Chapter 1
The spoon, piled high with Neapolitan ice cream, is halfway to my mouth when I’m rudely interrupted for the umpteenth time.
Buzz, buzz.
There’s no point looking at my phone. I know good and well who it is. The calls just keep coming. Dozens of texts, all demanding the same thing: Fix the website. Now.
I choke down my bite, the frozen sweetness now sour at the back of my throat, and drop the spoon in the sink.
The metal clatters against a stack of dirty bowls and mugs with a note of finality, and I shove the empty ice cream carton into my overflowing trash.
My phone goes silent, but immediately starts again.
Sighing, I snatch it up.
“What, Alan.”
“You need to stop ignoring me.” His voice drips with a familiar note of authority—the kind that used to make me flinch. Now it proves to only piss me off further. “Do you know how many times I’ve called?”
“Too many,” I clap back, a spark of my old self flaring to life. Assertive and confident, willing to stand up to my cheating ex-boyfriend.
“When I call, you answer.”
I release a humorless laugh. “You don’t get it, do you? I’m not yours to control anymore. You cheated on me.”
“That’s not what happened.” Gaslighting is Alan’s favorite pastime, so it’s no surprise he wants to rewrite the narrative.
“What happened then? Did she trip and her mouth just so happened to land around your dick? You thought to yourself, hmm, this feels nice. I think I’ll let her keep it there.”
Alan sighs, like I’m exasperating him. “I told you. It was a one-time thing.”
“And one time is all it takes. I don’t give free passes on the first betrayal, even if that was the truth. But you can save your breath. I saw the DM’s that same night. While you were in the shower.”
At this, Alan falls silent.
My fists clench involuntarily at my sides while wave after wave of emotion washes over me. Anger, embarrassment, but the one that weighs heaviest is the disappointment I feel in myself.
In retrospect, red flags waved right in my damn face throughout our two years together.
Three, if you count the year we spent dating in secret.
Why that wasn’t red flag numero uno is beyond me.
“I like to keep things private, Cassie. It’s more fun when only we know, Cassie.
” But my blinders were screwed on so tightly I refused to see it.
“How do you know my password?”
My scoff is automatic. Of course that’s what he chooses to focus on. Me snooping, rather than his betrayal.
“It’s the same one you use for everything, you idiot.”
“Cassie, you had no right going through my messages.” There’s a dangerous edge to his voice now. A warning. Good. I need kindling for that spark burning in my chest.
“And you had no right to fuck a client, but here we are, Alan. Here we are.” My stomach churns at the thought. All the nights he had to work late training someone at the gym, and I believed him. Clearly Alan and I have a different definition of personal training.
“I’ve had enough. If that website isn’t changed by—”
But it’s actually me who’s had enough. “Goodbye, Alan,” I cut him off and end the call. With shaking hands, I set my phone down, heart hammering a mile a minute. But underneath the adrenaline now coursing through my veins there’s something else.
Relief.
I’m done with him, and it’s time for my fresh start.
That’s what my brother brought me here for, after all.
Austin despised Alan from day one. He calls him Alan the Attention Whore.
And as it turns out, hindsight really is 20/20.
I now see just how right my brother was.
Alan is arrogant, self-absorbed, and wants everything to be about him.
For far too long, I allowed my brother to think things were peachy keen.
I wanted so desperately to believe that myself.
But he saw right past it to the heart of the matter, recognizing Alan for what he truly was.
Austin once told me Alan snuffed out my light, stripping me of all the things that made me shine.
Prior to Alan, I was a totally different woman, proud to be my own person.
It happened with astonishing speed, too.
He chipped away at the things that made me me, until there was little left of the woman I once was.
The very few friends I had before him—chip.
My clothing choices—chip. Even my own opinions—chip.
Somewhere along the way, I lost my confidence, I lost my agency, I lost myself.
Austin was the first person I called when I left Dallas.
It didn’t take much for him and his new girlfriend, Penny, to convince me I should come back to Singing River with them.
This is Penny’s hometown, and Austin swore up and down I’d like it.
He’s been here less than a month, but already seems to love the place.
They had it all figured out in a matter of minutes.
I’d stay in the studio apartment above Penny’s detached garage, which was previously where Austin was staying. And he’d move into Penny’s house.
