Chapter 15

Millie

“I don’t know,” I say to Violet.

“You should take the leap. He’s cute,” she says, her red hair blowing in the breeze.

Since Violet’s been coming to book club, she and I have grown close. We’re currently standing in a giant field on her farm, ready to ride horses.

It’s been a hot minute since I’ve been up on a horse, and I’m not sure if I’m ready for this.

I told Violet that Oliver Moore asked me out, and she thinks I should take him up on his offer.

Normally I’d never think twice about going on a date with Oliver. Even before I met Tripp. Oliver just isn’t my type.

But now that I have started reading Tripp’s chapters, I can’t even think about dating Oliver. I don’t want to, however, lying in bed after Tripp gave me one of my most intense orgasms to date, he told me I should.

Why would he tell me that?

Obviously he has zero feelings for me, and he’s just giving me orgasms out of some sort of obligation. Which makes me feel worse about the whole situation. I don’t want his pity orgasms.

I can’t tell any of this to Violet. Or can I?

Why not?

“I have this friend,” I start, and Violet pauses as she saddles up one of her horses.

“Continue,” she eggs on.

“He’s the guy that came to the book club, remember?”

“Didn’t he leave?”

“Yeah.” I nod. “I think he left because he was jealous about Oliver asking me out.”

Violet has a big smile on her face. “And you like this other guy?”

“Well, it’s a bit more complicated than that,” I say, feeling the weight of the words as I launch into the whole story of Tripp and me. As I speak, memories surface—our first meeting, the stolen glances, the laughter that came so easily between us. “You can see why I’m not sure what to do,” I add, my voice trailing off as I finish the story. The uncertainty hangs in the air, thick and heavy.

Violet leans back, her eyes narrowing slightly as she mulls over my words. There’s a thoughtful silence as she studies me, her gaze penetrating as if she’s trying to see past my words to the heart of the matter. “And he’s writing this romance novel?” she finally asks, her tone carefully neutral, though her eyes betray a flicker of intrigue.

I nod, the gesture small and hesitant, the knot in my stomach tightening. Worry gnaws at me, the fear that I’ve said too much, that I’ve somehow betrayed Tripp’s trust by confiding in Violet. “Don’t tell anyone,” I murmur, the plea slipping out before I can stop it. My voice is barely above a whisper, but the desperation in it is unmistakable.

“Millie, I really like you, and I’m not like that.” Violet’s voice is firm, reassuring. She leans forward, her eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that makes me believe her every word. “I value friendship above all else. I would never betray your trust. What you tell me in confidence goes to the grave with me.” Her eyes shine with sincerity, and I feel the tension in my chest ease just a bit.

I let out a deep breath, feeling some of the weight lift off my shoulders.

“Honestly, any man who writes about feelings is a keeper in my book,” Violet continues, her voice taking on a lighter tone. There’s a hint of a smile on her lips now, softening the serious expression she usually wears. “He has to be attracted to you somewhat to fool around with you.”

“Yeah, but you know how guys are,” I say, my voice laced with a hint of cynicism. “They can fool around with women and not catch feelings.” The thought hangs in the air between us, the reality of it a cold comfort.

Violet nods, her expression turning thoughtful again. “It’s why I’m single and plan on remaining that way for the rest of my life,” she says with a wry smile, though there’s a trace of sadness in her eyes. She’s beautiful—her long red hair cascades down her back in fiery waves, and her amber eyes sparkle with intelligence and warmth. A few freckles dot her nose, giving her an almost ethereal quality, like something out of an old painting.

But there’s nothing delicate about Violet. She works hard on this farm, and it shows in the strength of her body, in the way her muscles move under her sun-kissed skin. She’s fit and strong, a woman who can handle herself and anything that comes her way. Just looking at her reminds me that I should probably get back to the gym.

It’s a pity she doesn’t want to ever find love. I feel like I romanticize romance a bit too much, wanting to hold out for some grand love.

Maybe it doesn’t exist.

Maybe Violet’s right and men are a myth. Well, the type of man I want is a myth.

Can a man really be like a book boyfriend?

My head’s a mess and I smile at Violet. “Let’s ride horses,” I say, wanting to change the subject.

Violet laughs. “Honestly, I think you should go out with Oliver to see what Tripp does. If he really doesn’t care, then oh well, at least now you know. Plus, free meal.”

I laugh alongside her. “Very true.” I pull out my phone, sending off a quick text to Oliver, letting him know I’d love to go to dinner.

He answers back quickly with a, ‘pick you up at seven tomorrow night?”

I agree, and it’s settled.

I hope I didn’t make a mistake.

I definitely made a mistake. After reading the first few lines of Tripp’s chapters, I’ve been a mess about my impending date with Oliver.

I reread the lines Tripp wrote:

When I look at you, I see everything I never knew I needed. You make the world feel brighter, lighter, like maybe there’s more good in it than I ever believed. Loving you isn’t just a choice—it’s the only thing that makes sense in a life that’s been full of chaos. You’re the calm in my storm, the light in my darkness, and I’m not letting go of that. Of you. Not now, not ever.

It nearly brings tears to my eyes. What I wouldn't give to have somebody write these words about me. What does Tripp think about when he writes these words? Do they just come from a place of nowhere?

Has he ever even been in love?

These are questions I’ll never get the answer to.

I turn off my reading device, and smear some lip gloss across my lips. I fluff my blonde hair in my mirror, trying my best to look great for my date.

I haven’t been on a date in ages, and honestly took way longer than I’d like to admit trying to choose an outfit.

I landed on a red sundress with brown wedges. The look is beachy with a hint of subtle class. At least I hope Oliver likes it.

For a brief second as I close my eyes, I picture Tripp at my door instead of Oliver. My mood sours at the thought.

However, I hold my head up high and grab my brown crossbody purse.

There’s a knock at the door just as I’m stepping out of my bedroom, the sound perfectly timed with my exit. Wow, right on time. My heart skips a beat, anticipation thrumming through me as I smooth down the front of my dress.

I open the door, and there stands Oliver. “I like a punctual man,” I tease, my lips curving into a grin.

His smile widens, his eyes flickering over me with appreciation. “You look amazing,” he says, his voice warm and genuine.

“Aw, thank you,” I reply, feeling a flutter of apprehension as I lock the door behind me. The click of the lock echoes in the quiet hallway, grounding me in the moment.

Why does this all feel so wrong?

Oliver’s come directly to my apartment, taking the back staircase that winds up from the parking lot behind the shop. It’s quiet now, the shop closed for the evening after I decided to close up early, giving myself some extra time to get ready. Now, we’re standing together on my little porch, the evening air cool and crisp, filled with the scent of autumn leaves.

“So, where are we going for dinner?” I ask, half-expecting him to say Moore’s since he owns the place. But instead, he surprises me.

“Atta Boy,” he says, his eyes sparkling. “They’ve got a great chicken and waffles sandwich.”

“Oh,” is all I manage to say as my heart flutters—nerves and anxiety warring within me. The unexpected choice throws me off balance, and a sudden rush of worry floods my mind.

Oh shit.

I hope Tripp isn’t working tonight.