Page 133 of The Trouble with Flings

“Kind of,” I admit. “But I’m also relieved. It was a secret for so long, I think it made everything more stressful. I didn’t realize how stressful, but it feels like I was holding my breath before, and now I can breathe. Everyone here is truly happy about the baby, like not even fake happy.”

“As well they should be,” Mia says. “And nobody thought you trapped Fitz, just like I told you they wouldn’t,” she says.

“Or if they did, they had the decency not to say it to my face.”

“Good. I’d hate to have to come there and give someone a verbal lashing.”

“As if you ever would. I can’t believe we’re doing a party,” I say as I turn onto the road leading to the Bistro. “I’m so not a gender reveal party person.”

“You also didn’t think you were a relationship girl,” Mia points out. “And look at you now with your big-girl panties on.”

“Oh my God. Never. Seriously, if I ever stop wearing sexy underwear, just put me out of my misery.”

Mia bursts out laughing.

The Bistro, a restored boathouse perched at the edge of the beach, comes into view at the bottom of the hill, and just beyond, the ocean glitters in the sunlight. Even after several days here, the beauty of Silver Island still catches me off guard. A lot of things have been catching me off guard, like the way life feels slower here, more relaxing, but somehow the days feel fuller and more meaningful.

“I wish you were here,” I say. “You’d love this place, and the people.”

“I’m sure I will. I’ll see it at the gender reveal, but you know you just want me there as a buffer because you hate things like this. Party planning has never been your thing.”

I think about how excited the girls were about getting together today. Victory, Leni, and Sutton have already gone back to the city, and the others had prior commitments, but they were bummed to miss seeing me again. I was bummed, too, which is another thing that caught me off guard.

“You’re a great buffer, but it’s not that. This is a special place, and I think you’d love it. It reminds me of when we were growing up. And to be honest, I am a little excited about the party,” I admit. “It’s hard not to be when everyone else is so excited. But it feels weird to be excited about something so…”

“So what? Silly? Frivolous?”

“Maybe, but it’s not silly or frivolous to Fitz or anyone else here.”

“It’s not to me, either,” Mia says.

“I know. You practically blew out my eardrum when I first told you about it. I think it’s just…it takes a lot of trust to let myself feel like this.”

Mia is quiet for a moment before saying, “You mean happy?”

The word gets to me because…God, I am happy.

Terrified. Overwhelmed. Completely out of my depth with all these open, unguarded friendships. But also truly, deeply happy.

“Yes,” I say softly.

“That’s the best thing you’ve said to me in years.”

I groan, hating feeling this vulnerable. “Don’t make it a thing.” I turn into the parking lot of the Bistro and park facing the water.

“Too late. It’s already a thing. Make sure to give them my number. I want to help plan the event.”

“I will.” I asked Jayla if she wanted to help, too, but she’s more like me when it comes to these things. She’s happy to attend and celebrate but doesn’t need to be entrenched in the planning drama. “Wish me luck.”

“You don’t need luck. You just need to keep getting out of your own way and let everyone see how wonderful you are. Including yourself. Love you! Have fun.”

“Love you, too.” I end the call, holding her words close. As much as these fast friendships and all of the fuss scare me, I like the part of myself I’m discovering. The part that doesn’t feel the urge to pull away the second people get too close.

I grab my purse, taking in the rustic double-peaked building and the gorgeous view as I head up to the restaurant.

Fitz and I ran into Abby, the owner and chef, and her husband, Aiden, Sunday evening when we were at an ice cream shop. They were so nice, we all ended up sitting together while we ate our weight in ice cream. Abby told me about how her father came to the island from France with nothing more than a backpack full of money and a dream of opening a restaurant. He opened the Bistro and ran it until the day he died, when Abby was nine. After her mother passed away years later, Abby took over, and she and her sisters renovated it to look like it had all those years ago.

When I step inside, it’s absolutely breathtaking and nothing like the rustic exterior. Elaborate chandeliers and big colorful lights hang from bare rafters. Fancy tiles line the floors, and a lifelike mural spanning the length of one wall, depicting an artist painting at an easel on the deck and a woman sitting on a chair with a little girl in her lap, watching him paint. Behind them, another young girl is leaning on her elbow on the back of their chair, with her chin in her palm, also watching him paint.