Page 173 of One Wild Wish

We need to talk .

I pressed Send and dragged my hand down my face. I’d give her a few days, the weekend with the girls to do their girl thing. Commiserate. Call me every name there was, if that’s what it took. Then I’d do what I should have done five days ago: fight for the woman I love.

22

Eight letters for the vertical frames alongside window openings.

Or the hunky guy you’re madly in love with.

K I N G S T U D

Ainsley

Clothing purchases were much like dating. Some items, once washed and worn, never fit right again. Some acquisitions were trendy, cool finds that became closet favorites until blacklisted to the kill-me-before-I’m-seen-in-public-with-this-again pile. Other purchases would sit folded in a drawer, overlooked time and again, until you tried them on with new jeans or shoes and realized, wow—I had this gem all along.

Then there was Owen.

Owen was the staple piece. The timeless classic. He was a steady pair of black pumps, the blazer that never went out of style. The Coach purse every woman coveted.

And I ran away from him.

I hadn’t heard from him for the five endless days since I’d left his apartment. I’d replayed our time together ad nauseam. Had reviewed the honest conversations I’d shared with Gay-Not-Gay Owen during our many lunches, along with how our friendship had bled into passion and companionship. Those moments hadn’t been imagined. Neither had the way he’d fit in with my family, or how much we’d laughed, or how intense our time in bed had been. Our dance had been the most romantic gesture this side of The Notebook .

But I hadn’t given him the one thing he’d needed: my trust.

My phone rang from somewhere near me. I’d avoided it recently and had hijacked Rachel’s couch, turning the cushy red sofa into my personal pity-party zone. Kleenex littered the cushions, fashion magazines overtook the floor. I’m pretty sure there was popcorn stuck in my hair. I felt around for my cell, wiggling like a depressed worm, until I found it smooshed between the seat cushions. The name lighting up my screen nearly had me launching it across the room.

Sloane.

I could flush the phone down the toilet or change my number, maybe run over it with Rachel’s motorcycle. Or I could be a grown-up and answer the darn thing. Voting on adult, I hit Talk. My body tensed as I waited for a shrill scream to deafen my eardrum.

“Ainsley?” Sloane’s quiet voice was barely audible.

I pressed the receiver harder to my ear. “Is everything okay?”

Her bitter laugh was answer enough. “No. But I owe you an apology.”

Rachel had morning classes today. Jimmy was working at his winery. That left me in the quiet bungalow, hating how defeated this strong, vibrant woman sounded.

I lay back and stared at the ecru ceiling. “You don’t owe me anything, Sloane. I just wish I hadn’t let it go so long. I should have told you sooner.”

She sighed heavily. “I doubt it would have made a difference. It’s funny, living your life with blinders on. Part of me believed you, when you came to my door. I’d had an inkling for a while, but I wasn’t ready to hear it. Couldn’t fathom my life without Thomas.”

“Don’t blame yourself. I did for a while, when I went through it. It only makes things worse.”

Silence crackled through the line, then, “Men are such assholes.”

“Those who cheat should have to walk around with a shit emoji on their heads.” But I couldn’t picture Owen wearing the offensive accessory. Deep down, in my gut, I knew he hadn’t cheated on me, or on Tessa. Owen’s pain and desperation when explaining the situation hadn’t been fake, and the man practically bled loyalty. Yet I’d still bailed.

Sloane’s breathing grew labored. “I hate how stupid I feel. I thought maybe he’d fooled around a time or two, but the extent of it? How long it’s been going on? His business trips extended each year, he changed his phone password, and he worked late too often to be normal. But he always had an explanation, and I always bought it.” Her voice fell to whisper. “I’m not sure how I’ll ever trust a man again.”

“You deserve happiness, Sloane. When it’s the right person, you will.”

“I don’t know.”

Her despondent words echoed my morose thoughts. I had let my distrust in men taint what I’d had with Owen. Brandon had started working longer, too, near the end. He’d been more protective of his phone and privacy. The memory of my ignorance had nursed my insecurity.

Insecurities I’d projected onto Owen.