Chapter 27

Amelia

The Diamond's sign glows like a beacon as I push through the door. Inside, Stella and Isla have already commandeered our usual spot—a cozy booth that allows us to see everything and everyone while enjoying the Tuesday night drink specials.

"Here she is," Isla chirps, raising her glass in salute as I slide into the booth. The rattle of our glasses feels like a ritual, marking the start of our decompression session.

"Tell us everything," Stella urges, her eyes bright. "How was your date with Kent on Saturday night?"

"We'll be here all night if I start first," I say, brushing off the question. "Let's talk about you guys. Isla, still swiping your way to true love?"

"Ugh, it's like a digital desert out there." Isla's thumb flicks wildly across her phone screen. "I mean, how hard is it to find a guy who's not intimidated by a woman's anatomy?"

"Apparently harder than finding one who knows what to do with it when he's not," I tease, earning a snort of laughter from her.

Stella swirls the wine in her glass before setting it down with unusual care. "Speaking of men who don't know what they're doing…" she says, her voice tight with restrained emotion. "Guess who I had dinner next to last night?"

"Who?" Isla and I lean in.

"The lawyer I've been seeing—or should I say, was seeing—on a date with someone else."

"Shut up," I gasp. "Did you confront him?"

"Of course, she did," Isla interjects, eyes wide. Stella has a penchant for being direct.

Stella nods, a wry smile on her face. "He tried to spin this story for his date about how he knew me because I supplied legal temps at his firm. As if I'd let him get away with lying straight to my face to another woman he must have been cheating on."

"Wow, what happened?" I ask, shaking my head.

"His poor date was beside herself after I told her that I certainly do not sleep with clients, and that was not how I knew her dining companion. I sincerely apologized if any…overlap had occurred."

"Good for you," I murmur, imagining the woman's heartache. "Did she keep it together?"

"Her mascara didn't stand a chance," Stella says, a touch of sadness in her eyes. "She left him right there at the table."

"And what about him?" Isla prods, her gaze sharp.

"Mad as hell. Tried to make out like I was the one causing a scene." Stella shakes her head, taking a sip of wine. "I reminded him that we'd agreed to be exclusive. He couldn't handle it and stormed off."

"Asshole," Isla mutters, but Stella just sighs.

"I'm disappointed more than anything, I guess. But life goes on." She looks at me, her eyes narrowing. "I'm taking it better than I thought. Better than I think you're doing, Amelia."

"What do you mean?" I ask.

Her head tilts to the side. "You seem preoccupied this evening, a little off. This is not you. Something must be upsetting you."

"Probably," I admit, amazed at Stella's strength, yet so very sorry she needs it so much. The last of my cosmopolitan swirls over the ice as I set the glass down, a little too hard perhaps. "Kent's history," I confess, thumbing the condensation off my glass. "I blocked his number."

"Ouch," Isla says, but her eyes are still prowling the screen of her phone, hunting for her next conquest.

"Was it really that bad?" Stella asks, her gaze probing.

I shake my head, pressing my lips together. "What a mess. He was fun, spontaneous. But deep down I know…it's playing with fire. I feel like he showed me his true colors on Saturday. Right after I, unfortunately, showed him mine." A shiver runs through me at the thought.

"What true colors? You can't let fear dictate your life, Amelia. Not all stories end the same way. But tell us what happened."

I take them through the whole thing, the way I cleared the air with his dad during dinner, only to be left behind in the bar as he ran to Phoebe's aid.

Stella's words are soft but firm, her eyes holding mine. "You're stronger than you give yourself credit for."

Isla looks up from her phone. "Wait. He left you with his sister and her new husband to go help some other girl?"

I nod, looking at the napkin in my lap.

Stella's hand is warm on my forearm, squeezing gently. "He's an asshole. You are perfect in every way, and if he can't see that, that's on him."

I snort. "I'm far from perfect. There's my mom, my job, my shitty apartment…" I tick off my fingers.

"No one's life is perfect," Isla says. "Those are all just circumstances. We're talking about who you are."

"Agreed," Stella says. "You deserve better than that treatment." She's thoughtful a moment. "But talk to him. This doesn't all add up. It's worth finding out what's going on. Don't give up too soon."

I don't know what to think about that, as the thought of putting myself out there again, opening myself up to be vulnerable, is about the last thing I can manage. The conversation lulls, and we sit wrapped in our own thoughts. Eventually, we signal for the check, our ritual coming to a close for the night.

We stand, exchanging hugs and promises to text. Outside, the rain has started, a gentle patter that quickly soaks through my jacket as I say goodbye to Stella and Isla. They dart off toward rideshares, while I choose to walk, needing the space, the coolness of the night air to clear my mind.

Raindrops trickle down my face, mingling with the doubts Stella's words have stirred up. Maybe she's right. Maybe it's time to stop worrying about how I fall short and instead decide what I want and what I deserve. I need to be more assertive, spend less time waiting around.

I make a silent vow then, with the city lights reflecting off the wet pavement and the rhythm of my footsteps as my witness. I'm going to turn over a new leaf. I'm going to focus on getting what I need. I just have to figure out how to do that.

I unlock the door to my apartment, damp from the rain. Maybe change isn't just something to fear. Maybe it's something to embrace.

Peeling off my soaked jacket, I boot up my laptop with a shiver. The screen sparks to life, casting a soft glow around the room as I shake the rain from my hair. My inbox looms before me, an assortment of spam and promises of long-lost money that I almost dismiss en masse—almost. An unfamiliar sender catches my eye, with a subject line that sends a jolt through me—Interview Invitation.

Curiosity piqued, I click on the email, skimming the contents. It's brief and infuriatingly vague, from an ad agency looking for someone with my skill set. They want to talk to me over the phone, but they don't say why exactly. There's no company name, no specifics about the job; it's like they're guarding a secret, and I've been somehow chosen to be let in on it. That's what happens when you respond to a blind ad, I suppose.

I lean back in my chair. How do I prepare for something so undefined? There are a thousand questions running through my mind, each one a fluttering moth drawn to the light of this unexpected opportunity.

Fine, I finally decide. If that's the way they want to play it… I stand, pacing my living room. It's time to strategize, plan my approach. I'll have to rely on my portfolio, the breadth of my experience, and be ready for anything. I'll need the confidence Stella always says I undersell.

I smile in spite of myself. Maybe this is it, the change I've been longing for. A way to step out from the shadows of doubt and insecurity that have been dogging me since…well, since forever.