I sleep in fits. When I do, I dream about Ryan. When I press my eyelids together in an attempt to end my consciousness, I think about Ryan.

The hurt in his blue eyes.

The weight of his body on top of mine.

The feel of his palm against my lower back.

The promise in text message form.

When we start our descent into LAX, I give up on sleep. Read his text over and over again instead.

As soon as I told her, I felt it. I’m done with her. Over her. Completely. It’s so much more fucking obvious right now, because I can feel a gaping hole in my gut. That’s you being gone, Leigh. Maybe that isn’t enough for you. Maybe it’s not enough that I want to be the person who cooks you dinner every night and wakes up next to you every day. Maybe it’s not enough that I want to watch your design company take off, and teach you to surf, and race you around the park. Maybe it’s not enough that you’re my favorite fucking person in the world. But you are. And I want all that. When I see my life, you’re in it. You are it. There are only three things I want. I want to do ink, I want to see the world, and I want you.

If love is the sum of its parts, that’s love.

But is it enough?

I’m way too tired to put those pieces together.

We land. Taxi. Stand. I’m a zombie as I grab my carry-on and walk off the plane. Familiarity takes me through the maze of LAX. Past the stores, along the hallway, down the escalator to baggage claim.

But I’m not destined to climb into a ride share.

Iris is standing in front of the sliding doors.

She runs to greet me. Throws her arms around me and squeezes tightly. “You okay?”

I shake my head.

“I’m sorry.” She releases me. “Ryan asked me to pick you up.”

“Of course.”

“He’s sweet.”

“Even when he…” I don’t know how to end the sentence. My thoughts are too slow. My heart is too heavy. “It’s early.”

“That’s how much I love you.” She takes my suitcase and motions to the door. “Come on. I’m parked in the garage. I’ll buy you breakfast.”

I shake my head.

“Coffee.”

“You convinced me.”

* * *

This is a bait and switch—we’re at a restaurant, not a coffee shop—but the java is too good for me to complain.

I down my second cup. Revel in the dark, nutty, creamy, sweet deliciousness.

Iris offers a slice of bacon. “You should eat something.”

I motion to the empty cup of cream between us.

“That’s drinking.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“What if it’s chocolate?”

“I’m not a monster.”

She hails the server.

He stops at our table with a smile. “Yes?” Guys are always so sweet when you’re with another cute girl.

“More coffee and cream. Please.” I trace the outline of my mug.

“Do you have chocolate chip pancakes?” she asks.

“It’s not on the menu, but I’m sure I can make it happen,” he says.

“Great. We’ll take an order. Thank you.” She smiles you are eating, dammit.

I wait for the server to leave. “Do chocolate chip pancakes have any nutritional value?”

“Flour and eggs?”

“I might as well pour the sugar straight into my coffee.”

“Fine. Don’t eat them. Just look at them.” She takes a long sip of her coffee. Lets out a soft moan. “Mmm. I see the merits to filling up on this.”

“Right?”

“Ryan said you haven’t eaten since lunch yesterday?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.” It sounds right, but the last twenty-four hours are a blur of hurt and rejection. I really can’t remember.

The server refills our coffee and drops off a new cup of cream.

Iris shoots him a sweet smile. She fixes her coffee and takes a small sip. “You want to talk about it yet?”

“Maybe.” My java is a caramel color, plenty sweet and creamy, but nothing compared to Iris’s half sugar and milk, half coffee concoction. “I guess it’s simple. I told him I loved him and he looked at me like I ripped his heart out.”

“You did.”

“Is it really asking too much, wanting him to love me back?”

“It’s been two weeks.”

I ignore her reasonable statement.

“You were okay with it then.”

“It’s different now.”

“How?”

“It just is.”

“Ryan has always been—”

“Hurt?”

She nods. “You knew he was hung up on his ex.”

“Yeah. But he’s not. Not anymore. At least, that’s what he says.”

Her eyes go wide. “He’s not?”

“He didn’t tell you?”

“He just asked me to pick you up. Offered to pay for our breakfast.”

“Of course.” He’s considerate about cushioning the blow of his rejection.

Only it might not be…

Fuck, my head hurts.

Downing half my coffee does nothing to help.

Iris leans back in her seat, but there’s nothing relaxed about her posture. Her gaze stays fixed on me.

At least the cafe is quiet. It’s a small place with a dozen tables and a cute, artsy vibe. The kind of place I’d take Ryan just to hear him insult the mass-produced paintings on the walls (they really are generic. Is the Eiffel Tower supposed to make me feel like this cafe really is Parisian?)

“You can’t drop a bomb like ‘he’s over his ex’ and not explain.” She snaps her bacon in half, offers it to me. When I shake my head, she takes a bite.

“He said he isn’t going to the wedding.”

“He’s coming after you.”

“Maybe.” The thought warms my chest. Sends the clouds packing. Makes the air sweeter. I want it to be true. I need it to be true. I need it too badly.

I can’t get my hopes up.

Her voice gets soft. “You were ready to be patient before.”

“It changed.”

“Why?”

“I thought, once we were together…”

“You thought you had a magic pussy?”

I can’t help but laugh. “I guess so.”

“Don’t we all.”

“You kind of do.”

She tilts her head to one side. “Uh-huh.”

The server interrupts us to drop off a plate of giant chocolate chip pancakes.

They smell amazing.

And there’s this beautiful cup of maple syrup.

I pick up a fork, take a slice, dip it in maple.

It dissolves on my tongue. Mmm. Sugar. Chocolate. Flour. I take another bite, chew, swallow.

Iris smiles, victorious.

“You do have a magic pussy,” I say. “You should have seen the way Walker plowed through women before you.”

“That’s my boyfriend.”

“You know he’s a slut.”

“Still. I don’t want to hear about it.”

“Isn’t there something about taming him?”

“Maybe. Mostly just having him.” Her gaze softens as her expression gets dreamy. She sighs that I’m madly, passionately in love sigh. “Sorry. I’m sure that’s obnoxious”

“It’s sweet.”

“I love him so much. It’s crazy.”

“I love him so much. It’s crazy.” I take another bite. Let the sugar chase away my thoughts.

I hate admitting she’s right, but I feel better with food in my stomach.

Like maybe there’s some way to fix this.

“Do you love him enough to wait for him?” she asks.

The words wash over me. They make so much sense, but they feel so far away. “Why do you say it in that tone?”

She finishes her coffee. “That tone is your mind knowing I’m right.”

Maybe. I pry a chocolate chip from a pancake, let it melt on my tongue. “Can you shrink me and fix it?”

“No. You’re my friend. And I’m not gonna be that kind of shrink. But it probably does have something to do with your mom being a drunk.”

“Alcoholic.”

“Choosing booze over you.”

“Yeah.”

“And you were scared Ryan was going to choose her over you.”

“Maybe.” Definitely. Even I know I’m walking around with a mountain of baggage over my mom. Even I know I left because I was afraid of getting rejected again.

But it feels more obvious on her tongue.

I run away when I get scared.

When I get hurt.

It was the right call with guys who didn’t treat me well. With shitty jobs. With my mom.

But with Ryan—

I need to be strong enough to stand and feel this.

To listen to him.

To give him time to love me.

I think.

My brain is running on too little sleep for this to make sense.

I finish a pancake and a half and the rest of my coffee. “Can you take me home? I need to sleep.”

“Sure.” She hails the server for the check. “Are you’re going to be okay?”

“I’m not sure, but I think so.”