I stare at the TV to avoid her glare. Julia Roberts and Richard Gere are bickering. I think about Callum’s reaction when I came back from the balcony and explained everything. He shook Whitney off immediately, then stood up and ushered me to a little bar. There, he told me I should do it. That I daren’t pass up a blazing, new opportunity because of an old flame.

He said who knew how long I would keep this job anyway. Once he proposes, he will need me at his disposal, helping with the wedding arrangements, managing our social calendar.

I kind of blocked everything out past the “go for it” part, though. I have no plans of becoming a housewife, but that wasn’t the time to broach the subject.

“You’re going to screw your brother-in-law.” Summer crosses her arms in my periphery. “Let that sink for a second, Lewdy McGrosson. Still wanna go?”

“I’m not going to screw anyone there. Well, maybe Callum.” Definitely Callum. And unquestionably extra-loud. “Mal’s happily married and made that very clear. Here’s another thing he made clear: he hates my guts.”

“There’s a fine line between hate and love, and you two are about to dry-hump on top of it before rolling over to the love side and shitting all over your partners. Mark my words.” Summer shakes her finger in my face, collapsing next to me on the couch.

“What does Callum say about all this, anyway?”

Summer was #TeamCallum before I even agreed to go on a date with him—something about him being wholesome, with a well-paying job, and sane. I decide to omit the snow falling on us the minute Mal came out to the balcony. She would laugh at me.

“He’s great with it, actually.” I perk up.

Well, kind of. His exact words were, “Look at it as a last hurrah. You’ll be needing to make some tough decisions about working at a bar and running around with your camera all day. This could be a great time to clear your head and think about our future together.”

“Is he?”

I swear, she eyes me like I’m a cat about to hiccup a feather.

“England is a short flight away, and he’ll be visiting his family for Christmas and the new year. He’s excited. Besides, two months is nothing.”

“Two months is one month and twenty-nine days more than you had last time with Mal, and if I recall correctly, you promised to drop your boyfriend, panties, and hypothetical family to be with him at any point.”

“If I recall correctly…” I finish my glass of wine and slam it on the coffee table. “I was also eighteen, grieving, and believed in orgasms just a little less than I believed in the Tooth Fairy. I grew up.”

Summer throws me a skeptical glance.