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“Oh yeah, you can.” I’m about to protest, and she says, “I don’t think it’s over between you two and if it were me, I’d want to rewrite the ending.”
“You’re a writer,” Jessica states. “Send the text and give yourself the ending you want and deserve.”
I stare at my phone, my heart racing so hard I’m afraid it’s going to crack my ribs. Should I? Oh God, no, I shouldn’t. But am I going to do it?
Yeah, I’m going to do it.
I slide my finger across the screen. “He’s probably changed his number.”
“Okay,” Susan says. “If he’s changed his number, maybe it’s not fate. If he hasn’t, maybe it is. You won’t know until you try.”
Before I can give it any more thought or talk myself out of it, I pull up his contact information and type, “Honeybee.” It’s funny. We chose that because his family had an apiary on their property, and they always gave our family honey and he used to like to call me Embee. I set my phone on the table and we all stare at it like it might be a bomb ready to go off.
It doesn’t.
I sit back when the server comes and brings us all a shot. I pick mine up and hold it up for a salute. “To fate,” I toast and we all clink glasses and take our shot. As mine burns down my throat, my phone pings and I choke so hard the alcohol comes out my nose.
“Ohmigod,” I yelp, and reach for a napkin.
“Is it him?” my new friends all ask, stretching in their seats to see the screen on my phone, which I might be a little too afraid to touch. What if it is him? Then what? I don’t want him to think I’m in trouble and come running. A measure of guilt trickles through me as shaky fingers reach for my phone. I read the message ten times as everyone waits for me to speak. When I can finally find my voice, I lift my head and take in the anxious stares aimed my way.
“It’s him,” I gulp out. Everyone starts speaking at once, asking what he said and giving me advice. As soon as the conversation dies down, I explain, “He wants to know where I am.”
“Tell him,” they shout and I nod, my insides trembling—with nervousness and excitement.
I swipe my fingers across the phone and let him know I’m in the hotel bar. When he responds that he’s on his way, I put my phone down and slide my hands over my stomach.
“He’s on his way,” I whisper quietly, a strange giddiness inside me.
Susan nods, and holds up her wine glass. “It’s fate.”
I stare at the door, and Anna’s hand closes over mine. “Breathe, Ember.”
I laugh, and suck in a breath. “What do I say? What do I do?”
“You tell him a bunch of authors were starting to annoy you talking about tropes, and you needed to escape,” Jessica suggests.
I groan. “I’m a living, walking, breathing trope, aren’t I? In love with my brother’s best friend. Or rather ex best friend. God, I’m so pathetic.” I honestly hate myself for coming between the two guys, and after Liam kicked Josh out of his room that night I wasn’t just hurt by Josh’s words, I was also angry at Liam for his behaviour. He’s always been overprotective, and I knew I was off limits to his friends, but I straight up told him I was a grown-ass woman and could sleep with whoever I wanted. Granted, sleeping with my brother’s best friend in my brother’s bed wasn’t a smart move. I wish I could go back in time. Would I have slept with Josh? Yes. Would I have done things differently, so my brother didn’t walk in on us? Yes. I feel totally responsible for their friendship breaking up, and I know Liam misses Josh terribly. But he can be a stubborn ass.
“It’s my favorite trope,” Jessica tells me.
“Me too,” I admit. “I guess I’m sort of writing mine and Josh’s story in my current work in progress. Except I’m also using the revenge trope.”
“How does it end?” Susan asks.
I shrug. “I’m having trouble with that. It’s why I’m here at the convention. To learn and figure out how to tie it all up.” I probably can’t bring myself to write the ending, because in real life, mine wasn’t a happily ever after.
Susan glances at the door and then back at me. “Now’s your chance to write your own ending.”
I gulp and my heart jumps into my throat at the sight of Josh storming into the lobby bar, a worried look on his face as he glances around in search of me. I stand, and his gaze locks on mine. A couple of big steps have him standing before me in seconds. He cups my elbow, his gaze roaming over my face and my entire body weakens as he touches me.
He turns to the group of women. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but I need to speak with Ember.”
“Of course,” Susan answers, and I can see her trying to bite back a smirk.
“By all means,” Anna pipes in.
Jessica gives a little finger wave. “We’ll chat with you tomorrow.”
