“You too. Text me your flight info.”

“Okay.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know,” I said, and she ended the phone call before I could thank her.

I was still terrified. I wasn’t sure if I could do this, if I could do long distance, if I could be with Jamie and handle the pressure of a relationship along with the pressure at work. But if anything, Jenna had opened my eyes to the fact that I had been running from Jamie, and only for selfish reasons. I’d never shown him that he was important in my life, and he was. It was time I showed it.

And maybe love was scary, but with Jamie, it was amazing, too. It hurt worse to live without him, and I’d realized that now.

I emailed my boss, booked a flight, and then I finished my bottle of wine, all the while wishing it were Whiskey, instead. That was the night I convinced myself that I could take control of my life, of my relationship with Jamie, if only I made the decision to. Face your fear, and you can conquer anything — right? But what I neglected to realize was that even when it seems like everything has finally clicked into place, the biggest player in the game of life is timing — and you either have that player on your team, or you don’t.

That weekend, I would learn quickly and painfully that timing was never on our side.

“ARE YOU SURE YOU DON’T want me to meet you there?”

I shook my head before realizing Jenna couldn’t see me. “Nope, just touching up and then going inside. I want to do it on my own.”

“Okay. I mean, not that I’m anxious to go and then be left behind when you guys go back to his place to bang all night but you can totally pull the best friend card if you need to.”

I laughed, applying a fresh coat of dark burgundy lipstick. My gray eyes popped against the smoky shadow Jenna had showed me how to do and my lashes were long and dark. “I’ll be okay.”

“I know you will. Just be honest with him and then make up all night long.”

“I like the picture you paint.”

“Well shit, maybe I should just quit law school and be an artist.”

I rolled my eyes. “Bye, Jenna.”

Once I was alone in my mom’s car, I let out a long, slow, shaky breath, staring at my reflection in the small visor mirror. My cheeks were hinted with a blush and my hair was styled with tight curls. I’d shopped all day with Jenna, and she was right — I felt more confident in a new pair of skin-tight leather leggings and deep v-neck blouse. I slid out of my sandals and pulled my heels from the passenger seat, putting them on one by one before bracing my hands on the steering wheel again. I let myself stall for thirty more seconds, then I grabbed my clutch and made my way inside.

I’d planned to show up at his house, but ended up running into his youngest sister at the mall when I was with Jenna. She’d told me he was going out tonight, to his favorite bar, celebrating after the hellish week they’d had at work. Busy season happened two times a year for them — February to May, and September through November. They’d survived, and I hoped me showing up would add to the celebration.

It was dark in the bar, and even though my stomach was tight with anticipation, I didn’t seek Jamie out at first. Instead, I headed straight for the bar, sliding up on a barstool and flagging down the bartender. This was my first strategic move for two reasons: one, I needed libations to get through my nerves, and two, I was half-hoping Jamie would see me first. I was ready, I knew everything I wanted to say, but it would be easier if he had to make the walk across the bar to me. If he simply strutted up with that beautiful smile of his and asked, “What are you doing here?” with wonder in his eyes. Then, I could spill my heart like they do in the movies, and we’d spend the night the way Jenna imagined.

That’s what I hoped for, but it wasn’t what I got.

I did get a glass of Makers Mark on the rocks, a sweet bourbon that was easy to drink and made me feel a little less tightly wound. And then, I got hit on.

“Whiskey girl, huh?” a sweet voice asked. I turned, glass still at my lips, and found a strikingly beautiful woman on the bar stool next to me.

I nodded, smiling as I finished swallowing. “Yeah. You?”

She held up her bottle of Bud Light. “Nah, more of a cheap beer gal myself.” She grinned wide, her sea-green eyes raking over me slowly. She reminded me a little of Mona with her long dark hair and exotic features, but Mona wore a constant look of distaste while this woman’s smile was warm and inviting. “I’m Claire.”

“B,” I said, tipping my glass to her before taking another sip.

“Bee, huh? Like the bumble?”

I laughed. “Like the letter. It’s just my first initial.”

“Ah, makes sense now. Well, B, what brings you to this shit hole of a bar?”

The fist in my stomach gripped tighter. For a moment, I’d almost forgotten. “I’m here to see about a boy.”

Disappointment settled in over her features, but she masked it with an easy smile. “Of course, should have known you’d be taken. Not going to lie, I was kind of counting my lucky stars that you slid up next to me looking all sweet, innocent, and lonely.”

I laughed again, harder this time. “You’re pretty bold.”

“Beating around the bush is for pussies,” she said with a wink, sipping from her beer. “Speaking of which, I have to say, totally thought you played on my team.”

“Should I take that as a compliment?”

She shrugged, gathering her hair to one side of her neck. “Take it however you want.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but my eyes caught on a large table across the bar behind Claire. It took a moment for them to adjust, but once they did, I couldn’t find another breath, let alone another word.

Claire turned, following my gaze and turning back to me with raised eyebrows. “Disgustingly cute, aren’t they?” She took another drink. “Try being around it twenty-four-seven. That’s my best friend, Angel. She’s been with this guy for — what? Maybe four months now? Pining over him for almost a year before that. He was all heartbroken over some chick he tried doing long distance with, but she was determined to break through that shit. Got to be honest, I told her to give it up, but eventually he took her up on a coffee date and the rest is history.” She chuckled. “Gross, PDA history.”