Page 6 of Love You, Mean It

“Are you just gonna cold-call him?”

“I don’t know. Maybe?” With effort, I forced my shoulders to drop. “I mean I’d text, I’m not a monster.”

“Okay, just…try not to come in too hot, yeah?” I opened my mouth to respond but Bella lifted a hand. “Not because of you,although it istotallyfair advice on that front.” She tilted her chin down, pinning me with a knowing look. “I’m saying it because of Trip. People change, obviously, and we were just kids when we dated, but he tends to…not take criticism well?”

“A rich white man that doesn’t like being criticized?No.” I pulled a faux-shocked face.

“Okay, but if you want to winoverthat rich white man…”

“Fine. Noted. Kid gloves only for the easily tarnished silver spoon.”

Bella smirked as she found the old contact and sent it to me. Then she wrapped me in a tight hug. Despite myself, I dissolved into it. Unsurprisingly, Bella was anexcellenthugger, enough so that she occasionally made me rethink my entire stance on the practice.

“Let me know anything I can do. Boston’s really not that far.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

She laughed and released me, moving around to slide into the car. She turned to me before closing the door.

“It’ll be okay. I promise. Even if…” She licked her lips slowly, considering. “It’ll all turn out for the best.” I nodded, and she closed the door, waving once before driving off into the night. I stood there for a long time after she was gone, just outside the sparkling glow the porch light scattered over the snow that covered my grandparents’ lawn, shivering in the winter night.

Bella was wrong, and we both knew it. Unless I did something to stop this, nothing would be okay.

If only I had any fucking clue where to start.

I stared at the phone, the three thousand, four hundred and twelfth attempt at the text glaring back at me in the cold blue light.

To: Little Lord Doucheleroy

Hey, Trip. It’s Ellie Greco. Not sure if you remember me, I’m Bella Hill’s cousin?

Did I not know I was her cousin? I deleted the question mark and bit my thumbnail, reaching blindly for the glass of whiskey on my end table. Opening sallies with the enemy required something stronger than wine.

Should I say more? Lay it all out from the start? No, this was good. Neutral. Best to see if he’d respond at all before I sent a novel.

I sipped the whiskey, letting the smooth, caramelly burn run down my throat, clicked Send, and forced myself to focus on the nature show I’d turned on when I got back to my apartment. Tripmight not have his phone on him all the time. Maybe he was one of those people with “digital boundaries” whose phone went into a jar by the door the minute they got home.

I forced my eyes back to the TV, letting David Attenborough’s plummy voice flow over me.

The grown python can stretch to as long as twenty-six feet, but it’s adapted camouflage that keeps it invisible until the moment prey happens by. Its rapid strike stuns the unfortunate mammals, which it kills by wrapping its muscular body around them before swallowing the creatures whole.

The phone buzzed—oh thankfuck. I snatched it up before it could even go dark.

I go by Theo

My jaw tensed, but the dots said he was still typing, so I forced myself not to respond.

Sure I remember you. How is Bella?

She’s great

Glad to hear it

Any reason you were texting?

I bit my thumbnail again. This was it. The plea I’d rehearsed spilled out with only a handful of typos.

I’m not sure if you know, but I run my family’s deli. It’s been around in one form or another since the 1920s. We were all really concerned to hear your dad was planning to bring Mangia into Milborough and worried about how it would affect businesses like ours

---