Things are moving fast.

Every jewelry piece I had in stock has been sent out. The semiprecious gemstones and metals are showing up everywhere from SoHo to Los Angeles. Last week a private equity firm based in San Francisco approached me about partnering with them to produce my designs.

After a lot of deliberation, I decided to accept their proposal.

That means this is happening. Really happening. Makayla Alexander will be launched as a real company by the end of the year.

I quit my job at the Gemstone Gallery the day Cam and I broke up, or took our break, or whatever it is we are doing. Just like I’d basically told him to get his shit together, I needed to get mine together, too.

As soon as I left him that day, I knew in my heart he wasn’t Sebastian all over again. Cam just isn’t like him. I should have seen that.

Here’s the thing, though: that part of himself that he buried with his brother was eating away at him. Who knows, maybe he is trying to figure himself out, maybe not. All I know is he helped me figure out who I was and I wish I could have done the same for him.

Sure, that whole awkward-turns-to-anger thing I had going on wasn’t pretty, but he didn’t even stay and fight for me.

I have no idea where that leaves us.

Are we are on pause?

Broken up?

Over?

I just don’t know.

He took off that night for New York City, two weeks earlier than he had planned to return for his mother’s wedding, and none of us have heard a word from him. I was supposed to go with him to the wedding. Obviously I didn’t.

The gaping wound in my chest is still wide open. I’ve typed out hundreds of text messages to him and have yet to send a single one. One day I’ll compose the right message. It will be one that tells him exactly how much I love him. Which is enough to set him free. To allow him to take the time he needs to find himself. And hopefully, like the saying goes, he’ll come back to me.

The container of leftover macaroni and cheese I brought home from lunch the other day is nowhere to be found. Searching amid the tofu and couscous that Maggie made last night, I can’t find it. Practically diving into the refrigerator, I begin to wonder if Maggie tossed it out, but then I find the white foam container in all its glory and try not to leap with joy.

It’s the little things that help me get through the days without Cam. Like carb-filled, grease-laden, fatty, and oh so good foods that Maggie normally outlaws.

Due to my delicate state of mind, she’s been easy on me. My taste buds and I appreciate it.

“Caught you,” Maggie scolds, shaking her finger at me.

I raise my palms surrender style and the macaroni and cheese falls to the floor.

Crap.

Crap.

Crap.

The container bounces twice, but to my amazement, it doesn’t open.

Small things. Like I said. It’s the small things.

I consider bending to pick it up, but wait to make sure Maggie doesn’t have a dastardly plan up her sleeve.

She casts a glance at the macaroni-and-cheese container by her toes, then at me. And then, because it is the small things that matter, she picks it up and hands to me.

“Thanks.” I take the food and ease past her to put it in the microwave. I look over my shoulder. “Want some?”

She laughs and shakes her head before opening the refrigerator and removing a number of items I’d prefer not to name. “I’m going to make black bean burritos. There’s plenty if you’re still hungry after you eat that artery-clogging meal.”

I give her my evil look. The one I reserve only for her.

Slapping her hand to her forehead, she looks right at me. “Right,” she quips, “how could I forget—heartbroken Makayla doesn’t eat healthy food. Silly me.”

I pick up my wineglass and throw her the finger around the glass with a smile.

She shrugs and grabs for a cutting board. “Still no word from Mr. Tall, Dark, and Broodyface?”

I shake my head. “No, and we are not talking about him, remember?”

At least she doesn’t call him an asshole like she did Sebastian.

“Oh, I remember,” Maggie says, slicing the end off an onion. Then, under her breath I hear her mutter, “And here are his balls,” and the knife slices the onion in half.

Ouch! Just the thought.

For someone who didn’t know how to cook three months ago, she’s become quite the chef. Ginsu knife and all.

The microwave dings and I remove the container, holding it toward her. “You sure you don’t want any? It’s really, really good.”

She shakes her head and points to the can of black beans. “These are going to be delicious, so save some room.”

Pulling a fork from the drawer, I find myself laughing. Believe it or not, the laugh sounds more genuine than any I’ve faked over the past three weeks. “I’m sure they are, just like the tofu tacos last night.”

“Those were a little overdone,” she admits.

Cardboard in a soggy whole-wheat tortilla shell—there are no words to describe it.

Just as I sit down and swallow my first bite of deliciousness, the kitchen door swings open.

“Hey, beautiful ladies,” Brooklyn greets us, looking like James Dean with the sleeves of his white T-shirt rolled and a pack of cigarettes tucked in one of them. He’s always got a cigarette tucked behind his ear or dangling from his lips, but I’ve never seen him smoking. “Anyone up for a movie? There’s a new horror flick playing in the Village,” he asks.

