Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
LUCKY FRO-YO
E ven the sweetness of the fifteenth-best peanut butter frozen yogurt in the country, per the GF Finder app, isn’t enough to quell the guilt swirling inside me.
Hope and I sit at a table outside Yo-Go Gurl Yogurt.
She spoons up her sugar-free vanilla, piled high with strawberries, raspberries, and almonds, while I drag my spoon through my peanut butter yogurt, sans toppings.
Lars, Owen, and James are stuck here with no way to get them back. While I did not wish for them, they are here because of me. Each may say they are alright with it, but it’s all wrong. None of them were given a say in this.
“When are you going to tell them?” Hope asks, raking her teeth along her bottom lip.
My shoulders slump. “Today. Once I drop you off, I’ll head over to Jackson’s to give them the news.”
“What are you going to say?”
“I don’t know…” I motion with my spoon, my tone flippant. “Hey, guys, thanks for being magically transported against your will to help me figure out my life. Good news, I figured out my life. Bad news, you’re stuck here.”
“Considering everything, they’ve adjusted to life here. Owen is killing it at Good Girl’s Grub, Lars is shacking up with Jackson, and James is…a work in progress.”
“I guess,” I say, my speech hesitant.
It’s true. James’s duke-ish dickery aside, the three of them are adjusting to life in this realm.
The time away from the stories already written for them seems to offer each the respite to soul search.
Over the last eight days, each man has shared with me new insights into themselves, the women left behind, and their stories.
Smiling, she goes on, “Also, it wasn’t exactly against their will. Owen says that there was a call to come, and they simply answered.”
“I wonder how much choice they had,” I grumble, thinking of me holding that stupid, unlucky, but maybe also lucky, penny before tossing it into the SPN fountain.
“About as much choice as you.” She aims her fierce expression at me. “Let’s not go backward. Even if you wished for help, you didn’t wish for this. Not to mention your misplaced guilt does nothing for anyone, especially Lars, Owen, and the duke.”
“You’re right.” With a sigh, I rest my elbows on the table and lean forward.
A guilt-laden temper tantrum does nothing for the guys.
My contrition offers them no solace or solutions.
They’re stuck here, and we need to figure out what that looks like in the long term.
Their adjustment may appear promising, but it could just be temporary.
Like going on vacation. It also could be some strange Stockholm Syndrome-coping mechanism from being whisked from their reality to ours.
“I had hoped the witchcraft consultant would have had a solution. That this all would have?—”
“A happy ending,” she interjects, her face twinkling.
“Ugh!” Whining, I push my dish away and rest my head on the table.
Guess I’m not as Zen as I thought. After a lifetime hooked on happy endings, it’s going to take more than one week to get me off them.
“At least we know that your thought that selecting one of them would send the other two back was wrong.”
“How do we know that?” I raise my head.
“Your wish is complete, and they are all here. If you selected one of them, they’d still be here anyway. So, at least we dodge the ‘you marrying the duke’ bullet.”
“I would have never picked James.” I make a sour expression.
“I worried about it for a hot minute, but you figured him out far quicker than with your last Lord of Jerkery.”
“Don’t remind me.” My head tilts. “Anyway, picking one of them wouldn’t have completed the wish either. They were always supposed to be my guides, not the solution.”
“Then why did they think that their happy ending may be wrapped up in yours?”
I blink. “What?”
“You said that James told you that your happy endings may not be mutually exclusive.”
I bat at the air. “It was just a line he used to manipulate me.”
“But Owen said something similar.”
My brow scrunches. “What? When?”
“The day we made the witchcraft consultant appointment. After you left for work, Owen said his happy ending brought him here, as much as yours, but he’d be sad to see you sacrifice your happiness for him or any of the guys.”
Leaning back, I tap my fingers on the table. Was Owen speaking of his book’s happy ending or something else? If they felt a call to come help me, what does that have to do with their happy ending?
“None of this makes sense.” I toss my right arm up, accidentally slapping my purse which dangled on the chair’s back, causing it to slam to the cement walkway.
Loose change, lip gloss, a pen, a tampon—because of course it does—and my wallet tumble out of the open purse. The pen rolls until it comes into contact with a passerby’s sneakers. Cringing, I lunge out of my seat to scoop up the items, mumbling an apology.
