“But you could do it. That’s kind of crazy and amazing. You could buy the magazine and offer her a job there. Why not?”

I shake my head, dragging a hand through my hair. “She wouldn’t want me to. Ironic, isn’t it? I’ve been with a woman who wanted me for money. I finally meet someone who has literally zero interest in my wallet, and I can’t even use said wallet to my advantage.”

“That means you have to rely on your heart,” she says, tapping my chest for emphasis. “And let her know how much you love her.”

I straighten my spine at those words. Let her know how much you love her.

“You told her you’re in love with her, right?” Olivia continues.

I open my mouth to speak, but it turns out I’m speechless.

“Falling in love with her? You told her you’re falling in love with her, at least?” she asks.

I shake my head.

My sister rolls her eyes. “Men. You never learn.”

“You’re saying I should have told her that?” Maybe the cushion wasn’t what she needed. Or maybe I offered the wrong cushion.

Olivia raps the side of my head with her knuckles. “How does anyone think you’re a genius? Does the gray matter even work?”

“You don’t think it’s coming on too strong to tell her I’m falling in love with her?”

“Do you think she’s falling in love with you?”

I cycle back through the time we’ve spent together—our kiss in the costume shop, the way she looked at me at softball, the sound of her voice when we walked and talked.

I smile stupidly. “Yeah.”

Olivia moves closer, getting in my face. “Then how do you know what would happen unless you truly put your heart out? You’ve finally met someone you’re crazy about, and that means you need to put everything on the line.”

“But I’m not the one who stands to lose so much. How do I convince her? Without, you know, buying the magazine?”

“Hey, I still think that’s a fine idea,” she says with a wink. Then she turns more serious. “But there are things you could say to her . . .”

And she’s right. There are so many things I’ve left unsaid.

* * *

Sabrina

Courtney encourages me like a coach. “Come on, you can do it.”

I crunch higher, my eyes squeezing shut, my core shouting at me to make it stop. “Whoever invented core exercises is the devil.”

Courtney laughs. “Yes, whoever did is indeed the worst person in the world. But core is so good for you.”

I’m at Courtney’s gym the next morning, and she’s pretending she’s a personal trainer. That basically equates to her torturing me endlessly.

Grabbing an exercise mat, she flops down next to me and says it’s time for bicycle crunches.

I hold my hands to my cheeks and affect a scream, Edward Munch–style. “Nooooooo. That’s the ninth circle of hell.”

Laughing, she nudges me as she lifts her knees and embarks on showing off how awesome she is at biking on her back. “You can do it. I have faith in your stomach muscles.”