Chapter 16

By the time I made it back to my apartment, I was furious. I spent the entire walk back replaying my conversations with Eliza and wondering where I went wrong. I genuinely meant well when I told her she wouldn’t be miserable forever—I thought the promise of happiness would have been comforting. Apparently not, because she’d become a different person after that.

Frowning, I thought about the heartbeat between us when she looked like someone beautiful, someone I wanted to know. I thought we’d had a moment, where I flirted with her and she flirted right back.

Maybe Eliza viewed the entire night differently. Perhaps she didn’t care where I came from or the stories I shared. It was possible she didn’t feel the electricity between us at all.

I huffed as I walked up the stairs to my apartment. I was sure there had been a feeling.

Something real.

Something long gone.

I wouldn’t pursue Eliza again. She wasn’t worth the emotional turmoil I was already experiencing from being around her, especially if she didn’t feel any of the same things I did. I couldn’t afford the pain of losing myself to the gentlest parts of her, only to be tossed around by the cruelest ones.

When I opened the door, the apartment was dark and empty. A note on the counter from Willa said she’d gone to Wren’s for the night and not to wait up. There was a winking face doodle at the end. I tapped my finger on the edge of the sticky note and fought a smile.

Part of me had hoped she would be home, so I had someone to talk to, but I figured at least one of us should be happy tonight.

After an hour-long shower to wash away my regrets of the day, I changed into a pair of pajamas and climbed onto the couch with Echo the cat to turn on some good, old-fashioned reality TV. With a mug of blood in one hand and a plate of snacks in the other, I let the ridiculous world of TV actors take me away from the ache in my chest.

The next morning, I left my room to the sound of Willa and Addie’s laughter and the smell of bacon.

My eyes widened when I saw the kitchen—it was a mess, to say the least. There were open eggshells in a carton, scrambled eggs cooking on the stove, bacon sauteing, and Willa pouring pancake batter on a skillet. On the kitchen island, I counted four bottles of champagne and two bottles of orange juice.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“We are over the French and their stupid breakfasts,” Addie announced with a wave. “No more baguettes and jam. We need eggs, and pancakes, and hashbrowns.”

“And all the bacon!” Willa howled, raising a piece of raw bacon into the air.

“And, since you’re here, you can tell us all about your night while you pour the first round of mimosas,” Addie said, motioning to the bottles.

I groaned at the mention of last night. “Do I have to talk? Can’t I just pour?”

“Oh, I see it went well then,” Willa teased.

Another groan. I popped the top of one of the champagne bottles and worked on filling three champagne flutes two-thirds of the way full. “I don’t want to talk about it because I’m not going to see her again.”

“Oh,” my friends said in unison.

Moving on to the orange juice and topping off each flute, I continued, “You can’t help someone who doesn’t want to be helped.”

We all lifted our flutes. “To the things, and the people, we can help,” Willa said.

“Hear, hear!” Addie chirped.

I gulped down the flute in two swallows and poured myself another. “Bring on the imperialistic breakfast foods.”