“Come on then. We have dinner with Congressman Gillihan and I wanted to hear about your latest theory on…”

They started to walk away, but then Will hesitated. He must’ve realized he still held my book in his hand.

“What’s that?” his dad asked.

Will paused, and I strained forward to hear his answer. He looked toward me, a quick dismissive flicker of his eyes, then he shrugged.

“Garbage.”

Then he tossed my book in the public trash can.

My chest felt like it was cracking open. Will and his dad strode away, not looking back. I ran to the trash. The flap on the door kept me from being able to reach deep enough. I couldn’t get my book back. I held back my tears and choked down the lump in my throat. It was just a book. Only a book.

I knew I used the characters as substitute friends, as a way to make my silent house seem full when my dad went weeks without saying one word.

But still, it was only a book.

I could get another. It didn’t mean anything that Will had thrown me…my book away.

I walked to the library and surrounded myself with the words and dreams and company of a thousand stories.

I blink and look up at Will. The edges of the used paperbacks dig into my back and legs. My chest feels achy and cracked open again. I don’t know how he does it, but Will always manages to find my broken spots, pry them open, and let out all the ghosts.

Enough.

I’m done with him interfering in my life.

“Not only do I promise to show Gavin we’re meant to be. I guarantee it.” I raise my chin and give him a challenging stare.

He blinks and his demeanor changes. He becomes less languid wickedness, and more the hard, ruthless, cold-hearted CEO that I know and don’t love.

“Then I promise,” he says in a low hard voice, “to do everything in my power to stop you.” His upper lip curls. “I guarantee it.”

Of course he does.

Of course.

That’s fine, Will doesn’t have the power of fate and a library of hundreds of romcoms behind him.

Love wins. Every time.

This is Romeo after all.

It’s on.

5

Will

Gavin and I spent the day white-water rafting. He spoke to Lacey on the phone outside of the outfitters store. He didn’t say what they discussed, but since he seemed to have a death wish on the raft, I’ll take a wild guess and say it wasn’t anything good. He chased each roaring bit of river and foaming white rapids he could find with single-minded desperation.

“Now that was fun,” Gavin says. He clinks the neck of his beer bottle against mine.

I take a long swallow of the ice-cold beer.