No one, not one single fucking person, has asked me this. Everyone always makes assumptions about my retirement. The Swifts management assumed my shoulder was torched. My agent figures I want to make easier money. My parents are closest to the truth and think that there’s something I’m not saying, but even they haven’t asked me how I feel about things.

But Palmer did.

My heart squeezes in my chest so tight that I squirm. “I’m okay.”

“Do you want me to take that at face value, or do you want me to push?”

I laugh. “I told you I’m okay.”

“‘Okay’ is such a nondescript word. It’s what I would say if someone asked me about my relationship with Jared and I didn’t want to spew the truth. ‘It’s okay.’ That’s what I’d say.”

“Let’s go there. What’s he like?”

She rolls her eyes and sighs. “He’s not okay.”

“I sense a little anger.”

“You’re wrong.” She levels her gaze with mine. “There’s a lot of anger there. He moved to Cleveland today. Didn’t even say goodbye to Ethan. Just called me and dropped the news—managing to toss some blame my way for his failures in life, per usual—while driving.”

My jaw hangs open. “He just left your kid?”

She nods.

“Wow,” I say, running a hand down my thigh. “That’s . . . yeah.”

“Yeah. Which brings me back to what I was saying earlier about you getting to create something new for yourself. There’s an excitement about that.”

I don’t know if I’d say “excitement.”

I sit up and take a drink of my Coke. “It’s a lot to figure out. Don’t get me wrong—I’m very, very lucky to be in the situation that I’m in. I don’t take it for granted for a second. But figuring out the rest of your life . . . it makes me feel like a teenager again. So many choices and not sure what path is the right one. The fear of choosing the wrong one.”

Especially with all the unknowns.

“You must have some idea about what you want to do, right?” she asks.

I wrap my hand around my glass. “It’s not as easy as you think.”

She grins. “Oh, I disagree.”

“Fine, Miss Clark. You get to reinvent your life today. Right now. What are you doing?”

She sits up and folds her hands on her lap. “What are the parameters?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like, how much money do I get? Do I have to consider Jared in this fake world? Do I have a passport?”

“You don’t have a passport?”

She laughs. “Don’t judge me!”

“Not judging,” I say, my lips parting right along with hers. “Sorry. Carry on.”

“Can’t. I don’t have the parameters.”