When Milo left Dusty Hollow, I let him go. And yet, I had to swallow down the bile of jealousy with a well-practiced smile every time I heard a rumored whisper of his name entwined witha new girl. He’d told me not all of them were real—it’s not uncommon for gossip to go awry and wrong—but what other women had held his hand or kissed his lips or melted beneath his warm smile?
I knew him as a boy. Who else has known him as this man?
I’m beginning to sink beneath the slippery surface of these thoughts when Milo turns, his face lighting up. “Oh, hey. I see you found your coffee.”
The worries loosen their grip, and I finally breathe. “It’s good.”
He walks to the end of my bed. “I had the barista choose. I wasn’t sure what you’re drinking now.”
“Thanks.” I tip the cup toward him. “I can now mark this flavor off the list.”
We both smile, knowing coffee isn’t on the list but that the list binds us in a way.
“Did you sleep okay?” he asks.
I nod. “You?”
“Yeah.”
Thick silence follows. I fidget with the now-empty cup in my hands, looking at it instead of Milo still in his towel.
A sharp sound breaks the tension—Milo’s phone. He hurries to the dresser where it’s lying and answers.
“Hello.” There’s a long pause. “Yeah, she’s with me.” Another pause as I feel the overwhelming sense of dread drape its familiar heaviness upon my shoulders. “I’ll tell her.” He hangs up and turns to me. “Have you checked your phone?”
I pull the sheets from me, hurrying across the room to my purse, where I tucked away my phone right after I turned it off yesterday morning. I’m not sure I’ve ever turned it off before. I’ve always remained available to everyone but myself.
“Is everything okay?” I ask, my voice breathy.
His hands gently wrap around my arms from behind before he rubs the rush of anxiety that has bubbled on my skin. “Everything is fine. I think they’re moreworried about you.”
“Who was it?” I ask quietly, watching as my phone’s screen lights up in my hand, going through the list of who it could be.
It’s Saturday morning. But Joe would know I’m with Milo and my parents knew I was going on a trip. It could be Lacey at the coffee shop or Patty, unhappy that she found sheet music and a note from me asking her to fill in as pianist Sunday morning or . . .
Grant.
Grant, who said he doesn’t care if I spend time with Milo but doesn’t like to be surprised.
“Ginny,” he answers.
My eyes round in shock as I turn to face Milo. “Are you serious?”
He nods.
“What have you done?” I ask in horror.
His brows bunch together. “What do you mean?”
“Ginny is the upcoming Patty McGee,” I answer.
He tilts his head, clearly not following.
“She lives for drama,” I explain further.
“Sadie, I don’t care if Ginny knows you’re with me.”
“But I do!” The words land fast and hard, and unfortunately too true.