“It’s alright.”
The familiar baritone causes me to look up, my heart thudding. “Will?”
Crouched on the ground, a tampon in my hand, I see my ex. Kill me now! Shoving my things into my purse, I rise, my bag clutched tight to my chest.
“Georgia…” Eyes wide. Mouth ajar. Breath ragged. He just stares at me as if I’m a ghost who’s come back from the dead.
It’s been five years since we last saw each other.
Outside of that last phone call after Lena’s confession, the only interaction with him was my RSVP for the wedding, and that was done via their wedding website.
Nothing like saying, “I’ll have the steak meal” to your ex’s wedding with a slideshow of their happy pictures on the screen set to an instrumental version of “Hopelessly Devoted to You”.
“Hi, jerkface,” Hope calls out, causing me to turn, her warm expression now stern.
“Hope, nice to see you.” He coughs.
“The feeling is not mutual.” She takes a demure bite of yogurt.
He makes a huffed sound and then clears his throat. “You dropped this, Georgia.”
Facing him, I hold out my hand and he deposits the loose change in it. “Thank you… What are you doing here?” I ask, closing my fingers around the coins.
He tips his head towards the tuxedo shop next to Four Corners. “Picking up my tux.”
The only thing worse than running into your ex is doing it in front of the shop where he’s about to pick up his suit for his wedding to your cousin. Oh, my messy life.
“I didn’t realize it was you when I saw the purse fall. I swear.” Happy crinkles kiss the edges of his gray eyes, the pupils the same shade as a stormy sky. “But I am happy to see you… You look good.”
“Too good for you, but not for her new CEO boyfriend that properly D’s her down like no man ever has and worships her like the queen she is.” Hope’s snark drips with a saccharin-sweet venom.
I look over my shoulder and mouth, Subtle followed by D’s me down . My bestie just grins.
Davis isn’t my boyfriend—not yet—but I’m not correcting her.
While I’m over Will, there’s still a piece of me that enjoys what Hope’s little comment is no doubt doing to him.
He’ll act all aloof on the outside at the dig, but he’ll find some way to reassert himself.
Will may not want me, but my successful CEO boyfriend’s sexual prowess likely threatens his middle management sometimes orgasm-giving self-confidence.
Again, Davis is not my boyfriend, yet. Keyword, yet.
“Glad you found someone.” Mouth drawn into a firm line, he raises one hand, raking it into his chestnut strands, his bicep flexing with the movement.
So predictable. I bite the inside of my cheek, tamping down the blooming snicker.
“I’m happy for you.” His mouth lifts into a small smile. “I know we didn’t end well?—”
“Because you led her on, cheated on her, dumped her, and then ran off with her cousin,” Hope jumps in helpfully.
Lips pursed, he continues, “Anyway, I know that we didn’t end well, and that’s on me.”
The way he utters the phrase is akin to just forgetting the towels before a beach trip. It minimizes both his actions and their aftermath. This is textbook Will.
“On you?” I say, my jaw clenched. “This isn’t like the time you accidentally brought me the wrong type of cupcake for my birthday, and I got sick. Or the time you forgot to tell me your boss’s wedding was black tie and I showed up dressed for a garden party. You and Lena hurt me.”
“And now you’re hurting Lena back,” he hisses.
“I’m doing nothing of the sort.”
“A week before our wedding you email her to say you’re not coming.” His eyes narrow.
“I’m sorry she’s upset, but?—”
“She’s been crying since your email came. She’d hoped that your RSVP might be a second chance for the two of you.”
My RSVP had always been about keeping the peace.
About my mother, uncle, and brothers. This situation is hard enough without forcing anyone to choose sides.
Even my decision not to go came with a long conversation with my mother and an email exchange with my uncle, reassuring them that this changes nothing with how I feel about them.
Even Uncle Hans responded with an, I love you before he told me, Don’t be silly, you’re not paying for anything .
“She’s so hurt. She misses you,” he says, disappointment lacing his words.
“I didn’t mean to hurt Lena.”
“Well, you did.” His glare tightens that knot in my stomach. “Was that your game all along? Make her think there’s a chance? Did you RSVP only to do this?”
“No!”
“You used to be more empathetic than this. You used to think about others. I thought you—” His chide is halted by a yogurt dish smashing into his face.
