I meet Abby at her apartment at six carrying bags of Chinese takeout.

“Pork fried rice?” she asks, answering the door in a V-neck tank top and shorts with a scalloped hem.

“And orange chicken and General Tso’s. And wontons for Nico.”

“I’m impressed,” Abby says.

“And I’m hungry.” Nothing like a little fried food to soak up the dregs of booze in my system. I spent half my last paycheck at The Bamboo Dragon, but if I’m going to eat my feelings, I’m going to need a lot of food.

Nico hugs my knees before asking me, “Where’s Jackson?”

Abby rolls her eyes. “He’s been talking about Jackson ever since you babysat. And also some sort of macaroni and cheese. Can you help a girl out with a recipe?”

I sigh. “The mac and cheese was not my doing, but I’ll see if I can get a recipe from Jackson.”

Abby quirks up her eyebrows but doesn’t comment.

We walk into the kitchen and Abby pulls a stack of china plates from the cabinets while I open containers of food. She inherited her godmother’s fine china after Nico was born, and I love that she uses it no matter what the occasion—that even Chinese takeout is special enough for the fancy plates with their curling rose pattern. The plates are precious because they are loved, not loved because they are precious, and that distinction makes all the difference.

I barely have a chance to scoop orange chicken from the containers before Abby sets in. “Not that I don’t love when you bribe us with food, but what’s the real reason you’re here?”

“Can’t a girl just want to see the cutest kid on the planet?”

Nico beams at me, but Abby levels me with a bullshit-cutting stare. “You sent an SOS text.”

I did. Dammit.

I shove a forkful of chicken in my mouth, trying to figure out the best way to describe it. “So after you left last night, Jackson took me home.”

Her eyes widen and she turns to her son. “Nico, honey, want to eat in front of the TV tonight? Mommy needs to talk to Aunt Nat in private.”

“Mega Trucks?” he pleads, already scampering down the hall.

When Abigail returns from the living room, she drops into the chair across from me. “You did not…”

“No!” I push a spear of broccoli around my plate. The crunch of a car crash echoes from the next room and I wince. “But I might have. I wanted to. Before I realized how stupid that would be.”

Abby nods and I don’t know if she’s agreeing with me or just acknowledging the truth.

“I just don’t know what to do, Abs. He’s Jackson. Part of me will always want him. But he’s my business partner. And I’m leaving. And it’s Jackson.”

“And he hurt you.”

It stings to hear it laid out so bluntly.

“Yeah, he did. A long time ago.” I purse my lips. “The thing is, I don’t think Jackson ever tried to hurt me. Not on purpose.” I take a half-hearted bite of fried rice and the food and heartache lodge in my throat. “You know, when I first came back to town I didn’t want to see him. But the more he’s pushed his way into my life, the more I’m okay with it. I like having him around. But it also feels too easy to forget what happened.”

“Well, what do you want?”

Everything.

This business—this path out of Swan’s Hollow—I know they’re the right things. I want my business to line up as fast as it can so I can start the rest of my life. But right now, until I have a product in my hands, I have to wait.

In the meantime, I can’t keep making this mistake with Jackson. Yes, I have lingering feelings for him and, yes, every time I get near him my body fills with this warm rush, but I’m not going to get burned again. We’ve never talked about that night, he and I, in the time since I’ve been back. There are all those years in between us now, stretched out and filled with other distractions. And I could use a distraction now.

I chuckle. “I want to be Delilah Overbrook in my real life.”

When I’m working on my business, when I’m Delilah, I’m not just a badass boss. I’m sexy and confident and bold. And I want to feel that way all the time. I can be Delilah of a black lace balconette bra and thigh-high stockings. I can be Delilah who remembers how to flirt with her eyes, who doesn’t let her bitterness seep out of her. I can be Delilah, who isn’t afraid that every man she meets is going to let her down.

Abby covers my hand with hers. “Because Delilah Overbrook wouldn’t hold a grudge?”

My shoulders drop. “I’m starting to think I need to just let it go.”

“I can’t tell if you’re talking yourself into this or out of it,” she says. “But I want you to be happy.”

“Me too,” I admit. A tiny vase of daffodils sits on Abby’s table and I reach out to touch the edges of a petal, soft and fragrant against my fingers.

“Also, you need to blow off some steam.”

I snort. Between Jackson and looking at porn and thinking about lube for every waking hour, my body’s practically vibrating with tension. “Any suggestions, O Wise One?”

Abby tosses a fortune cookie at me and sticks out her tongue. “Actually, yes. How much do you know about Tinder?”