Page 127 of Love Felt Like This

I spot Taylor with her husband, strolling arm in arm. A kid zooms by, but she doesn’t take note even though they say, “Mommy, look!” Her eyes are wide as she watches us, just as she did at the thrift store.

Why does it feel like everyone knows about what happened at the party? About what Griffin said to me? The cryptic words I can’t unhear, as if they know what it means and I don’t? The stares, the murmurs…it’s too much.

My clothes suddenly feel stuffy, heat rising like lava up my chest to my neck and my cheeks.

“I need some air,” I say. “Just give me a sec.”

I don’t let Griffin say anything before I bypass the crowd, stride to the barn doors, and push one open to let myself out. I shut it behind me, sucking in the biting, chilly air. I tug off my double-wrapped scarf and clutch it in my palms. It flies in the wind, slapping in angry whips.

I don’t like Griffin.

I can’t like Griffin.

He doesn’t like me.

I’ve been down this path before, haven’t I?

The cold nips at my exposed neck. The air threatens potential snow. I can smell it. My body can feel it. Goose bumps erupt.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. It’s probably my mom asking where I’m at or maybe Griffin asking if I’m okay. Maybe he’s coming up behind me soon.

Do I want him to?

I look down at my phone, but when the screen lights up, a different name appears. I stare, making sure I saw it right. The contact name is the exact same as it was when I changed it two years ago: Do Not Answer Beau.

It’s a silly thing to write, because he never once tried to call or text. It was hopeful. Pathetic.

My cold fingers fumble to swipe my phone unlocked.

Do Not Answer Beau: Hey stranger.

My stomach sinks. I can picture him saying it. The clever little drawl and the sly smile. But they don’t give me the same butterflies as they used to. They’re more like buzzing hornets. Not beautiful. Horrifying.

He never called after our breakup, not even when he saw me at that restaurant on my very first date that wasn’t with him. He barely batted an eye.

Why now?

The barn door creaks open. I turn around. Griffin emerges, and the winter breeze cuts through his hair and across his bearded cheeks.

“What are you doing out here?” He sounds exhausted. “It’s freezing.”

“I needed air.”

His eyebrows pinch together. He’s concerned.

Beau was never concerned. Not about me or my career or anything that didn’t involve his own music.

“I’m just thinking about Connection,” I say. It’s not exactly a lie. “Pitching and puppets and, you know…stuff.”

“Oh,” Griffin says, his face falling.

“It’s just a lot, y’know?” I’m blabbing now. “Pitch deck. Series bible. Character write-ups. Sample scripts. They want five, but I’m thinking maybe six, just to show I really want it, y’know? Proposed creative talent. Content research. Sizzle reel—”

“Beverly.”

“Hmm?”

He exhales and reaches out his palm. I take it. He pulls me closer, and my chest nearly hits his. I look up into his eyes as he blinks through the strands of his long hair that swipe past his gorgeous nose and thick beard.