Page 117 of While You Were Trending

Ginny

I’m in my office,working on a layout for the gift shop, when the doorbell rings early Friday evening.

Adelaide’s been mostly hiding in her room since she arrived, which isn’t unusual for new guests. We’ve made sure to bring her food and drinks regularly, and we’ve repeated as often as possible that she should make herself at home, that nothing’s off-limits, and that all we ask is that she let us know if there’s something she needs.

Mabel did it for me when I got here, and while I hate the reason women arrive here, I love that I’m able to give back.

So I don’t expect Adelaide to answer the doorbell, and everyone else is out working on the wine and getting ready for a post-harvest cookout, even Pip.

Which means it’s on me to find out what’s going on.

I’ve been keenly aware all week that Declan’s back, and there’s no small part of me hoping he’s at the door.

While also hoping he’s not.

I haven’t been able to make use of my drawer of vibrators and dildos without thinking of Declan.

I haven’t been able to use my coffee mug without thinking of Declan.

I haven’t been able to work, to hang out with my friends, to look at the stars, to see a cloud, to see Lav’s cat, Fluffy, or basically doanythingwithout thinking of Declan.

There are imprints of him everywhere, and the longer I go without seeing him, the more I want to.

So when I swing open the door and find a delivery driver holding a brown paper bag, I’m both relieved and disappointed that it’s not him.

“Delivery for Declan Fox?” the guy says.

Fuck.

Yes!

It’s been years since I’ve felt like this much of a disaster.

And also this full of hope.

I don’t think, I just accept the bag instead of sending the delivery guy across the property with it. “Thank you.”

He eyes me. “Like…FoxyDeclan Fox? The guy who put out a fire here during that celebrity wedding?”

“You never know what name my Aunt Pip will put on her delivery orders,” I reply. “Have a nice evening.”

I smile and shut the door politely, but my heart is hammering over what I know I need to do.

What I’ve been avoiding all week.

And as the scent of fried rice tickles my nose, I realize he might need it more than I do.

Chinese takeout is Declan’s comfort food.

If he’s ordering fried rice—and I’d bet the success of the winery that there is crab rangoon in this bag too—then he’s struggling with something.

The idea hits me in the softest parts of my belly and my chest.

I don’t wantmeto be what he’s struggling with.

“Ginny?” a soft Southern voice whispers from the hallway.

I turn and find Adelaide peeking at me from the stairs. “Hey. How’re you feeling?”