“I don’t see why it would be.” I set my fork down on the plate. “I was just asking to know if I brought enough food for you guys.”
Marsha stared at me a moment longer before she broke away. “No, he’s not here anymore. Left the day after the rodeo, actually.”
He’s been gone all this time? Then why didn’t he call and tell me? Why didn’t he just tell me he didn’t want to go to dinner?
“Oh,” I said in surprise. “Did something happen? He seemed pretty set in staying here for a little while.”
“He was at first, but he said he got a call that night fromsome big recording label. Apparently, they want to sign him,” she said, shrugging. “I don’t know how it all works, but it seemed pretty important. He called me last night to tell me it was a done deal.”
Of course, it had to do with music. Everything did when it came to Grady.
“Well, that’s good,” I said, injecting fake cheer into my tone. “He’ll be great.”
“He will,” she confirmed. “I just hope he isn’t making a mistake, selling his soul to the highest bidder just for a moment of fame. He’s such a talented boy.”
“I’m sure he knows what he’s doing,” I said, trying to offer some kind of platitude. “You raised a smart boy. Have faith in him.”
“Well, he lost you. I don’t know how smart he was for that,” she grumbled, taking the last bite of her dinner.
I laughed. “You can’t hold it against him forever. It’s been years. Ya gotta move on.”
“You haven’t,” she said, pointing a finger my direction. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you haven’t brought anyone home.”
“You don’t know that. I could be bringing home lots of men.”
Marsha rolled her eyes so hard I thought they might get stuck that way. “Oh, please, don’t give me that shit. If that was the case, you’d look a hell of a lot happier than you do now.”
“Alright, fine,” I muttered, standing from the table. I grabbed her plate and mine and took them to the sink to clean, so she wouldn’t have to worry about it later. She kept telling me not to worry about it, that she had been sitting too long and needed to get up and move her weary bones, but I didn’t let her.
“Wanna stay for dessert?” she asked, raising her brows. “I had Robert pick up stuff for chocolate chip cookies. Care to help?”
I pretended to think about it for a minute, even though it was a no-brainer. Marsha’s cookies were a cure-all. I didn’t know what it was about them that tasted so much better than when I did, but I wasn’t going to pass up on the offer. “Do I get to take some home?”
“You know I am a firm believer in sharing the wealth,” she said. “Now grab an apron and get my Pyrex mixing bowl from the top shelf. Let’s get started.”
I was stuffedby the time I made it home. Not that it mattered. I still grabbed one of the cookies from the bag and brought it to bed with me. The bag was nearly sealed when I thought better of it and grabbed two. I would need it for what I was about to do.
Ever since Marsha told me about Grady’s deal, I couldn’t help but wonder if it was the reason he never texted back. There was no way in hell he would turn down that kind of deal. He would’ve been stupid to. This was all he ever wanted, and now it was coming to life.
Maybe his lack of contact stemmed from a place of growth. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to hurt me by following through with a dinner plan, only to back out at the last minute because Nashville was calling. On some level, I could applaud that kind of growth. I certainly wasn’t that mature.
I stared at my phone. There were a million questions I wanted the answers to, and most of them could be found if I just picked the damn thing up and did some digging. Even though I didn’t follow Grady on social media anymore, there was sure to be something on there, right? I mean, this was a huge thing. It wouldn’t go unnoticed.
Without thinking any further, I pulled up his profile andbegan to scroll. The first image had a countdown attached to it, but it ended tonight. Most of his other posts were pictures of the band on tour. There were a few from the recording studio, but most of his pictures featured the same people. His timeline was uneventful for such an up-and-coming star. But amidst the handful of faces, there was one that stood out over all of them.
She was gorgeous with incredibly long blonde hair. Her wide smile were always bright, and she had this incredible way of looking poised in every photo. Surprisingly, it wasn’t her beauty that caught my attention, although it was hard to miss. It was the way she was in the background of most shots, but all her attention was still fixed on him.
That was how I used to look at him. Full of love and adoration. My stomach twisted as I went further back, seeing how much things had changed. There were pictures of them going back for years. Sometimes they were casual, the two of them standing together for a posed photo. Others were silly and goofy—there was one with his arm around her shoulder, both of them smiling, their tongues sticking out. I recognized the background. It was an ice cream parlor we used to go to in Austin.
And then I looked at the date. It was taken only two weeks after we broke up.
I wasn’t sure how I’d missed it before. This wasn’t the first time I’d gotten curious and gone down a rabbit hole of shame, but I usually didn’t make it back this far. Because if I continued down, I saw he still had pictures of us posted. Long forgotten, or somewhat suppressed, memories that killed me. It didn’t matter how long ago they’d been taken. Seeing our young, innocent faces stole the breath right from my lungs. How did we get from there to here? From intense familiarity to complete strangers?
I scrolled back up, hesitating when I saw her profile tagged in one of the posts. This was likely the worst idea I’d ever had, but I clicked on it anyway.
I regretted it immediately.
Olivia Hart was a stunning woman. She was from Nashville and a year younger than Grady and me, and yet she seemed so much more accomplished. There were pictures of her at parties with celebrities, or sitting in what looked like an office in a skyscraper, surrounded by windows overlooking the city. Her feed was much more polished than Grady’s was, the picture of professionalism at twenty-two years old. Mine suddenly seemed so immature—littered with photos of the ranch or brunch dates with my best friend, Rachel.
