15
The email notification pops up on my phone while I’m folding laundry at my parents’ house, and for a second I think it’s another rejection from a potential client.
Instead, it’s a flight confirmation.
From West.
No message. No “looking forward to seeing you” or “hope this works for your schedule.” Just a plane ticket, like he’s booking a business meeting.
Which, I remind myself, is exactly what this is.
I stare at the confirmation email for longer than necessary, then screenshot it and shove my phone in my pocket.
“Everything okay?” my dad asks from the kitchen table, where he’s going through the mail I sorted yesterday.
“Yeah. Just work stuff.”
“Good work stuff or bad work stuff?”
“Good, I think. A client wants me to come back for another project.”
“That’s great, mija. When?”
“Next week.”
“How long?” he asks
“A week.”
“Must be a good client if they’re flying you back so soon.”
“Yeah.” I grin. “Must be.”
When I get to Tessa’s house that afternoon, she takes one look at my face and immediately pours me a glass of wine.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, settling Charlie in front of the TV with a snack.
“Nothing’s wrong,” I mutter, even though it’s probably written all over my face.
“You have that look,” she says.
“What look?” I ask.
“The look you get when you’re overthinking something that should be simple.”
I pull out my phone and show her the flight confirmation.
“Oh,” she says, studying the screen. “He’s bringing you back early.”
“Well, the wedding’s not until the fifth, which is fine, but my parents. I worry about them.”
“Maybe West wants to spend time with you before the wedding. Don’t you have to travel there? It’s on the coast, right?”
“Yeah, I think so. I guess it makes sense with the Fourth, and all the festivities. A real girlfriend would be there.”
She gives me a knowing smile and says, “So, did something happen? Between you and West?”
I point at her and shake my head. “No.”
She scrunches her nose and asks, “You sure?”
I nod. “Yes, I’m sure. It’s a job, Tessa. I got paid to play a part, and I played it. That’s it.”
She studies my face as I take a sip of wine to avoid her scrutiny.
“When’s the last time you talked to him?” she asks.
“The day I left.”
“Don’t stress about your parents. If they need anything, you can send me over there, okay?” she says, and I appreciate her kindness.
I offer a soft smile. “Thank you, but I’m not going to send you over there. You’re busy with two kids, and it’s not your family to take care of.”
She lifts an eyebrow. “I don’t know. They might be my brother’s in-laws soon.”
I laugh, holding in my blush. I can’t, so I hide my face and mutter through my hands, “Don’t ever say that again, please.” When I think the blush has disappeared, I stand up.
“Where are you going?” she teases.
“I need to do a few things before I leave. I’ll let you relax with your husband, and I’ll be on my way.” I kiss her on the cheek. “Text you later.”
When I leave, I do something that’s either very smart or completely crazy. I go shopping.
Not grocery shopping or practical shopping, but strategic shopping. The kind of shopping where I’m not just buying clothes, I’m buying style and effort.
I hit three stores and spend way too much money on outfits designed to make West Carmack regret not texting me for three weeks.
A sundress for the day I arrive. It’s casual but fitted, the kind of thing that looks effortless but definitely isn’t.
Jeans that make my ass look incredible and a top that’s just tight enough to be interesting.
A workout set that’s technically appropriate for the gym but also makes me look like I belong in a gym.
And for the wedding. I find a dress that’s going to make him forget how to form sentences.
It’s navy blue, fitted but not tight, elegant but with just enough edge to make it memorable. The kind of dress that photographs well and makes other women ask where you got it.
I try everything on in my apartment, checking every angle in my full-length mirror, making sure each outfit achieves the desired effect: confident, unbothered, and completely over whatever weird energy existed between us three weeks ago.
The next day, I make another strategic purchase at Target.
Sleepwear.
Not the oversized t-shirts and cotton shorts I usually sleep in, but things that blur the line between pajamas and actual clothes.
A silk camisole set that looks expensive but isn’t.
Shorts that are shorter than anything I’d normally wear to bed.
A little nightgown that’s cute enough to be seen in but practical enough to actually sleep in.
Just in case.
Not that I’m planning anything. Not that I expect anything to happen.
But if it does, I want to look like the kind of woman who deserves to be pursued, not someone who’s grateful for whatever attention she gets.
The night before my flight, I lay everything out on my bed. Outfits for each day, carefully planned and coordinated. Makeup that enhances without looking like I tried too hard. Perfume that’s subtle but memorable. Everything calculated to make me look like I’m thriving.
Because I am thriving.
My phone sits silent on my nightstand. Still no text from West. No “looking forward to seeing you” or “safe travels” or anything that suggests he’s thought about me once since I left Seattle.
Which is exactly what I should want. It means he’s maintaining professional boundaries. It means he’s not confusing this arrangement with something it isn’t.
It means I can show up tomorrow as Liv the employee, not Liv the girl who fell asleep on his couch and woke up fantasizing about forever like I used to as a lovesick teenager.
I set my alarm for 7 AM and stare at my perfectly packed suitcase sitting by the door.
Eight days in Seattle. One wedding. One week of pretending to be West’s girlfriend while trying not to remember how much I truly liked the guy for the past fifteen years.
I can do this. I can be professional and detached and completely unbothered by the fact that he hasn’t thought about me enough to send a single text in three weeks.
I can show up looking like a million bucks and play my part perfectly and collect my money and come home with my dignity intact.
I ignore the way my heart is already racing at the thought of seeing him again .