Chapter 13 Now
Now
By the time I get to the coffee shop, Lucas is already there, sitting by the window with two drinks and his laptop open like he’s been working and waiting at the same time. He sees me before I see him and waves.
I slide into the seat across from him and immediately blurt, “I’m sorry.”
He blinks. “For what?”
“For not being there when you needed me,” I say, meaning it. I’ve said it twice over the phone already, but it still doesn’t feel like enough.
Lucas doesn’t even look up from his cold brew. “Ains, for the hundredth time, it’s not a big deal.”
There it is. The version of Lucas that smooths things over instead of sitting in discomfort. The one who’d rather laugh something off than say he’s hurt. I understand it sometimes, but it still makes me feel like I’m having a one-sided conversation with a locked door.
In some ways, it reminds me of Cole. How he’d dodge anything difficult until I finally stopped asking.
How every conversation that should’ve mattered got replaced with silence or a joke or a subject change.
And I don’t want that anymore. When I’m ready to date again, I want someone who doesn’t flinch at hard conversations.
Someone who can sit in the mess with me instead of pretending it doesn’t exist.
I wrap my hands around the latte he brought me. “I still should’ve said something.”
He shrugs.
We sit there for a minute, both pretending our drinks are more interesting than the silence between us. I swirl the lid like it’s a magic eight ball, hoping it’ll say You’re doing great, sweetie! Lucas scrolls like he’s busy. Neither of us says the thing we probably should.
Then Lucas clears his throat. “It wasn’t some dramatic ending. Margo just kept choosing work. And not in a busy-season kind of way. In a this is always going to be the priority kind of way. I can’t build a future with someone like that.”
I nod. “That sucks.”
“Yeah. I think I kept trying to wait it out, hoping she’d come back to me eventually. But after my last trip to Boston, I realized I was just orbiting her life instead of living my own.”
His voice is steady, but there’s a sadness under it. One I recognize because it sounds a lot like my own.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “That’s a really lonely way to love someone.”
He glances at me then, his expression unreadable. “Yeah. It was.”
I want to ask him more. I want to press: When did he know?
Was there a moment? What did it feel like to finally say it out loud?
But before I can form the words, a man at the register lets out a frustrated sigh and bangs his reusable water bottle on the counter.
He’s a grumpy guy in his late twenties, sporting a flannel shirt and wire-rimmed glasses and giving off the kind of energy that says he’d rather be literally anywhere else.
He seems like the type to collect vinyl, hate small talk, and roll his eyes at brunch menus.
Basically, the storm cloud to my sunshine.
I’m already spinning out a hypothetical.
What if I “accidentally” spilled something on him?
Would he glare? Would I babble an apology until he muttered something sarcastic, only to have me flash my best awkward smile and crack the scowl just a little?
“Ainsley.” Lucas nudges my arm. “Where’d you just go?”
I blink. “Nowhere. Just…maybe plotting a hypothetical meet-cute.”
His eyebrow lifts. “Let me guess. You and water-bottle guy over there?”
“Well, you’re freakishly observant.”
Lucas smirks. “Hard not to be when you zone out mid-conversation. So? How would it play out?”
I laugh, embarrassed but leaning in anyway. “Fine. He’d glare, I’d ramble, he’d be annoyed, but then—bam—grumpy-sunshine trope activated.”
He shakes his head, grinning now. “You’re insane.”
“So I’ve been told.”
We fall back into easy conversation until Lucas tilts his head. “If you’re really serious about this whole rom-com experiment, you need the right setting. What about the state fair this weekend? The Ferris wheel could be cool. Very full circle.”
My stomach flips. Of course he’d think of that. “You’re right. That’s perfect promo for my backlist, and I’ve never actually lived that moment. It could be fun to try.”
“You’re going alone?”
“Yeah.” I shrug like it’s no big deal. Knowing that he won’t let me actually do this alone. Because that’s who Lucas is.
He shakes his head. “No way. You’re not testing tropes solo. I’ll come. Consider me your official breakup buddy slash field researcher.”
I laugh, a little startled by how easily he signed himself up. “Fine, but only on two conditions.”
He raises an eyebrow.
“One—you stay far away from the Ferris wheel. I don’t want anyone thinking we’re a couple. That would totally foil my plan.”
“Got it. Strictly wingman duties.”