“I can’t,” I say to him. “I have an early morning meeting.”

Brooklyn gives me one of his sympathetic nods. The one where I can tell he wants to talk about Cam, tell me what a stand-up guy he is but doesn’t, because maybe he doesn’t believe it. Or maybe he doesn’t think he should. Guy code and all. They’re buddies and he would never talk badly about Cam—I get it.

Then again, we all seem to be staying quiet about Cam for our own reasons. Like we are waiting for the numbness of his abandonment to wear off. The thing is, I know Brooklyn must be in contact, if only because Cam’s best friend is his brother. Still, I don’t ask, afraid of what he might say, I suppose.

Averting his eyes from me, Brooklyn shifts his gaze to Maggie. “What about you?”

Maggie’s eyes are watering from the onions. “I can’t either—Matt is coming over later, and besides, I have to open the tower tomorrow.”

Matt is Noah’s replacement. He’s even more obedient that Noah, if you can believe that. Maggie is holding to the exclusive thing, one exclusive guy after the other.

Brooklyn takes a seat next to me at the counter. “That sucks. I hate the morning shift,” he says to Maggie.

Having moved on to the stove, Maggie turns around with a wooden spoon in her hand. “Stay for dinner. I’m making burritos.”

“Sure, sounds good,” Brooklyn answers.

When Maggie turns around I mouth, “Bean,” and offer him a bite of mac and cheese.

Taking my fork, he chews and swallows before getting up to stride over to the fridge. It’s then that I notice he is still in his lifeguard clothes. He knew we were going to turn him down. Grabbing two beers, he offers one to Maggie and takes the other for himself.

Gulping a mouthful of red wine, I start to think about how he’s been around a lot lately.

The pot on the stove bubbles and small pieces of bean seem to be launching like mini rockets. “Oh, shit, they’re exploding,” Maggie cries.

Brooklyn rushes over and turns the gas down. “The flame is too high,” he tells her.

Oh, boy, does she give him the evil eye.

Almost crying from laughter, I try to compose myself when she glares at me next.

As soon as Brooklyn sits down, I swivel my chair toward him and push my food his way. “Finish it,” I tell him. “I’m full.”

Honestly, I haven’t been eating much lately, and not because of Maggie’s cooking, either. I just have no appetite.

Stuck between a rock and a hard place, Brooklyn pushes it in front of me and covertly sneaks bites when Maggie isn’t looking.

“So,” I say. “No hot date tonight?”

“Just you two.” He grins.

“I’ve got a few friends who’d love to date you,” Maggie tells him, popping the burritos in the microwave.

Brooklyn tilts his bottle back and casually answers, “I’m cool.”

I guess that’s a nice of saying no freaking way am I letting you set me up with one of your homegrown, earth-loving, save-the-world friends.

They are nice.

All of a sudden, the microwave has a white haze coming from the inside. Like it’s possessed or something.

I point to it. “Ummm…Mags, should the microwave be smoking?”

She rushes over to it and opens the door, removing the plate with more-than-steaming-hot shells. “I guess they didn’t need to be warmed up for very long,” she says with a smile.

About twenty minutes later, my plate is empty, and the burritos are done. Maggie grabs the food and a stack of plates. “Let’s sit in the family room and eat.”

I hope Brooklyn can eat another meal.

Maggie and I take the couch. Brooklyn takes the chair.

Once we all have the exploded bean burritos with uncooked onions and overcooked shells on our plates, Maggie turns toward Brooklyn and points to him with her fork. “Now I know,” she says through a mouthful of food, “that you ate Makayla’s macaroni and cheese, so don’t lie to me when I ask you what’s up with you and the ladies lately. Why haven’t I seen you, or heard you for that matter, with any of those MTV wannabes?”

He winces after he takes a bite of his food and sets his plate down. Then, being one hundred percent serious, he answers her. “I’ve decided to try celibacy for a while.”

Maggie practically spits her food out. “Why would you do something as stupid as that?”

Recovering from choking on my wine, I elbow her. “Don’t say that.”

Brooklyn sighs. “I’m so tired of every girl going on about who I was. I’ll never be that guy again. Young and free, with tons of money. That guy grew up, and he’s me, but none of these girls around here seem to get that.”

“What about Sasha?” I ask.

After all, I owe her my career. I have to root for her.

He smiles at me. “We will never last. It’s the same old thing every time we get together. One of us always gets hurt. It’s time to put an end to that too. Believe it or not,” he says, grabbing for his notebook, “I’m ready to grow up and figure out who Brooklyn James is.”

Amen, I think.

Amen.

And then I shift my eyes toward the ceiling. I don’t ask the big guy up above for much, but right now I find myself praying that Cam finds himself, too.

Please, God, help me out, just this once.