AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“In that TikTok video?” Skye smiles, pointing. “Back corner.”
“Perfect.”
The long-haired girl wanders to the stand of special blends, leaning close to read the labels. She picks up the Heartbreak Soother. It’s our bestseller.
“If there’s anything specific that we can help you with,” Jen says. “Just ask. We have something for everything.”
“Um, okay.” The girl blinks very fast, trying not to cry. “Is there anything for, like… If the person you like starts going out with one of your supposed friends?”
Jen and Skye glance to me, a bit awkwardly.
But I give her a big smile. “That would be the limited edition ‘Grace Under Fire’ blend. To the left there.”
“Or maybe our Revenge Roobois,” Skye suggests cheerfully. “We recommend serving that one cold.”
* * *
I mindthe register for the rest of the day, and then close up for Skye and head to the apartment upstairs. They’ve been kind enough to rent it to me for peanuts since Miles kept our old apartment in the split. The studio isn’t big, but I spent my relationship grieving period making it nice. Flashbacks to a good day picnicking in Prospect Park with Miles? I’d beg Skye to help me haul a pink velvet loveseat down four city blocks. Haunted by the memory of Nadia’s face at lunch as she told me her new boyfriend was my old boyfriend? Time to paint the far wall a soft robin’s egg blue.
Turns out, a broken heart is great for interior design.
I relax onto my bed and stare at my phone. This afternoon, Nadia posted a rack of gowns to her social media, all Chantilly lace and clean, bright satin. Her caption: I SAID YES TO THE DRESS! She really wasted no time there. The day before, she posted the classic photo, kissing Miles’s cheek, with her left hand pressed to his chest.Can’t wait for forever with this guy. My gag reflex wrestles with my urge to reach for some of those potato-based snack foods.
I scroll back, weirdly hypnotized by the future that might have been mine. Last weekend, they were at a gorgeous inn with a wide sun porch. I’d daydreamed about a spring Shelter Island trip, but Miles was always too busy with school. Once, I researched the whole thing, complete with an affordable B&B. He replied to the link with:Maybe. We never talked about it again.
Don’t get me wrong, despite the occasional social media rabbit hole, these days, I really am okay about the two of them. I’d rather be alone than with those duplicitous snakes in my life. But the whole sorry affair hasn’t exactly left me in the best headspace about trusting my instincts. I really thought Miles and I had something. And that means I don’t know what ‘right’ would feel like anymore. What do I look for?
For the past six months, I’ve looked for dating app guys with kind eyes and seemingly real interests. So far, the eyes are misleading. Their real interest seems to be asking if I’m into threesomes before I even finish my drink.
Apparently, a memo went out to the menfolk of New York: Why settle for just one naked woman in your bed when you could aim for two, instead?
I click away to place my usual order from my favorite Vietnamese place and put the kettle on,
perusing Miles’s feed again when the doorbell rings downstairs.
I startle, nearly hitting like on a post from a month ago. Which would have been a disaster.
Get it together, Grace. I take a deep breath. How long was I swiping? Delivery usually takes twenty minutes.
“Hey,” I say brightly, as I pull open the front door. “That has to be some kind of record.”
But it’s not my food. It’s a woman in a cream-colored dress, her blond hair swept to one side. She gives me a genuine smile. “Oh, Grace! Hi.”
It takes me a second to place her. Charlie Fox’s beautiful girlfriend. “Hi…” I say, confused.
“Olivia Danvers,” she introduces herself smoothly. “So sorry to intrude!”
“Um, how did you find my address?”
Olivia gives a sly smile. “I employ a very savvy assistant. Quite an asset, as you know.”
I nod slowly. Then I realize, the poor woman is probably here to do damage control so I don’t sue or something. “Look, I’m fine. You really don’t have to—” I’m interrupted by the sound of the kettle. It’s screeching so insistently that I can hear it from down here. “Sorry, I should—”
“Go ahead.”
I turn to head up the stairs, but Olivia follows me. OK then.
I hurry to the stovetop, and Olivia stands in the doorway.
