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“You’re the one who left poker night so early last time,” he says. “You never gave Reed or me a chance to win back any of our damn money.”
I relax a little. “I’m happy to take more of your money off you. Name a time and place. You both are so eager to part with it.”
“Very funny,” Cole says. “You know I have to host.”
“Sure. Reed and I are fine with coming to your place,” I assure him. “Keeps Reed from trying to take the wait staff home with him, right?”
“Right,” Cole grunts, but I can tell his mind is elsewhere.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
He sighs, then clears his throat. “I’m going to have to bite the bullet and get a full-time nanny for Archer soon,” he admits. “I think it’s time.”
“Why?” I ask, even though this has come up before. Cole’s nephew occupies the larger part of Cole’s brain, and I’m certain he’s been thinking about this step nonstop.
“Because I’m fucking up in every part of my life,” he says, frustration clear in his voice. “I’m a shit CEO. I’m a shit father. And forget about my love life. That’s shitty too.”
“You’re being too hard-on yourself,” I say. “Archer loves you so much. And if Rebecca could see you, she’d be proud of what you’re doing for him.”
“You have to say that shit because you’re my friend,” Cole says. “I just think that there has to be something I can do better, and that I’m missing it.”
“You’re there, Cole. That’s enough.”
“Oh, don’t get all sentimental on me, Dec. What’s her name? She’s making you soft. I’m going to write a letter.”
I swear at him, but I’m smiling. “I’m hanging up, now. Some of us have to actually work for our money.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll see you this weekend.”
I end the call and go to set my phone down but pause, thinking hard about doing better. About doing enough.
And then I make another call.
Chapter 19
Sophie
“I am so here for this,” Reagan gushes, punctuating each word with a clap of her hands.
I laugh, reaching for the cup she’s drinking wine from. “Ok, that’s enough. I’m cutting you off.”
She hunches over it, guarding it with her life. “Don’t you dare! I’m the one staying in, like an old lady. Like a nun. I deserve a little wine to help cope with being a hermit.”
“You’re in a long-distance relationship,” I tell her, topping off both our glasses with the rest of the bottle. “I’m going on a first date. I’m the one who’s jealous of you.”
“Oh, please,” Reagan says, shaking her head. “You’ve got that all backward. I’m the one who’s living vicariously through you, remember? You’re going on an actual date. You’re going on a date with a cute barista who is head over heels for you. And we can’t forget that you turned down a billionaire for this guy.”
I groan and take an overly large sip of wine, setting the cup on the windowsill before flopping dramatically on my bed, surrounded by my own clothes that we’ve pulled from hangers.
“I definitely did not turn down a billionaire for this,” I correct her. “The billionaire doesn’t know or care that I exist. This is my trying to get on with what I hope will be a normal life.”
“Ooh, normal,” Reagan says, popping a hip out and putting her hand on it. “So romantic, Sophie. Please don’t tell this poor guy that you’re going out with him because he’s normal.”
“That’s just it though.” I sit up so I can look at Reagan. So she can see that I’m serious. “David is normal. And normally, he’d be someone that I should like just fine. But after Declan, it’s just…” I trail off, gesturing uselessly at the words I don’t have to describe this lack of feeling inside me. “I don’t have butterflies, Reagan. Not for David. It’s like I’m ruined for life.”
“Aw.” Reagan sighs as she plops down on my bed beside me, scooting a skirt out from under her. “Maybe there don’t have to be butterflies. Ooh, maybe—just maybe—the butterflies are a lie. You feel them once or twice, at the beginning, and then they just fly away. They’re not enough to sustain a real relationship.” Reagan stares down into her cup. “Maybe, once that initial excitement fades away, you realize that there’s nothing there. Not really. And certainly not enough.”
I knock my shoulder into hers because it’s become painfully apparent that Reagan’s not talking about my date anymore. “How are things going with you and Caleb? You talked with him this morning—you texted me that he was calling you.”
