Page 118 of While You Were Trending

“Okay,” she says. “Like I want fried chicken, if I’m being honest.”

I take quick stock of her, noting that the dark circles that were under her hazel eyes when she got here seem to be fading, that she’s in loose cotton pants and a button-up blouse that I haven’t seen her wear yet, which means they’re probably clean, and that the usual shell-shocked overall vibe that most of our guests arrive with isn’t so strong off of her right now either.

Good.

We’re helping.

That matters.

“There’s a pub in town that makes pretty decent fried chicken,” I tell her. “Want me to order some for you?”

She wrinkles her nose. “Mabel got me some earlier this week. I know I should say thank you and be grateful, but I’m picky about my fried chicken, and it was about as edible as shoe leather with as much flavor as mud.”

It’s impossible to hide a smile at that. “You don’t have to pretend to like it. I’ve had real Southern fried chicken, and I understand what we have around here isn’t the same.”

“But I don’t want to make any either,” she grumbles.

“Heath’s smoking ribs out by the barn. We’re having a little party to celebrate the end of harvest tonight. You’re welcome to join us, or I can bring you back a plate if those sound good.”

She studies me for a minute, and I recognize something else in her that I felt when I got here too.

Apprehension mixed with longing.

The fear of more rejection, but the desperate desire to be with people again.

“It’s just us ladies and Heath,” I add. We debated inviting Winona and ultimately decided that if Adelaide might be anywhere near ready to leave her room and the house, then we wanted it to just be those of us who’ve also gone viral.

She glances at the bag in my hand. “Is that—is that for the real Declan Fox? The hockey player?”

Hearing his name makes my heart do a pirouette. “Yes. He’s here filming a longer segment ofFoxy Goes Thereabout trying his hand at making wine. But please don’t mention it to anyone—this is one of those things that we’re trying to keep secret for the moment.”

She bites her lip, and her eyes take on a sheen. “Will he be there?”

“Unlikely, if he’s ordering takeout. I need to go drop this off for him.”

“He was my mom’s favorite player,” she whispers.

My heart squeezes.

Declan always—always—had time for hockey fans and his fans.

All of the guys on the team would do school visits and hockey camps, but Declan volunteered forallof them. He was always the first guy to stop and say hi to any of the sick kids that the team regularly hosted to be a player for the day, and he was most likely to toss pucks over the glass to fans during warm-ups.

It made the way he treated me all the more unbearable for knowing that he was so, so kind to everyone else.

And now—now I understand.

I understand so much more than I want to.

Now, half of me wants to be a complete dick to him so that he won’t like me anymore, and the other half of me is afraid if I so much as look at him, I’ll turn my heart into a crash test dummy.

“Do you want to meet him?” I ask Adelaide as normally as I can.

She blinks quickly. “Is he leaving soon?”

“I’m not sure what his schedule is.”

“My mom would’ve died to—” She stops herself and swipes at her eyes. “Yes. If he doesn’t mind a mess.”