Page 120 of Never To Be Mine

His reply was a single burger emoji followed by about fifteen cry-laughing faces.

I dropped my phone back on the nightstand and pulled her against me, tucking her under my chin. She sighed into my chest like she’d finally found the exact spot she’d been looking for her whole life. I knew the feeling.

“So what does one do on a sick day?” she asked.

“Well, first there’s a mandatory period of doing absolutely nothing.”

“How long is that?”

“As long as you want.” I kissed the top of her. “Then breakfast in bed.”

“That definitely sounds nice.”

“Then, we move to the couch. Put on something terrible. Fall asleep halfway through. Have lunch. Then go for a romantic walk on the beach.”

She tilted her face up to look at me, her eyes soft. “Say it again.”

“Say what?”

“You know what.”

I kissed her forehead, then the tip of her nose, then her mouth. “I love you, Juno Young.”

“And I love you, Hollis Blackwell.” She settled back against my chest. “Even when you cause national burger disasters.”

39

JUNO

The line outside Curly’s stretched halfway down the block. I stood just inside the entrance of the flagship location, watching through the glass as people waited in the late-morning sun. Some had their phones out, already filming. A local news van idled at the curb next to a food blogger I recognized from the Burgergate think pieces. The same blogger who’d called Hollis “a cautionary tale about influencer ego” was now standing in line for a free sample of his burger.

Funny how that worked.

“You’ve got a death grip on your phone,” Kari said.

I loosened my fingers. “I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

She bumped my shoulder with hers. “This is going to be huge. Try to enjoy it. There’s no other shoe. It’s good. Great.”

I was trying. But three weeks ago, this exact restaurant had been ground zero for the worst day of my professional life, and I was still having trouble reconciling the two realities. When Curly’s marketing team suggested holding the grand reveal at the same location where the infamous video had been filmed, I’d thought it was insane. Then their PR lead explained the logic. It was a full-circle redemption arc. The internet loved a comeback story almost as much as it loved a downfall.

The announcement that the B Well Prime Burger would debut at Curly’s had set social media on fire. Half the people in that line were there to see if the burger was as bad as they assumed.

“There you are.”

I turned to find Hollis weaving through the crowd. He wore jeans and a fitted B Well polo, his hair doing that perfect tousled thing that took him zero effort. He’d been up since four, too wired to sleep. I’d found him at his kitchen counter at dawn, re-reading his speech notes like he was preparing for court.

“How’s it looking out there?” he asked.

“See for yourself.”

He came to stand beside me at the glass. I watched his reflection as he took it all in. His eyebrows climbed toward his hairline. “That’s for us?”

“That’s for you,” I corrected. “I’m just the silent partner. Literally. I’ve already told people I’m not speaking on camera.”

He grinned. “Still scarred from the memes?”

“I will be scarred from the memes until the day I die.”