Page 84 of While You Were Trending

“Will do.”

She winces. “Was he—never mind. Come eat. For real. The food’s getting cold, and I might have underestimated how much Shade would eat.”

As if we don’t know she’d bend over backward to make more if we ran out, so long as she has the ingredients on hand.

And if I know Ginny, she has ingredients on hand.

“Zander was Team Ginny,” I tell her.

She blushes.

Not just her cheeks, but her whole face and her neck and her bare shoulders too.

How she did a reality TV show without that blush showing that way, I’ll never know.

“There shouldn’t have been a Team Ginny,” she murmurs.

I say a silent apology to my best friend. “You weren’t wrong. He rushed into something he shouldn’t have.”

“Doesn’t make it right.”

“You forgive yourself yet?”

She meets my eyes. “Did you know there’s this place that exists where you can accept that you did something terrible, know that you’ll never do it again, and still regret it?”

“You remember Frankie Dunn?”

She squints at me as she nods.

“He brought a rebound to the wedding. Two weeks later, he was on his knees groveling to Eliana, and now they’re married with a baby. Overheard him telling some of the guys that watching you try to get Alex back was the wake-up call he needed to get over himself and go after what he wanted.”

She blinks quickly. “He—oh. That’s—I suppose that’s good.”

I shrug. “Thought you should know. Thanks for watching Flow last night. She doesn’t like to be alone or with strangers.”

“She’s a good girl.”

Flow grins at us.

“With the best hair,” Ginny adds.

My dog leaps to her feet, shakes herself off, and then struts into the house, head held high, back end swinging the way Zander taught her to walk on a stage.

Ginny laughs, then grabs my arm and pushes me after the dog. “Goeat.”

I ignore the way my skin lights up like a Christmas tree. Wouldn’t surprise me to look down and see my goosebumps shimmering and glowing.

The women and Shade are all attacking their plates when I reach the kitchen.

Ginny shoves me toward the last plate on the counter.

“Cricket’s not invited?” I ask as I realize she’s the only one of the women not in the kitchen eating already.

“Eh? Who’s on the picket line?” Pip says.

“Cricket’snotinvited, Pip,” Olivia says.

“Well, that’s rude,” Pip replies.