CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Ally

I spot the flash of red hair at the arrivals gate instantly. Other passengers flood the area around the baggage claim, bags thudding on the ground as they drop them to hug their loved ones who have waited for them. I do the same, beelining for my best friend. I throw my large tote bag on the floor and throw my arms around Spencer's neck. If anyone can pick me up right now, it's Spencer.

She wraps her arms around me, our hug lasting longer than most friends would, but Spencer is more like my sister at this point. I bury my face in her long, thick red hair and blink back the tears of relief that are threatening to spill just being in her presence.

I pull back out of the hug and look at Spencer. A part of me feels like a wounded puppy coming home with my tail between my legs, but I find no judgment in her eyes.

"Hey asshole, you were supposed to be the one picking me up at the airport." Oh God, I'd forgotten that Spencer only got back from Amsterdam last night and that I had agreed to be her ride. That was before the show, before everything went to shit. And now here I am making her pick me up, and jet lagged no less.

"Oh my God, Spence! I'm so sorry. You must be exhausted!" I hold my friend out at arm's length to get a good look at her. Somehow, Spencer looks perfect in her straight ankle-length jeans and slouchy sweater that hangs off of one shoulder. Spencer always looks stylish and put together, even when she's nine hours ahead and just finished a whole day of travel.

"Shut up. There's no way I wouldn't be here." Spencer picks up my large brown leather tote from the ground and swings it over her shoulder. She nods toward the baggage carousel that is squeaking as it groans to life. The first bag makes its journey around, a few bags falling on the conveyor belt. "Grab your shit. We're getting brunch."

I feel the tightly wound spring that has been squeezing my insides the whole plane ride home uncoil and loosen. I'm back with my friend, and I can relax. Spencer has always been my safe place.

I stand next to the baggage carousel and watch as my six suitcases fall one by one onto the conveyor belt.

"How many bags do you have, Wells?" Spencer's jaw hangs open.

"I moved my entire life to Heartwood, Spence. I wasn't planning on being home anytime soon." I shrug and try to shake off the sting of the mention of Heartwood.

"Good luck fitting those in my car." Spencer swivels and heads toward the exit with an arrow pointing to short-term parking. I follow, pushing my baggage cart, making sure that none fall on the way.

Spencer has brought her tiny little Toyota Corolla from the early '90s, and fitting my suitcases in the back is like an impossible game of Tetris. She got the car as a hand-me-down when we were teenagers, and she's has never upgraded. It works fine to get from point A to point B when Spencer isn't travelling, which is rare. It just isn't ideal for jamming six suitcases into it. I manage to get all of my suitcases in the trunk and the backseat, with my seat pushed almost all the way forward, and I take a moment to thank the universe for giving me short legs.

We don't have too far to go; it's about a twenty-minute ride from the airport to our favourite brunch spot downtown, only a few blocks away from Spencer's apartment.

I gaze out the window as we cross the Granville Street Bridge, admiring the city skyline, the way the sun shimmers off the windows of the high-rises, how the buildings crop up out of nowhere against the backdrop of the North Shore Mountains.

I close my eyes and let the sun warm my face. As beautiful as this city is, Vancouver feels foreign to me now. It's like my favourite old T-shirt from when I was a teenager, still the same comfortable feel, but it doesn't quite fit the same as I remember. It's not home anymore. I don't know where I can call home. Heartwood had become that place for me. Now, Heartwood is a place I want to shove into the far reaches of my mind and never think about again. That includes Mason.

I feel my chest hollow out, sucking my breath in like a vacuum, into the void. No matter how hard I try, I can never forget Mason. That's what terrifies me.

We take our usual table in the corner by the window, where we used to sit and people-watch as we sipped our lattes on a Sunday morning. I have no interest in people-watching today, and I'm going to need something stronger than a latte. As if reading my mind, Spencer pipes up when the server comes around to our table.

"We'll do the bottomless mimosas, easy on the orange juice, please." God bless Spencer. The lanky server shakes his head and chuckles but happily obliges and heads over to the bar to get our drinks. Spencer just stares at me, waiting. I'm relieved that she hasn't started bombarding me with questions, but it also leaves me wondering where to even begin telling her about the shitstorm that has become my life.

"You never told me how your date was with Hot Dutch Guy?" I say, trying to delay the inevitable questions about Mason.

"It was fine. He was cute. Dating European guys is weird, man. They're so forward. So direct. Dating Canadian guys is so much more fun. You never know what they're thinking."

"That's called playing mind games, Spence." I tap a finger on my temple. "And most people don't like it in their relationships," I add.

"One guy straight up asked me if I would put out after our date. Not in those exact words, mind you. They're very eloquent, even when they're trying to get in your pants." I laugh so hard I snort, thinking about how brazen someone would have to be to rankle Spencer.

"I don't think that's a problem with European guys. I think that's a problem with men. The species as a whole."

"Hey, when did this conversation become about me and my sex life?" Spencer scolds. "First things first. Who do I need to fight? Because I will. I have enough travel points to book a flight to Heartwood tomorrow and I will cut. A. Bitch." Spencer makes a gesture with her finger as if she's slashing her own throat, eyes wide as if she's a psychopathic serial killer and she's out for blood. It might appear menacing if you didn't know Spencer.

I shoot Spencer a withering look. I've mentally written Mason's name in my burn book, but he doesn't deserve the lashing that Spencer would give him, that's certain.

"Settle down, Firecracker." I use the nickname I gave Spencer as a teen when we were just getting to know each other, when it became apparent that Spencer's personality matched the fiery shock of red hair on her head. "No one is going to get cut."

