“Well, that was unexpected,” Nichole says. “From the sound of your crying, I’m going to guess you weren’t expecting that either.”

“No, I wasn’t.” I sniff. “I feel like . . . I feel like I made a mistake, Nichole.”

“Because you still love him?”

“I do.”

“Because his letter makes you think there’s a chance change could be made?”

“I do.” Because I just heard from the man I married. The thoughtful, selfless, loving man I said yes to all those years ago.

“So then find out.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“See if there is any way you can salvage it. You have a week with him in Napa, so that’s the perfect time to figure it all out.”

“He told me not to go,” I say.

I can hear the smile in her voice as she says, “When has that ever stopped you?”

Chapter Fourteen

RYOT

Seven years ago . . .

“What are you going to wear for your first official date?” Banner asks as he flops onto my bed.

“Uh, what I’m wearing now,” I answer, looking down at my jeans and T-shirt.

He winces. “Oh, really?”

“It’s a casual date, you fuck.”

“Still, your jeans could be nicer.”

“These are my nicest jeans. What the hell is wrong with them?”

“Those are it?” he asks. “Dude, you’re paid millions. Spring for a nicer pair.”

“Fuck off.” I move out of my room and toward the living room.

Banner and I now live together in a posh apartment that overlooks Lake Michigan. It has been the one and only splurge we’ve made since we moved to Chicago. Banner has sold another app for a whopping seven hundred fifty thousand dollars, an app that took him a week to create. The man is an absolute genius. He’s been conjuring up the next greatest deal while watching whatever he deems worthy on TV, and of course, bothering me whenever I get home.

From the console in the entryway, I pocket my wallet, my keys, and then slip on my shoes.

“Are you nervous?” Banner asks from the kitchen where he’s opened a bag of pretzels. A new bag I just bought—well, ordered. We have groceries delivered now.

“No, I’m not nervous and don’t eat all of those.”

He shoves a handful in his mouth. Through crushed-up pretzels, he says, “Well, if you want the apartment to yourself, I’m going over to Kerry’s place tonight.”

“Who is Kerry?” I ask.

“Some girl I met at a bar last week. Hit it off. She’s pretty cool.”

“What about Nichole?”

“What about her?” He plops another pretzel in his mouth.

“I thought you were into her.”

“I mean, she’s cool and a fucking titan in bed, but she doesn’t want anything serious, and neither do I, so I’m not attached to that.”

I pocket my phone and ask, “Do you think you’ll ever settle down?”

“Maybe, if the right girl comes along. But for now, I like having fun. Don’t worry about me, bro. I’m good. You should be worried about yourself. What are your plans?”