Now, after making the Robertson group drinks and then going to the office to drop off some mail, Brady had paused in the hallway that opened up to the back of the bar to begrudgingly google Sloane. He wanted to know if she’d gotten her pony.

Judging by the first post that popped up, Brady had no idea.

Small-town woman strikes accidental gold after blog goes viral. There are no secrets left from Sloane De Carlo…all except the one the internet wants to know. Who is Guy? Will she ever tell him how she felt? How she, the internet assumes, still feels? And if he’s one of the million people obsessed with The Girl Who Said Nothing, could he feel the same way? Also, can we get another blog entry about that fishing trip to Florida? Anyone? Bueller? Bueller?

Until The Girl Who Said Nothing says something, here’s twenty-five of the best Twitter reactions to the viral sensation to keep you entertained!

Brady didn’t look at the list of gifs and tweets, but his curiosity had been more than piqued.

It went straight through the roof as the woman herself hurried into the hallway and right up to him.

“You remember me,” she greeted. It wasn’t a question. Brady couldn’t help but grin, recalling the woman swaying on his barstool.

“I do, and I have to ask… Did you get that pony?”

Sloane’s hand shot out and over his mouth so quickly that Brady didn’t have time to even flinch. He caught the scent of coconut-something before her eyes went wide and she pulled her hand right on back like he’d bitten her. Not that he’d had the time to do that.

“Sorry,” she hurried, her cheeks flaming to life. She lowered her voice. “It’s just that, well, no one is supposed to know about that thing I told you. About, well, you know.”

“Marcus Robertson, resident golden boy,” he filled in.

Sloane’s eyes went wider, if possible.

“Yeah. That and, well, I’d really appreciate it if you could keep that a secret. Keep my secret, I mean.”

She was floundering. Even more so than when she’d actually been drunk. Or maybe she was drunk now? Brady took a second to look into her eyes. Whiskey-in-a-bottle amber, not mocha brown. Warm, smooth, ready to make things interesting.

Brady decided she was just freaking out.

He laughed, a move that didn’t seem to help her nerves, and held up one of his hands in a stop motion.