Jane tried to put Booth back into the mental box he’d been in before the fashion show. The coffee date was a friendly epilogue to what had gone on between them. She had closure and now she could move on.

That didn’t happen. Not the mental box part. The moving on part either. Veronica, of course, almost literally pounced on her when they met later that afternoon in their hotel room.

“Oh my God, where were you?” Veronica said.

“I was having coffee with that guy.” Jane tossed her purse on the bed and toed off her heels.

“Your coffee date lasted three and a half hours?” Veronica asked. “Spill it. I want every detail. In fact, you should have recorded the entire thing on your phone.”

“It wasn’t an FBI sting or anything.”

“Don’t make me pour the minibar booze down your throat.”

Jane sat on the bed and Veronica did the same. “We were very polite,” she said.

“Did he apologize? Finally?”

“Yes. He did. He said he’d always regretted his behavior and wished he could have gone back in time and done things differently.”

“Did he say what he’d do different?”

Jane shook her head. “No.”

“You should ask him. Maybe he’d still be like a class seven dick, not a full ten.”

“No, I really do think he’s changed,” Jane said. “It’s so weird though. Every time I think about him, I have to revamp my mental image of him and he looks so different.”

“I still have my reservations about him, based on what you told me, however, that aside, he’s a delicious hunk of hot man that I wouldn’t mind jumping.”

Been there, done that, Jane thought. She might even want to do that again, purely to satisfy her curiosity about whether he’d improved his lovemaking skills any in the last eleven years. Lord knew her sex life could use a boost.

“But here’s something interesting,” Jane said. “I think he still wants me.”

“Of course he does,” Veronica said with a smirk. “He saw you strut your stuff today and you were smokin’.”

“No, it’s not that. Not exclusively that, anyway, and thank you for the compliment.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I teased him, saying I thought he still had a thing for me, and he denied it but…I get the feeling like…I don’t know, like maybe he was lying, like maybe he held a torch for me.”

Veronica’s expression softened. “That’s kind of sweet.”

“I know, right? It kind of is.” Jane flopped onto the bed and crossed her feet at the ankles. “But it doesn’t matter. That chapter in my life is finished. Finito. Done.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Veronica said. “He’s a professional athlete anyway. All those guys think about is whatever sport they play. Like, if you dissected their brains, there would be this huge chunk devoted to sports, another part that controlled bodily functions, and then the tiny bit left would be for playing video games.”

Jane laughed.

“Besides,” Veronica said with a wry smile, “you have Mr. Fifty Percent.”

Jane regretted ever telling Veronica that when she and Dylan had sex, she only came about half the time.

“He’s getting better,” Jane lied.

“Is your hockey player good in bed? Or was he?”

Jane felt herself flush. She had stellar memories of Booth in bed, in the back of his truck, in the shower, in her parents’ garage… But had the sex been outstanding because they’d both been revved up by hormones? Not to mention the fact that they were often in danger of being discovered. One thing she knew for sure—she’d never been bored with Booth.

Veronica’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “I’d say that’s a yes.” She had one brow raised and a knowing smile on her lips.

“Stop it,” Jane said.

Jane had shared a lot with Veronica, including the fact that her boyfriend of one year was less than ideal. Dylan was a nice guy, generous to a fault, and as a family law attorney at her father’s firm, he worked his butt off for his clients, many of them going through terrible family crises. But, even though he’d made it clear he wanted to marry Jane, she just wasn’t sure.

“If you ask me,” Veronica said, “you should cut Disappointing Dylan loose. I’ve never met the guy, but it doesn’t matter. Judging by what you’ve told me, it’s only a matter of time before you break up with him. I think…his value system is off. He thinks he can buy your love.”

“He does not,” Jane protested. “And I love you lots, but you’re dangerously close to crossing the line.”

Veronica winced. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I take that back. But he’s not right for you, Jane. You deserve better, a lot better.”

* * *

When Jane returned home after Fashion Week, she took a couple of days to recuperate, then tried to get back into the swing of things. Outside of coffee with Booth, she’d spent the whole time in San Diego networking. Veronica introduced her to so many people, Jane couldn’t keep them all straight. She collected business cards like mad and scribbled notes on the back to jog her memory later. She got quite a few leads on more sponsors and advertisers, which would not only continue to keep her in clothes and accessories, but provide her a comfortable income.

She was busy, dealing with all the companies who suddenly wanted to sponsor her website, sorting through the clothing her present sponsors had sent, figuring out the theme for this week’s blog post. Day at the beach, perhaps? Or a night out on the town or what to wear to a summer barbecue? She liked that last one. She’d start with some stretch denim capris and work from there.

