Chapter 1

One

One Month Earlier

Cassie

Ifinish my second glass of wine … and he's still not here. Five minutes late. Sure. I get it. Ten or even fifteen? It's rude, but shit happens. He's more than half an hour late and the only reason I'm still sitting here is that I need to sober up a little before I try to drive home.

I should have known. I should have seen it coming. He got so weird the other night about us going out in Bellehaven. About people seeing us together. It stung. I know he's not ashamed of me. He's not embarrassed by me. So why was it a big deal? Because Cam Fellows is running scared. I've seen him do it a dozen times to a dozen different girls.

The server approaches the table. "Would you like any appetizers while you wait? Maybe another glass of wine?"

"No. Just the check please. It appears my plans for the evening have changed."

The kid—and he can't be much more than that—gives me a sympathetic look. "Sorry. Getting stood up is crap. Blind date?"

"Blind something," I reply. Blind fool. Willfully blind fool. I knew it would happen. But there was that little part of me that wanted to be different—that wanted to be the one he would be different for. Clearly that's fucked to hell and back.

The kid disappears and comes back a few minutes later with the check. He only charged me for one glass. Yeah, he gave me the pity discount.

Taking my card out of my wallet, I put it on the table. Seconds later, he whisks it away and returns within minutes. I sign the check, adding a very generous tip. After all, not everybody needs to have a shitty evening.

As I leave the restaurant, I glance around the parking lot. No sign of him. Not in his personal vehicle or his cruiser. The lot is full of people coming and going from the best restaurant this side of Cincinnati. Birthdays, anniversaries, proposals—it's a romantic spot. But not for me. For me it's the site where all my hopes and dreams went up in flames. Because even though I've been in love with Cam since we were kids, it was nothing to him but another notch on his already whittled bedpost.

"Fuck him," I whisper. "He can go straight to hell. And if he even so much as glances sideways at me—assuming he doesn't manage to avoid me indefinitely now—I'll tell him so."

Realizing that I'm talking to myself in the parking lot, I go to my car and scoot behind the wheel. I still have to sit here for at least an hour until I can legally drive. Something else I have to be pissed at him for.

I look at my phone again. Nothing. Not a peep. No missed calls or texts suddenly appear. There's nothing on social media. It's just silent. And the more I wait, the madder I feel. But I'm not going to do anything. I'm not going to be some clingy, psycho ex. I'm going to hang on to the few shreds of dignity I still possess and pretend like that son of a bitch doesn't even exist.

It'safter ten when I get home. I stopped at Target in the next town over for a little retail therapy. And ice cream. There's no better cure for heartache than a pint of Graeter's.

Dropping my bags in the kitchen, I put away all the stuff that has to be refrigerated and leave the rest of it. Except for the ice cream. That and the spoon I snatched from the silverware drawer are going with me while I ditch these uncomfortable ass clothes and the Spanx they demanded.

When I'm finally in my comfy PJ's and settled on the couch, I turn on the TV to rewatch Bridgerton. Then I pull up Facebook and the ice cream loses all appeal. In fact, I want to throw up.

Lucy Carpenter, the ding dong who works in dispatch, just checked in on social media. She's at The Horseshoe Bar and she's with Cam.

I don't scream or cry. It was three dates. Well, two dates and a third one that went all kinds of sideways. It doesn't matter that those two successful dates— that ended with us making out like horny teenagers in the front seat of a car—followed a decades-long crush on a man that not only isn't mine, but seems determined to never be anybody's.

"You dodged a bullet," I tell myself. "Now don't be a dipshit and mope over him. He's not worth it."

But he is. Even after standing me up. Even after going out with that idiot who can't even tell time on an analog clock. He's worth it. And I think maybe he's the only one who doesn't know it.