Chapter 1 Now #4
When the last reader leaves and the bookstore finally goes quiet, I glance up and see Lucas.
He’s leaning against a shelf stacked with thrillers, scrolling his phone like he hasn’t been waiting for me at all.
After a night of nerve-racking and unfamiliar territory, seeing him is exactly what I need—it’s familiar and safe, like returning to a well-worn novel when you need to escape reality.
When he notices me approaching, he shoves his phone into his jacket and breaks out into a smile.
“I considered getting you flowers, but champagne felt more on brand,” he says, grinning as he hands it to me.
“Oh yeah, this’ll be great to drown my sorrows in later,” I reply, giving the bottle a sarcastic little wave.
“It wasn’t that bad.”
I study his face. “You watched me crash out over my ex in front of a room full of strangers, and that’s your take?”
He shrugs. “You handled it. You were honest. That’s what people want, right?”
Maybe. But I can’t help but notice he hasn’t asked how I feel about it. He never wants to dig into the hard stuff. Instead, he’d rather keep things smooth and safe.
“Right,” I reply in a flat tone.
Before the silence stretches too long, Ross appears and jumps into the conversation. “There she is! My emotionally transparent, publicly unraveling author!” He grins, sweeping me into a hug that smells like cologne and judgment.
“Wow,” I say, shaking my head, but I can’t help laughing. Leave it to Ross to make my public breakdown sound like a brand strategy.
He leans back, eyes softer than his words.
“Relax. I’ve been canvasing the room all night—hovering by the signing line, eavesdropping, even peeking over people’s shoulders to see what they were posting.
And guess what? They weren’t dragging you.
They were saying how relatable you were.
That’s not a flop, Ains. That’s resonance.
” And then, like flipping a switch, his trademark wit returns.
“Besides, vulnerability is trending. You were basically a Taylor Swift bridge with a book deal. Women are going to eat it up.”
Lucas lets out a laugh, but I can’t tell if it’s at me or with me.
Ross’s phone buzzes in his hand, and he glances down, then back at me. “Okay, I’m heading back to the hotel. Early flight tomorrow morning. But seriously, Ainsley, even though it might not seem like it, tonight was a win. Be proud of yourself.”
He squeezes my shoulder, gives Lucas a smile, and disappears out the door like he’s never once second-guessed anything in his life. And just like that, it’s quiet again.
“You ready?” Lucas asks.
I nod.
“By the way, the new hair suits you,” he adds, tugging at a strand as we step outside.
“Well, thanks,” I say, offering a small smile.
“That’s what I’m here for.”
The air is cooler than I expected, and the parking lot is mostly empty now, just scattered with a few leftover cars.
We start walking slowly in the direction of our own without really talking.
The silence between us isn’t awkward, exactly.
Our banter’s always been easy and familiar.
It reminds me why our friendship has lasted as long as it has.
“Thanks again for coming,” I say.
“Of course. You know I wouldn’t miss it.”
Even under the harsh glare of the overhead lights, he still somehow looks good. His curls, his easy smile, the scruff along his jaw. Meanwhile, I’m pretty sure the fluorescent lighting is doing my new bob zero favors.
“Everyone else did,” I remind him.
I stare down at the champagne bottle, my grip tightening around its neck. The lack of communication from the people I considered my best friends stings more than I want to admit.
“Margo’s looking forward to your signing in Boston,” he says. “So am I, as long as there’s no audience Q and A.”
I roll my eyes and nudge his arm. “Very funny. I haven’t seen her in forever. It’ll be nice.”
“Yeah. I’m sure she’ll tell you all about her new job.” He pauses. “So nothing from Cole? I mean, I didn’t expect much, but I figured he might at least congratulate you.”
A familiar ache tightens in my chest. “Nope. Nothing.”
“I’m sorry,” Lucas says, his tone softening. “For what it’s worth, I always thought you could do better than him.”
I know he means well, but the words land wrong.
You can do better. Has that ever actually made anyone feel better?
It’s not a fix; it just makes things worse—like ditching a Band-Aid and twisting the wound open wider.
He sucked anyway, so really, why are you still hurting?
Honestly, it makes me feel even more self-conscious.
Not just about the ending but about the fact that I ever chose him to begin with.
I force a smile and nod as we pass a crumpled receipt stuck to the pavement. I’m suddenly very ready to be alone.
We reach our cars, say goodbye, and I promise to text when I get home.
When I finally slide into the driver’s seat, I set the champagne bottle on the passenger side and just sit there for a second, staring at the dashboard. Everyone keeps telling me how proud I should be, and I am, I think. But pride is hard to hold on to when you’re this distracted by heartbreak.
And the worst part is that I’m supposed to start my next book tomorrow.