"Then there better be a reason my best friend has come running home. Not that I'm complaining. For very selfish reasons, I'm happy you're here."

I start from the beginning, filling Spencer in on all the details I wasn't able to tell her over the phone when the time difference and dates with hot Dutch guys came between us. I leave nothing out, except for a few specific details about our sexual encounters that I'm not ready to talk about yet. In all my past relationships, Spencer was privy to all the gory details, but these still feel too raw to put out in the open. Mason was the first person who truly saw me for all of my insecurities and flaws. He gave me the space to grow, to use my voice. The wounds of losing him need more time to heal before I can revisit them.

Spencer listens and nods along, adding a few well-timed ‘ What-the-actual-fuck 's. When I finish my story, we sit in silence once again, neither of us quite knowing what to say.

"I know you don't want me to fight Mason, but I am going to be making a voodoo doll and needle the shit out of that thing when I get home." I let out a laugh and have to cover my mouth with my hand to stop myself from spitting my stiff mimosa all over the table. Although the wound is still fresh, there's a certain catharsis in letting it all out and having Spencer on my side.

"Honestly, Spence, I am just ready to put this all in the past and move on." That's a lie, and I recognize it instantly. I don't want to move on from Mason, but I have no choice. What's done is done, and it's my only option now.

"How do you feel being back in the same city as Nate?" The question stumps me momentarily, and I let a breath out from between pursed lips. I had carefully considered the idea of returning to Vancouver, where my reputation as the winner of Stolen Love precedes me wherever I go. But the thought of running into Nate … I have to turn it over in my head and examine it from all angles. Where can I go in Vancouver where I don't risk bumping into him? By the end of our engagement, we ran in a lot of the same circles, visited a lot of the same places.

Would I run into him in our old neighbourhood? Would he find out I had come back and try to get in touch with me again? My mind reels, weighing out every scenario. I don't want Nate knowing I'm back. He is such a self-centred prick; he would assume that I came back for him. I have too much to worry about right now without adding him to the mix.

"I guess I'm just going to lie low for a while. I'll have to find a place to live, and make sure it's nowhere near Nate's usual haunts." For now, avoiding him will be easy. Brunch at the mom-and-pop café tucked in the west end is one thing, but the idea of making any public appearances makes my skin itch.

"Your Mom would love it if you moved home," Spencer offers, her face cringing, knowing that the suggestion will not land well. I glare at her across the table. Spencer adores my parents. She has since we were young. Her parents had been absent for most of her life, there but never available. When we met, Spencer commented frequently about how my mom would ask about my day while she made me an after-school snack. I thought all moms did that, and frankly, her constant interrogations got under my skin. Spencer's jealousy was short-lived when she realized my parents would take her under their wing and give her the sense of belonging she had always craved. I'm fairly certain that she talks to my mother more than I do at this point.

"Nice try. I've given up a lot of my pride over the last few months, but that's a low I just wouldn't recover from. Moving back in with my parents at the ripe old age of twenty-nine isn't where I imagined myself."

"You can't ignore her forever, Ally. Besides, she'll be thrilled that you're back."

"Thrilled that I failed at both of the endeavours she opposed right from the start." I take a long sip of my mimosa, which is ninety percent Prosecco, thanks to Spencer. She's right. I've missed my mom since I've been away, I haven't quite come to terms with crawling home yet. Not after our last interaction where both of my parents blew up. This is not the life that we had set up for you, Ally. Like my life was theirs to control, not mine.

"She cares about you. She wants the best for you. You can't blame her for worrying." I nod, but I don't continue the conversation. Spencer knows better than to push the subject. "Well, if you aren't going home, does that mean you'll stay with me?" Spencer's face lights up as she clasps her hands under her chin and bats her eyelashes at me, a silent plea. I don't want to put a damper on her excitement, but I waffle at the suggestion.

"Err … I don't know, Spence. You've already done so much for me, I don't want to impose on your life any more than I already have."

Spencer waves a hand in front of her face.

"Pfft, it's no biggie. Besides, I need someone to look after the place while I'm travelling. And we're sisters. It's no imposition." I give Spencer a sheepish smile.

"Only if you're positive. And please tell me to get the fuck out the minute, the second, you start to get annoyed by me."

"That'll be a problem because you're literally the most annoying person I've ever met. But it's okay. You owe me," Spencer says with a wink. As much as I know Spencer is joking, I do owe her. Big time. Her apartment is still the perfect hideout, away from the public eye, and away from Nate.

"Hey, I know how you can pay me back," she says in a singsong voice as if she's about to ask a favour of me. She knows I'm not going to like it. "There's an event I have to go to tomorrow night if you want to come with. I get a plus one, and I'm pathetically single. Be my date?"

I hesitate. Attending a big event with Spencer, who has almost a million followers on social media, isn't my definition of lying low. Any event that Spencer is invited to will have a lot of attention on it. Sensing my hesitation, she reaches over the table and places her hand on my arm.

"Come on, come with me, please? It will do you good to get out and about. No one from the show will be there; it's just a bunch of travel bloggers, and the reality dating world rarely crosses over with ours." I consider it. It would be an opportunity for me to take my mind off of Mason, and I could avoid cameras if I was motivated enough. Spencer is right; who from that crowd would recognize me, anyway?

"Okay, okay. You've convinced me. I'll come." I give in, rolling my eyes. My expression shifts as I muster my blankest expression. "On one condition: if this is a date, I expect you to put out when we get home."

Spencer shoves my shoulder across the table, nearly knocking over the pitcher of mimosas, and we both burst out in a fit of laughter.

"Pervert."