I brush past her, jerking the flimsy door open.

“Reece?” her voice is tentative, a little hurt.

I turn back, meet her eyes. “You know the biggest flaw with your latest someday scenario?” I ask, letting a sneer curl my lip. “There might be a fancy hotel in your future, maybe even the Mercedes, but there sure as hell is not, and will never be, a we.”

I step out into the bright sunshine, not waiting for a response as I slam the door behind me.

Why bother?

Whatever things we might have needed to say to each other once don’t matter anymore.

Chapter 11

LUCY, NINE, REECE, TEN

“This is stupid. I want to play baseball.”

“You can’t,” Lucy told her brother as she adjusted the doily atop her head. “Mom said you have to play with me and Brandi since it’s her birthday.”

Five-year-old Brandi nodded. “And I want to play wedding.”

Ten-year-old Craig sighed with big-brother exasperation. “If you’re going to play wedding, shouldn’t you want to be the bride?”

Brandi scowled at him from where she stood on top of a beat-up cooler to bring her up to her playmates’ heights. “The bride is boring. I want to be the pastor.”

“Fine,” Craig said, kicking at a tuft of grass. “But why do I have to be the usher?”

“Well you can’t be the groom, because Spock’s the bride, and sisters can’t marry brothers,” Brandi said with impeccable little-kid logic.

Craig scowled at Lucy, as though it was her fault, and she merely shrugged. “She has a point.”

“Can we, um, just get this over with?” Reece Sullivan asked, tugging at an ancient red bow tie that Lucy and Brandi had commandeered from their dad’s closet.

Brandi gave him a curious look, her crooked ponytail touching her shoulder as she studied him. “You don’t want to be the groom?”

Reece made a face. “I don’t want to get married. Ever.”

Brandi’s face turned red, the sure sign of a full-on tantrum, and Lucy rushed to mollify the birthday girl.

“Come on guys, let’s just get this over with. We’ll be quick, and it’ll make Brandi happy.”

“How come you’re not more annoyed?” Craig asked, giving Lucy a suspicious look. “You were supposed to ride bikes with Robin.”

“I wanted to do something nice for my sister,” Lucy said with a serene smile.

Craig rolled his eyes, and Brandi beamed, both taking her answer at face value.

As Reece and Lucy stood before “Reverend Brandi” and pretended to exchange vows, she snuck a glance at Reece, saw him giving her a knowing look.

She broke eye contact, and bit her lip, wondering if he knew. Wondering if he knew as well as she did, that someday…

They’d be exchanging vows for real.

Chapter 12

Lucy

When I’d planned this road trip, I’d thought I’d be doing it alone—and I thought I’d prepared myself for a little jab of the loneliness of rolling through a strange city all by myself.

But sitting here at the cute Wilmington restaurant I’d bookmarked weeks ago, I realize that there’s something worse than traveling alone.

It’s worse to travel with someone who absolutely despises you. To be sitting all alone at a four-top table, not because of circumstance, but because your travel companion can’t stand the sight of you.

I suppose that’s not fair. The loathing is mutual. And I’m pretty sure I hate him for what he did more than he hates me. Which begs the question. Why does he hate me?

I’ve never quite understood that part.

He’s the one who messed up.

He’s the one who was making out with another girl within hours of getting in my pants for the first time.

Me: the wronged.

Him: the wronger.

But it hadn’t felt that way in the motel this afternoon. It had felt like he hated me.

I take a sip of my better-than-expected chardonnay and mentally kick myself for going there with him today. The stupid Someday game had just rolled off my tongue. Apparently the past six years of heartbreak weren’t enough to erase the ten that came before that. The decade of my life where Reece wasn’t just a part of my life, he was my life. My everything.

The server comes over, asks if I want to order another glass of wine, and well, what the hell, sure I do. The restaurant is walking distance to the motel; I can stumble home if necessary.

I hold off ordering my food, figuring I might as well stretch out the dinner since I’m not exactly dying to get back to the gross motel. Plus, I can sleep in a bit tomorrow, get a later start. Our next stop is Savannah, which is hardly some several days’ grueling drive from Wilmington.

I take a deep breath and try to settle down. And even as I order myself not to, I reach out for my cell, which I’ve purposely put facedown on the table so as not to look at incoming messages.

Or rather, the messages that aren’t coming.

I’m trying really hard not to be worried about Oscar’s silence. My boyfriend has a new restaurant—I, of all people, know the time that takes, the energy, the focus, the long hours.

Still, it hasn’t escaped my notice that the only times I’ve heard from him in the past couple weeks is when he’s responding to me. There’s no proactive communication, it’s all reactive. I say I miss him, I get a miss u 2 babe. I say I love him, I get a love u 2 babe.

Is it so much to ask that I be the one that gets to say 2 sometimes? That he tells me he misses me, unprompted?