“And two—” I hesitate, then push through. “I got an old calendar notification that Friendsgiving is Friday night. I don’t really want to spend it obsessively checking Grace and Sav’s stories alone, so after the fair, can we do a wine night at my place or something?”
As the words come out, I realize how desperate I sound. Not only am I begging someone to hang out with me so I don’t get caught up thinking about my old friend group, but the only person I can even think to invite over for a wine-fueled gossip session is Lucas.
I have to find some girlfriends.
Lucas leans back in his chair, smiling. “Ferris wheels, wine nights, rom-com research. Breakup buddy duties officially accepted.”
God help him. He has no idea what he just signed up for.
* * *
Friday night rolls around, and Lucas keeps his promise.
The fair is packed. Neon lights glow against the sky, casting everything in a pink-orange haze, and the air smells like fried food, smoke, and sugar.
I keep checking my phone camera to make sure the lighting isn’t washing me out.
The last thing I need is to look ghostly while publicly embarrassing myself for the internet.
If Cole somehow sees me go viral again, I need him to regret everything.
Lucas walks beside me, carrying a bag of kettle corn like this is just another Tuesday. He’s calm and I am, well, not.
“I’m already regretting this,” I mutter.
“You always say that right before things go really well. Remember book tour?” he replies, tossing popcorn into his mouth. “It’s kind of your brand now.”
I shoot him a look. “I don’t want panicking to be my brand.”
We get closer to the Ferris wheel, and I slow down, pulling my phone out of my tote bag and flipping it into selfie mode.
I hit Record.
“Okay,” I say into the camera. “Tonight’s experiment: a real-life reenactment of the Ferris wheel scene from my debut novel Where Do We Go Now?
Not because I’m trying to fall in love but because I’m a romance author who’s creatively bankrupt right now, and I’m hoping this plan might spark some sort of inspiration. ”
Behind me, the Ferris wheel lights blink like they’re trying a little too hard. Relatable.
“I wrote that scene before I ever lived anything like it,” I continue. “Two strangers, one broken Ferris wheel, and just enough time to fall in love. So here goes nothing.”
Lucas stands off to the side, pretending he’s not with me.
“I feel like I’m on The Bachelor or something,” I mutter.
“Want me to hold a boom mic while you dramatically tell production about your journey?” Lucas laughs.
I ignore him, even though it’s tempting to poke fun at the fact that he knows the TV show well enough to even make that reference.
Up ahead, I spot a guy standing in line alone.
Fitted Henley, dark jeans, clean sneakers.
He’s sipping a giant lemonade while casually scanning the crowd.
Cute and seemingly accessible. I immediately calculate the timing.
If I play this right, I can slide in behind him, strike up a little small talk, and maybe, just maybe, pull off a Ferris wheel meet-cute for the ages.
“Okay, here’s the plan,” I whisper into my phone camera. “I’m going to ask if I can ride with him. Casual. Charming. Totally normal.”
Behind me, Lucas lingers a few paces back, grinning like he can’t wait to see how this pans out.
I edge closer until I’m just behind Lemonade Guy. “Hey,” I say, my voice higher than usual. “Long line, huh?”
He glances over, amused. “Guess everyone had the same idea.” He lifts his lemonade in a little toast. “The food lines are worse, but worth it though. Best drink at the fair.”
“Good to know,” I say, matching his smile. My nerves settle, just a little. This is fine. Totally fine. “Is this your favorite ride?”
He shrugs. “Figured I’d end the night with a view. Ferris wheel feels classic, right?”
I laugh. “Exactly. Kind of romantic too. Like every teen movie ever.”
He grins, easy and open, and for a split second, I think, Holy shit, maybe this is working.
Maybe I actually manifested my own Ferris wheel moment.
We shuffle forward in line. I lean in, ready to say it, ready to ask if he wants company for the ride.
And then a man jogs up from the side, popcorn in hand, and kisses him on the cheek.
They laugh. Lemonade Guy hands him the drink. They board the ride together, hand in hand. I stand there blinking as the operator gestures for me to step into the next car. Alone.
I climb in, still holding my phone, still technically recording, but with zero idea what to do with myself.
And then I’m on my way up. The ride jerks forward, lifting me above the fairgrounds, above the noise, above the failed interaction that somehow still stings even though I wasn’t even trying to fall for anyone tonight.
Just get some footage for my social media.
Just feel like I’m getting something right.
I try to pivot. “Okay, so not what I had in mind. But maybe the point of this whole thing isn’t about what happens. Maybe it’s just about—”