She had her closet organized according to color and because she was in a pink mood, she flipped through the breezy pink tops. The first one had long sleeves, and it was summer, so nope. The next one was too bright, the next was just ugly. What had she been thinking? The next one looked promising—a Bohemian off the shoulder number with flowers. She looked good in pink.

Booth had liked her in pink. One day he’d called her Pip and when she’d asked why, he’d said it stood for pretty in pink.

Funny, she hadn’t thought about that in so long.

She sighed and decided there was nothing in her closet that said barbeque to her, so she decided to jump into the car and try Baxter’s, her local medium-priced department store. Maybe the fresh air would clear her mind from thoughts of Booth.

An hour later, she had a bag with some great finds and a change of plan to go with a picnic theme instead of a barbecue one. Her loot included some adorable flats with flowers on them ($34), the perfect pink top with a bit of eyelet at the collar that totally said “picnic” to her ($20), a pretty straw hat ($15), and the centerpiece to the whole outfit, a white tiered, multilayer skirt with a pastel watercolor landscape along the hem ($45 with a 20 percent off coupon.) This outfit would weigh in at just over a hundred dollars—a good value for her readers—and because of the partnership she had with Baxter’s, anything she used in the photo shoot and linked back to their online store she got for free, plus a small commission for each sale made using her special hyperlink.

Life was good.

She was at home cutting the tags off the clothes and thinking about what other wardrobe pieces might go with the skirt when her phone rang. It was Dylan.

“Hey, babe,” he said. “So, I have good news and bad news. The good news is that we are still on for dinner at Flamenco tonight.”

Flamenco was the hottest restaurant in town. He’d gotten reservations a month and a half ago after being on the wait list for a month before that.

“That is good news.” So, he wasn’t cancelling, like she’d expected. “What’s the bad news.”

“Well…I can’t go to that camp with you.”

Last September, she had heard about an adult summer camp resort with all the amenities of home called Camp Firefly Falls. They had theme weeks like “Singles Week,” “Getting Back to Nature,” “Romance in the Woods,” “Best Shape of Your Life,” and others. When she saw they had a week devoted to the movie, Grease, she about lost it. A long time ago when she was still in elementary school, her Aunt Sarah had made her watch it. It was so campy and the fact that all the actors and actresses were so clearly older than the high schoolers they were portraying made it pretty ridiculous, but she loved it anyway and ended up buying the DVD and watching it countless times. She even made Aunt Sarah sew her a poodle skirt for Halloween that she wore several years in a row.

As a result, she’d begged Dylan to go with her to Camp Firefly Falls for her birthday, which happened to be the day before Grease Week. He not only agreed to go, but insisted it would be his grand birthday gift to her. This had happened months ago and she’d been looking forward to it like there was no tomorrow. She loved the outdoors and they’d never been on a vacation longer than a weekend. If they could get away from the city, away from his job, away from the Internet—she’d read the Wi-Fi was spotty at camp—maybe they could...not exactly reconcile, but really work on deepening their connection, building some great memories, and spend quality time together. In her mind, this was going to be a last ditch effort for her to figure out if the relationship was worth keeping.

And now he was backing out on the trip.

She took a deep breath and told herself that yelling wouldn’t solve anything, but the effort it took to not yell made her voice wobble.

“You promised,” she said.

“Babe, I know, but there’s a meeting in New York I have to go to. Huge client. I need to get this case.”

Dylan was vying with the other junior partners for a full partnership and he let nothing get in the way of that goal. Which was part of the problem. He worked insanely long hours.

“Meet with him some other time,” she said, knowing it was futile, but holding onto a faint hope all the same.

“I can’t. He’s a busy man and he’s going out of the country. It’s the only time he can meet with me. You have to understand how important this is to my career at the firm. ”

To her dismay, Jane’s eyes burned with gathering tears. Dylan was under a lot of pressure at work, and she understood that, she really did. He did important work with families. He championed the rights of kids who didn’t deserve what life was dealing to them in regards to one or even both parents being shitty in one way or another. He aided women escaping their abusive husbands. He helped childless couples adopt. She truly admired him and the work he did.

But this was…this was the last straw. They had acted out this particular play many times before. He’d cancelled countless dinner or movie dates. Even on weekends, when he wasn’t supposed to be working, they would plan an outing like a trip to a museum or a day trip to the botanical gardens or maybe nothing more than hanging out together and binge-watching a TV show, and he’d cancel then too. Something would come up and that was that.

