love to me in the middle of the night, sending us both into sweet, dirty dreams once more.
Early the next morning, I grab fresh panties from my purse, tug them on, and twist up my hair. I stuff my dress into my gigantic handbag, pull on a pair of capri pants and a T-shirt, then I kiss a sleeping West goodbye.
He grabs my wrist. “Thank you for spending the night,” he says, sounding so earnest and vulnerable.
“Thank you for asking me,” I say, with a sashay of my hips. “Oh! You didn’t ask me, I insisted.”
“You ought to insist again.” He presses a kiss to my hand.
“I will. I will insist away. And then I will beat your adorable ass tomorrow at the competition,” I say, raising my chin.
“Like bloody hell you will.”
I leave on that sassy note, practically bounding down the steps, out the door, and onto Church Street, where it feels like a brand-new day.
A brand-new start.
There’s only one thing to do now…
I root around in my purse, grab my phone, and click open the thread with Ruby, tapping out a quick note. One that delights me to my very bones to send to her.
Gigi: You were right!
* * *
Ruby: Three of my favorite words. What was I right about?
* * *
Gigi: Oh God. I think he is the man of my dreams.
*GIF of unicorn jumping over the rainbow*
*GIF of woman fainting and falling to the ground*
*GIF of cartoon cat fanning itself*
*GIF of Jason Segel clutching a pillow*
* * *
Ruby: *GIF of smug-looking celebrity saying I told you so*
Okay now that you’ve sufficiently GIF-bombed me, tell me everything.
* * *
Gigi: We had the most incredible time and now we’re DATING. Like two adults! We actually AGREED TO DATE. Not just be friends who boink like horny unicorns. Though we’ll still do that, of course. But DATING! We’re doing it!
* * *
Ruby: Dating as in that thing two people do when they stop playing games and decide they want to really give it a shot? And sometimes involves horny unicorns?
As I read her note, I tilt my head back, drinking in the sunshine and the blue sky, soaking in the perfection of this summer day. I glance around, taking in my neighborhood, enjoying all the sights, all the stores, everything I’ve loved my whole life.
Gigi: Yes. That thing. I’m told every now and then it can be wonderful.
* * *
Ruby: Yes. Yes, it can.
As I type a reply, I turn the corner to my street and smack right into a wall.
A wall of a man, with strong shoulders, sharp cheekbones, and swoopy Clark Kent hair.
His shoulder in my face hurts like hell.
“Ouch!” I rub my stinging nose.
But when I look up my stomach plummets.
“Nelson,” I croak, in disbelief. “And Buttonista?”
My ex squints as if he’s trying to place me. Then he snaps his fingers a few times. “Wait. Hold on. Don’t tell me. You’re…” His forehead smooths. “I helped you with your divorce from that jackass, right? A year or so ago?”
I sputter, searching for words. For a few brief seconds, righteous anger floods my cells before something truly unpleasant rushes in to replace it.
Shame. Mortification. And the primal fear that haunts me.
I’m not even memorable.
I dated him for three months and he can’t remember my name, let alone the way I laugh, the way I fuck, the way I bought him little gifts too, so he’d know I was thinking of him when we were apart.
And now the brunette beauty next to him is beaming at me like we’re about to be besties.
The woman extends a hand. “Gabriella. I just opened up a button shop in the neighborhood. My second location.” Pride drips in her voice as she clutches Nelson’s arm. “Isn’t Nelson the best shark in the business? He got me out of my horrible marriage too. I’m so grateful to him.” Then she lifts a finger in my direction. “We should grab a cup of tea and girl-talk sometime at that new tea place. We ladies have to stick together.”
I stare at her, blinking, then at Nelson, trying to read him.
His face is stone.
I’m flummoxed, completely at a loss as to what’s going on. Did he lie to Buttonista about being with me when he cheated with her? Is he expecting me to go along with his case of feigned amnesia? Or does he truly not remember me.
And in the grand scheme of things does it even matter?
Not really.
But my pride does.
I straighten my shoulders and