Eyes wide, I whirl.
Hope, hands on her hips and face pinched, glares at Will. “Don’t you dare lecture her about empathy you gaslighting butthead.”
“Real mature, Hope,” he mutters, swiping at his face.
She picks up my dish and aims it. “I could demonstrate my maturity level. I am doing everything for two these days.”
A ghost of a smile belts across my face as I hold my palm up. “It’s all good, Hope. I got this,” I say, plucking up some napkins from the table and handing them to Will.
“Fine.” She sits back down, patting her belly. “Baby girl and I are here for backup when you need us.”
With a grateful smile to my bestie, I face Will. “Listen, I’m sorry that Lena is hurting. That was never my intention. Playing games with someone’s heart is more your thing, not mine.”
He flinches.
“Contrary to what you think, my decisions no longer concern you, nor are they made because of you. I choose not to attend your wedding for my sake. You both hurt me, but I’m not doing this for vengeance.
This is about my needs. My wants. About putting myself first. You may have been careless with my heart, but I’m no longer going to be with it. ”
“I’m sorry.” He releases a hard breath. “For everything. For accusing you of doing this deliberately. I should have known better. It’s not like you. I just… I love her so much, and I don’t want her to pay for my crimes. Things haven’t been the same between her and your family since…”
I arch a brow.
He motions at me. “I know. Why would we expect that? What we did was wrong, but she fought it for so long. I was the one who pushed. I was the selfish one. I should have ended things with you before anything happened, but I didn’t.
Each time something happened, she’d push me away, saying she didn’t want to hurt you.
That this couldn’t happen again. Still, I just… ”
“Used me so you weren’t alone until you could have her. I was your consolation prize.”
“Yes,” he says, his gaze downcast.
“I’m nobody’s consolation.”
That declaration roars through me. I deserve to be someone’s first choice, especially my own.
“You deserved better… For what it’s worth, what I did to you is the biggest mistake of my life. It hurt you, and it hurts Lena. I am so sorry,” he whispers.
“You may be, but that doesn’t matter to me anymore.”
It really doesn’t. In the initial breakup text exchange, followed by the tearful in-person and then telephone exchanges with him, Will’s apologies were nonexistent.
Each interaction was just gaslighting bullshit used as weapons to make me believe it was my fault.
His apology means nothing to me, because at the end of the day, what I wanted more than his remorse was that this all had never happened.
As painful as what happened was, I know it’s just part of the twists and turns of my story leading me to my next chapter.
One where I don’t settle for less than what I deserve—from my partner and, above all, from myself.
Even now, despite the hint of remorse in his features, his apology means nothing.
It’s not about me or his actions. It’s about Lena.
He regrets that his actions cause her pain, not that they hurt me.
For Will, it’s always been about Lena. From the moment he met me, it was her he wanted.
This isn’t like with James, where he realized the error of his ways.
“I know you can’t forgive me, but can you forgive her? She misses you.” His stare implores.
“No,” I say simply. “I may not be hurt anymore, but I don’t trust either of you. You blame yourself for this, but honestly, both of you betrayed me.”
“I understand,” he says, swallowing thickly.
“I hope you make her happy. That you’re good to her… Better than you were to me.”
“I am,” he says. “At least, I try. I don’t deserve her, but she still loves me.”
“Well, you clearly have a type.” I let out a humorless laugh. “I do wish the best for you both, please know that.”
“I wish the best for you, as well.”
“Goodbye, Will.”
“Goodbye, Georgia.” With a quick nod, he turns and walks towards the tuxedo shop.
Hope shuffles over, wrapping her arm around me. “That was a lot.”
“Yeah.” I sigh.
“How are you?”
“Weirdly okay.” I place my head on her shoulder. “Did you really toss your frozen yogurt at him?”
“Yeah, I kind of regret that.”
“Because you’re still hungry.”
“Yeah.” She pouts.
“Let’s go get you a refresher.” I lift my head from her shoulder.
Unclenching my hand, my vision catches on the three pennies resting in my palm.
I’d held tight to them throughout the entire exchange.
Something swoops in my stomach at the three coins glistening in the late afternoon sun like little beacons leading me home.
Examining them closer, my heart stutters.
“Hope, I have an idea.”