need to give myself credit for the person I’ve chosen to be instead of the person my mother raised me to be.

That I dated the wrong hockey player for all of those years.

“That’s not a letter that a man writes if all he ever did was simplylikeyou,” she murmurs.

I shake my head and pull away from her. “Doesn’t matter. He’s temporary, he’s my ex’s best friend, and even if I liked him back, I’d get neurotic with wondering if he liked me or if he liked the person I pretend to be.”

Mabel glances at the note, then back at me. “You’re not pretending to be a good person, Ginny. Youarea good person.”

“I’ve yelled at him a lot.”

“Have you said anything intentionally mean or untrue?”

“No. Never. Of course not.”

She gives me a half smile. “Then you’re a good person who’s done putting up with his shit. You get to call people out when they hurt you.”

Once again, she leaves the other half unspoken.

That anyone who’s willing to listen when called out, anyone who’s willing to apologize and try to make amends, is probably more worth my time.

I climb out of bed. “Let’s go crush some grapes.Aftercoffee.”

21

UNDER THE SONOMA SUN

Declan

After over a weekaway from the winery, my heart’s clawing its way into my throat when I drive back onto the property late Monday evening.

Got the note last night that harvest is starting soon for the last grapes, and if I wanted to get footage of the crush, I needed to haul ass back here.

So here I am.

Hoping Ginny read my note.

Hoping she didn’t.

Hoping she’s thought about me.

Hoping she hasn’t.

Wanting to kiss her and hold her and finish what we started in the gift shop.

Remembering how shitty it felt when Alex called to catch up on my life after I posted the edited version of my day making chocolate sculptures forFoxy Goes There, and I told him everything except what I wanted to talk to my best friend about.

About a woman occupying my every thought.

But I can’t.

They have history, and I don’t have a future with her.

So I’ll take his forgiveness, ask for it again as soon as I’m free to talk about the documentary at Makepeace, and live the best life I can.

Shade meets me at the apartment, gear bag on his shoulder. “What’s that?” he asks, pointing to my ear.

I swipe at it. “What’s what?”