BooksBarbecue
Back First Comes Love
Chapters (92)
  1. First
  2. Love Connection
  3. Zero
  4. One
  5. Two
  6. Three
  7. Four
  8. Five
  9. Six
  10. Seven
  11. Eight
  12. Nine
  13. Ten
  14. Eleven
  15. One Month Later
  16. Twelve
  17. Thirteen
  18. Fourteen
  19. Fifteen
  20. Six Months Later
  21. Sixteen
  22. Seventeen
  23. Eighteen
  24. Nineteen
  25. Twenty
  26. Twenty-one
  27. Twenty-two
  28. Twenty-three
  29. Twenty-four
  30. Six Months Later
  31. Twenty-five
  32. Twenty-six
  33. Twenty-seven
  34. Twenty-eight
  35. Twenty-nine
  36. Thirty
  37. Thirty-one
  38. Thirty-two
  39. Thirty-three
  40. I Have Never
  41. One
  42. Two
  43. Three
  44. Four
  45. Five
  46. Six
  47. Seven
  48. Eight
  49. Nine
  50. Ten
  51. Eleven
  52. Twelve
  53. Thirteen
  54. Fourteen
  55. Fifteen
  56. Sixteen
  57. Seventeen
  58. Eighteen
  59. Nineteen
  60. Twenty
  61. Twenty-one
  62. Twenty-two
  63. A Christmas Date
  64. One
  65. Two
  66. Three
  67. Four
  68. Five
  69. Six
  70. Seven
  71. Eight
  72. Nine
  73. Ten
  74. Eleven
  75. Twelve
  76. Thirteen
  77. Fourteen
  78. Fifteen
  79. Sixteen
  80. Seventeen
  81. Eighteen
  82. Nineteen
  83. Twenty
  84. Twenty-one
  85. Twenty-two
  86. Note from the Author
  87. Sneak Peek – To the Stars and Back
  88. Two
  89. Three
  90. Four
  91. Also by Camilla Isley
  92. About the Author

Will I wake up every day to find a reminder of his betrayal right in my mailbox?

He’d better find a new address where he can forward his correspondence.

Oh, gosh, will he move in with Summer?

Has he already?

My stomach churns at the thought. Either that, or my internal organs are protesting hunger after a skipped dinner. Anyway, I don’t care whose mail they’re trying to deliver, I’m not getting up. I’m going to stay in bed nestled between my two cats and never leave the house again. Except maybe to buy cat food. The innocents shouldn’t pay for their humans’ mistakes.

I’m snuggling deeper under the sheets when the buzzer goes off again, and again… and again.

“All right!”

I slither out of bed, trying not to disturb their sleeping majesties, and stroll to the front door in my PJs.

When I see the person on the landing, my first instinct is to sucker punch her in the stomach. But then I take in her clothes—plastic flip-flops, khaki cargo Bermuda pants, plain white T-shirt. Her uneven, white-circles-around-the-eyes tan. And the messy bun—a real, hair-that-hasn’t-seen-conditioner-in-a-month tangle of golden locks. And my brain clicks. Summer would never dress so casually. She’s not standing on my doorstep, her twin is.

“Hi,” I say.

“Whoa.” Winter winces. “For a moment there I thought you were going to throttle me.”

“Sorry. It’s just that—”

“I share a face with the devil,” she finishes the sentence for me.

“Oh, so you know.”

“Just found out.” She steps forward and pulls me into a tight hug. “I’m so sorry.”

I wrap my arms around Winter’s warm body, relishing the human contact, tears already welling in my eyes.

“Shhhh,” she soothes me. “It’s going to be all right, and I brought donuts.”

I pull back, noticing for the first time the pink box she’s holding.

Winter flashes me a goofy smile. “Double glaze!”

I manage not to start crying, and beckon her to come in. “Want coffee to go with those?”

“Yes, please, the jet lag is killing me!”

We move into the kitchen and I get busy with the coffee machine.

“When did you get back?” I ask.

Winter is a travel photographer and never stays in LA for long.

“Only last night…”

“Where were you this time?”

“Madagascar.”

“How was it?”

“Amazing, but do you really want to talk about an island in the middle of the Indian Ocean right now?”

I turn my back to her and grab two mugs. “No, not really,” I admit. The machine beeps; I fill the mugs and settle at the bar next to my friend. “So, how did you find out?”