My gaze travels around this cracker-jack sized apartment, from the unpacked boxes, to my favorite YouTuber paused mid-sentence on the television, and then back to the dishes stacked precariously in the sink.
I’ll never give Alan the satisfaction of knowing this, but the breakup has been hard on me.
I’ve always felt I’m a good judge of character.
At least, prior to Alan I was. But now I’m left doubting everything I thought I knew.
My entire life was uprooted in a matter of hours, with no choice but to figure out how to start over.
Getting out of bed has been no small feat, but I’ve done it nonetheless. My aunt Ashley expects daily proof of life texts.
Each morning, I shower, shoot her a text while my tea steeps, and open my laptop to start my workday.
As a therapist, clients turn to me for guidance, and for the most part I’ve managed to push my own dumpster fire to a small corner of my mind and focus on them.
But as soon as evening comes, I don my emotional support sweatpants and couch-rot with a carton of ice cream.
The first night here, I paired said ice cream with a bottle of cheap rosé.
But hangovers in your thirties hit differently, especially after drinking the whole damn bottle.
The set of Alan-approved friends I had haven’t so much as texted to check in on me, which has done nothing to stave off how alone I feel. But here’s my truth I’ve yet to admit aloud. I felt alone long before leaving Alan. A loneliness that’s heavy, like looming clouds before a summer storm.
Taking one last look at my old life, I suck in a breath and snap my fingers. “Okay, that’s enough. This pity party ends now.”
Marching to the bathroom, I run a brush through my hair, pausing at my reflection in the mirror.
Big hazel eyes I got from my mom, along with the dark hair she gifted me with.
I’m a carbon copy of her, save one thing.
With my pointer finger, I touch the widow’s peak I inherited from my father, and snort a half laugh, thoughts going to the time I shaved it when a kid called me Wednesday Addams. Middle schoolers really are assholes.
I gather my long hair into a claw clip and jab a finger at the face staring back at me. “You are Cassie James, and you have a whole life to live.”
Each word rings true like a mantra. I’m in a brand-new place—albeit, a brand-new tiny place—where I’m going exploring. Rediscovering who I am won’t happen at the bottom of a tub of Blue Bell ice cream.
My unpacked suitcase lies open, clothes strewn about, and after a couple sniff tests, I change into a simple white tank top and my favorite denim cutoffs. At the door, I put on my Converse and sling the strap of my purse over my head.
When I arrived in town a week ago, I saw a bar on Main Street that advertised nightly karaoke, and hell if I could use a change of scenery.
The walk is short, but August humidity still clings to me like a cloak, while beads of perspiration quickly gather on the bridge of my nose and across my forehead.
Singing River is quaint and charming with its cobblestone street, likely untouched from a hundred years ago or more.
As far as I know, there’s no big box stores or chain restaurants here.
Target is a good thirty- to forty-minute drive, according to my maps app, making this place feel like a hidden gem, removed from the chaos and bustle of modern life.
So, the exact opposite of Dallas.
There, you could be surrounded by people, yet still remain anonymous. And I’m not sure I want to be anonymous anymore.
A dandelion catches my attention, a white tuft pushing its way through a crack in the sidewalk, and I stop to stare at it, a pang of nostalgia rushing through me.
I think I was in high school when my uncle Brad went through his lawn care phase.
He’d spend hours fertilizing the grass, but the dandelions weren’t going down without a fight.
I walked outside one day to find him staring down at them, hands on his hips muttering to himself.
“The darn things will grow anywhere, Cassie,” he said when he noticed me standing there.
I think there’s a metaphor somewhere in that.
Crouching down, I pluck it from the crack, and, just for the hell of it, close my eyes and make a wish. With one breath, the seeds scatter into the sticky evening air and I take up my stroll toward downtown.
A record store and florist shop line the block, and just past them, an older man stands outside the barber shop sweeping the sidewalk. When I approach, he tips his hat and waves.
“Evening,” he greets me, his voice kind and grandfatherly with a deep Southern twang.
I’m surprised when a smile climbs up my face. A genuine smile that doesn’t feel false or flimsy. “Good evening.”
Then I’m surprised again when the man says, “Powerball’s up to 900 million. Heading up to Tennessee for some tickets tomorrow. Want in?”