Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
WILLOW
Friendsgiving was … fine.
At least, that’s what I keep telling myself, as if I repeat it enough, it’ll sound true. In reality, it felt like balancing on glass—smiling until my face hurt, laughing at jokes that barely landed, pretending my chest wasn’t thrumming every time Roman brushed past me to top off someone’s drink.
Everyone else was loud and warm, carving turkey, trading stories, passing plates across the table.
Roman fit right into it—grinning as he poured wine for Lila, clapping his hand on Jared’s shoulder like they were brothers.
He laughed with his whole body, eyes crinkling, mouth tugged wide, and none of it was for me. Not once.
I tried to keep my focus on the cranberry sauce, on the chatter about Christmas plans, on anything but him. But every time I caught his voice across the room, it slid under my skin. Every time our eyes almost met, I looked away first, terrified of what I’d see—or worse, what I wouldn’t.
So I played along. Made small talk, passed rolls, stacked plates when dinner was done.
All the while, I felt like an outsider at my own table, the one person in the room who couldn’t just relax into the comfort of food and friendship.
Because the whole time, all I wanted was for him to sit next to me, for him to pour my glass of wine, for him to laugh like that with me.
And now Christmas is breathing down my neck, and I’ve done nothing but avoid the one thing I want most.
I’ve never had the best track record with relationships.
Disasters, mostly. Men who ran when things got hard, men who thought ambition was a flaw, men who couldn’t be bothered to hold me when the world was falling apart.
So no, I’m not exactly working with a surplus of confidence here.
And since there’s no one in my life I can ask for sane, practical advice without inviting endless questions I’m not ready to answer, I do what I always do.
I research.
I gather every piece of dating advice the internet has to offer, sift through blog posts written by self-proclaimed “love experts,” Buzzfeed-style lists, and disturbingly detailed Reddit threads. Then I make my own list—Top Ten Flirting Tips Guaranteed to Make Him Notice You.
Simple. Methodical. Practically scientific.
And, as it turns out, utterly na?ve
The rest of the week becomes a rinse-and-repeat cycle. Step one: try a tip. Step two: fail spectacularly. Step three: dust off my pride and prepare to try again.