I groan, a part of me hoping that if I spin this story as terribly as possible, he’ll feel better knowing he didn’t have the worst possible weekend, and I won’t have to feel guilty about not liking his posts. “Those kids were a nightmare,” I say. “And that bed felt like it was made of rocks.”

Drew laughs and says, “You don’t want kids?”

“Why would I want something I have to pay for that’s also pretty much guaranteed to give me clinical depression?”

Drew shrugs. “Okay, so logically it might not make a lot of sense, but I don’t know. I can see myself having a couple kids.”

I roll my eyes. “Well, you can adopt them, because they aren’t coming out of me.”

I freeze, the implications of what I just said settling over me. But Drew’s still smiling like he thinks my response is cute, so I’m hoping he just took it as a snarky comeback and not a we’re going to be together forever, right? Actually, the intensity of his eyes is a little off-putting, like maybe he’s hoping that’s exactly what I meant and he’s about to pop down on one knee.

My scone leaves crumbs in its wake, but I go ahead and shove the whole thing in my mouth to distract myself. Drew really missed me, and he’s obviously getting swept up in our relationship as an escape from his parents’ divorce. I shouldn’t hold that against him.

Plus, he saved the Diary. I can’t forget that.

“There must have been something you enjoyed out there,” Drew says. “I mean, you got to spend endless time with nature. There must have been something you didn’t want to end?”

And I think about the wet grass smell every morning, which disgusts me to no end, the chill of the water that only became colder the longer we were out there, the constant headache from the screaming kids. There was the limited bathroom space, the dry food that we had to keep reheating, the utter silence and darkness at night that kind of creeped me the fuck out.

And really, I’d be happy to never go back there again, but as I dig around for anything that made me even vaguely happy for Drew, I keep coming back to the same thing.

Devin.

I choke on my scone, bringing my coffee to my lips to cover it up. I choke out “Not really” before taking a huge gulp to clear my throat. And it’s hot, and I splutter, coffee dribbling down my chin.

Drew laughs, snatching some napkins off the table to wipe my face. “I know you like your caffeine, but this is a little ridiculous.”

I smile. “Sorry.”