She had to accept the fact that Dylan was married to his job and that she would always be a lower priority. Did she want to live her life like that, playing second fiddle through no fault of her own? No, she didn’t. She shouldn’t, anyway.

“Babe, I promise I’ll make it up to you. I’ll take you to Paris. Next spring, we’ll go. Spring is the best season for Paris.”

This, too, was part of the cycle. The larger his infraction, the better the consolation prize had to be.

“If I get this client and a couple more like him between now and December, it might clinch it for me, and if I make partner, we’ll really have something to celebrate. And if I don’t, it’ll still be a great trip. I could drown my sorrows with a provincial wine tasting tour. So, tell me what you want for your birthday. Wait a second. I’m a genius. I’ll get you some Louis Vuitton luggage. It’ll be perfect for that trip to Paris.”

She sighed. This was what Veronica had been alluding to—Dylan’s penchant for throwing presents at a problem. In the early days, when he’d hurt her feelings or they had a fight, Jane had been touched by not only his sincere apologies, but also the gifts that came with them. But as the months passed, each time this happened she felt a little cheaper, and here he was doing it again. Did he really think he could buy her love, like Veronica had suggested? If he did, she almost couldn’t blame him. It wasn’t as if she’d ever refused one of his presents.

Until now.

Taking a deep breath, she said, “Dylan, I’m sorry, but I don’t believe you.”

“What do you mean? I can go online and buy you those suitcases right now.”

“No,” she said. “I think you really mean to take me to Paris. I just don’t think it will ever happen. When the time comes around, something else at work will take precedence.”

“That’s not true.” There. A little defensiveness in his voice.

“Dylan, come on. Look at your track record.”

“No. I promise I’ll take you. I’ll buy tickets. First class.”

“Tickets can be cancelled. Just like camping trips,” she added.

“Oh for Christ’s sake. Any other woman would jump at the chance to trade a week in bumfuck Wyoming—”

“It’s in Connecticut.”

“—for even one day in Paris. And designer luggage, to boot.”

“I don’t want the luggage.”

What she wanted was a boyfriend she could count on, she realized.

“I don’t want you either, actually,” she said in a voice more tremulous than she liked.

Lord, her heart was pounding. Had she really just said that? The heavy silence on Dylan’s end seemed to suggest she had. And yet, beneath the anxiety at having said such a mean thing, she felt…relieved.

Veronica’s words came back to her. He’s not right for you, Jane. You deserve better.

“I beg your pardon. What did you say?”

“I think I’m done with you, Dylan. I don’t want to be your girlfriend anymore. I’m tired of being the last thing on your list of priorities.”

“Jane, honey, that’s not fair. You’re not last. Not even close.”

“But I’m not first.”

“Again, not fair. I can’t possibly put you first all the time and vice versa. That’s not how life works. In the real world, people have responsibilities. We can’t just abandon our jobs at the drop of a hat.”

“Drop of a hat? You’ve known about this trip for months.”

“You know what I mean,” he said stiffly.

“Actually, I don’t. You say ‘in the real world.’ I don’t know what you mean by that either. Are you suggesting I live in a fantasy world? That I don’t have a grasp on reality?”

“Jane, calm down. Let’s just talk about this later, at Flamenco. We’ll relax with a superior bottle of wine, some tapas, and talk about it like adults.”

“No thanks. I’m going to go to McDonald’s and call it a night.” The devil in her said that because Dylan thought McDonald’s was poison and that each French fry she ate shaved years off her life. Truth be told, she knew it wasn’t the healthiest food on the planet, but sometimes there was just nothing like a quarter pounder with cheese. “You probably have some work to do anyway. Good night.”

Then she hung up.

He called her back.

She hesitated, then hit the green button on her phone.

“I cannot believe you hung up on me.” He sounded furious.

“I didn’t. I said goodbye.”

“We weren’t finished talking.”

“I was.”

“Damn it, Jane, you’re being childish. I am trying to make this right.”

“By suggesting I don’t live in the real world?”

He scoffed. “Jane, come on. Making a living off of taking selfies isn’t the real world. What does that contribute to society, I ask you? It’s playing dress up. That’s all it is, Jane. Be honest with yourself, for God’s sake.”

Anger swept over her like a brush fire. For a moment she couldn’t speak. She couldn’t believe he not only thought this about her work with Big Girl Panties, but he’d actually said so to her face.

“That’s it,” she said, her voice strong and clear this time. “We’re done. I’m done.”

“Jane, stop it. Don’t be ridiculous. We’re not—”

Click.

“That, asshole,” she said to her phone, “was me actually hanging up on you.”