Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
ELENA
Toward the end of the week, work drags.
Not the normal “Friday drag,” but the kind where time feels sticky and slow, like I’m trying to move through honey.
By 5:07 p.m., I’ve organized my inbox.
Then reorganized it.
Then deleted eight emails I probably should’ve kept.
And still, no text from Colt, which is weird.
He’s not a big texter, but he always responds.
He always sends something.
Even if it’s just a joke, a check-in, or a “did you eat enough today?”
I tell myself not to be dramatic.
Maybe I’m overthinking it like a high schooler who’s been left on read after sending a homecoming proposal.
But my stomach is tight.
And I can’t shake the feeling that something’s off.
“The Aurora,” Harper says, spreading her arms like she’s unveiling a magic trick. “God, I love this place. Everyone here is hot.”
I try to smile like usual, but it doesn’t fully form.
She looks at me suspiciously. “You’re barely sipping your drink.”
I glance down at the untouched glass of rosé. My fingers are lightly sweating around the stem.
“Just tired,” I lie.
“No,” she says immediately. “Nope. That’s not a tired face. That’s an I’m-in-my-head-about-a-man face.”
“I’m not.”
“You SO are.”
I sigh and put the glass down. “Colt hasn’t texted.”
Harper’s eyebrows jump like they’re on springs.
“Ohhh. It’s Colt. You…kinda stopped talking about him.”
“Don’t,” I mutter, covering my eyes with my hand.
She grins behind her glass.
“Can I confess something?”
“Of course.”
“We kind of…have been hooking up.
Harper’s jaw drops. “Girl. You didn’t tell me?”
“I don’t know.”
And that’s the part that gnaws at me.
“It’s not like we’re anything serious.”
“You never had ‘the talk’?”
I shake my head.
“It’s not like I have the right to feel…whatever this is. Jealous? No, that’s too simple a term for what I’m feeling.” I stare at the condensation on my glass. “Maybe he’s just busy.”
“Maybe,” Harper says softly, watching me. “Or maybe something else is going on.”
She tries to lighten the mood.
“So! Cabo! Wedding week is almost here. And you—” she gestures to me — “look absolutely insane. Like, please. I’m mad at your body right now. You’re absolutely snatched.”
Despite everything, I laugh.
“I know. I actually fit into that old bikini again. The red one.”
“Shut. Up. That thing could stop traffic.”
“It almost did once,” I say, smiling.
Then the smile fades.
And Harper catches it instantly.
“Okay,” she says, turning serious. “What’s that?”
I toy with my napkin.
“I really wish I could bring a plus one to this wedding.”
Harper’s expression turns more examining, and interested.
She’s too perceptive.
“A plus one,” she echoes. “Would that plus one have a name, by chance? Maybe starts with C and ends in T?”
“Stop,” I mutter.
“No,” she says firmly. “No stopping. What are you two, Elena?”
“Nothing,” I insist.
Too fast.
Too defensive.
She blinks slowly, unimpressed.
“Right. Totally. That explains the face you’re making right now. And the fact that you haven’t touched your drink. And the way you said his name like he shot you with a tranquilizer dart. Maybe that’s why you didn’t want to tell me? Because it would make it too real?”
I rub my temples.
“It was supposed to be casual. I wanted fun. I mean, I said I wanted fun.”
Harper snorts.
“Yeah, well, casual doesn’t usually involve walking around like your soul is playing the sad trombone.”
I shoot her a look, and she softens.
“Elena…you like him. Like, you like like him.”
I shake my head. “No. No I don’t.”
“You do.” She taps my hand. “And that’s okay.”
I stare out the window.
Snow is starting to fall—tiny flakes swirling around the streetlights.
My phone sits beside my drink, silent.
“He’s younger,” I whisper. “Way younger.”
As if that explains everything.
“So?” Harper says.
“He’s…he’s twenty-seven. I’m going to Cabo with people who have 401ks and houseplants they keep alive. He shouldn’t have to play boyfriend for a woman who’s pushing forty.”
“Okay, one, rude to yourself. Two, you are not some elder stateswoman. And three, I can already tell from this that he literally worships you.”
I swallow hard.
Do I want him to?
Do I want something more?
Do I want…I don’t know.
All I know is:
He didn’t text me back.
And for the first time since this thing started, I feel the hollow space where he should be.
Harper watches me quietly.
“You’re off tonight,” she says. “You know that? You’re really off.”
I nod. “I know.”
She reaches over and gently takes my drink away.
“Okay then. No alcohol. Let’s get food instead. You need carbs, human interaction, and maybe a reminder that you’re not, in fact, dying.”
I laugh softly.
But as we get up from the table, I check my phone one more time.
Still nothing from Colt.
And the ache inside me sharpens just a little more.