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“Yeah.”
Bobby stands, and I follow suit. We stroll to the door, and I open it. We face up.
“I’m sorry about what I did,” he says.
“That’s okay.”
He kisses the top of my head. “Think about calling him.”
I tap Bobby’s chest. “I’ll let you know when I’m going to move.”
“All right.”
Bobby walks out, and I close the door. Go straight to my bedroom and sit at my little desk, open up my laptop, Google Farrah Conner. Click on her Instagram. Lots of well wishes and best of lucks under the photos of her showing off her wedding ring and rubbing her stomach.
That’s enough for me, so I slam the lid of my laptop and bellyflop onto my bed. The hell with Noah Dalton. I’m never talking to him again.
