Julia spent the drive home alternating between patting herself on the back for walking away from Luke and kicking herself in the ass for not listening to what he had to say. Kat had earned bonus friend points for putting up with Julia’s ranting the entire ride to Chicago. To make up for it, Julia insisted that Kat let her buy dinner, promising not to utter the words Luke or rom-com the rest of the night.

By the time Kat dropped Julia off at her apartment, it was after eight, and Julia was exhausted. She fumbled to get her key in the lock, grateful to be home. Dumping her suitcase in the corner, she collapsed face-first onto her miniature bed. She hated traveling. This trip had been only an hour or so by car, and she’d been miserable. How was she supposed to do this for a living?

But she was doing this. If she wanted to save her job and to continue be able to afford healthcare, if she wanted to avoid telling her parents they’d been right all along, then she had to do this. Which meant, she needed to start writing that review.

She flopped onto her back, gaze tracing the ductwork snaking through the rafters of her loft ceiling. The familiar view was comforting, but it did nothing to ease the ache inside her chest. Julia closed her eyes and visualized the acres of mattress she’d had at Notting Hill. She didn’t miss the bed. She missed the man she’d shared that bed with.

Her phone chimed and Julia scrambled to check it, heart swelling with hope.

But it was a text from Andie. A quick note to let Julia and Kat know she’d made it home fine. Curt hadn’t decapitated her and buried her in his mother’s basement.

Her phone chimed again with another message and an image came through. A picture from the wedding. Curt appeared surprisingly dapper in the more traditional groomsman wear of a three-piece suit, and Andie looked adorable tucked against his side, a flower crown on her head and laughter in her eyes.

Julia grinned at the picture, happy for her friend. At least somebody got the rom-com ending they were hoping for. With a sigh, she dug out her notepad and got started.

On Monday morning, Julia showed up for work at her usual time. She’d hit Send on the “Take Me!” assignment late last night—or rather, early this morning. Sometime during the beastly hour of three a.m.

She’d been tempted to call in sick. Not just because she needed the sleep. She legitimately felt ill, terrified to hear what Cleo thought of her article. The problem was—regardless of whether her boss loved it or hated it—Julia feared either outcome.