A couple of teens linger outside the ice cream shop.
Normal. Everything is normal.
Except me.
Because I feel like I’m waiting.
Waiting for something to break.
For the other shoe to drop.
For the moment he stops calling.
Stops texting.
Stops saying he misses me like I actually matter in his world.
Because that’s the part I don’t trust.
Not him.
Not exactly.
Just this feeling.
This ugly feeling like maybe my ex, Eric, was right about me.
Like maybe David’s going to realize it, too.
That he’s bored with me. That I’m too small town for him.
And when he does—God, that’s going to suck because the thing is, it’s already too late.
I’m in love with him.
Seriously. Like head over heels in love.
And the way it’s building? Expanding?
Like a bubble getting bigger and bigger and bigger.
And I’m just standing here inside it, knowing eventually—inevitably—it’s going to pop.
And I’m going to be the one left picking up the pieces.
“Earth to Larry.”
I blink.
Maribel is standing in front of me, arms crossed, one brow raised.
“You rang up that same book three times,” she says dryly.
I glance down.
Sure enough.
Same romance novel.