Page 59 of Friends Don't

But Holland isn’t listening. He rakes his hand through his hair. “Gosh, I think so highly of you, Poppy. Can’t I have another chance?”

He looks genuinely distraught, and my hands tremble ever so slightly. I clasp them in front of me. The idea of dating him—of being in a relationship with a pro-golfer, of being wanted by someone like him—is so shiny and nice that my resolve wavers. But then I remind myself that just because theideasounds good, it doesn’t mean the reality is good.

“I don’t think so, Holland.” My voice comes out sounding gentle. “Our timing is off, and I don’t think I’m the type of woman you need.”

That’s what I’ve been circling and finally realized tonight. Holland is willing to take and take from me without offering too much in return.

I’m a person who’ll give and give until there’s nothing left. I can already see that happening in the way I’m pouring into Holland, and he’s not reciprocating, other than to say he’s grateful. But words of gratitude aren’t the same as actions of gratitude. Holland needs a woman who’ll stand up to him. I need a man who’ll be there for me. Someone I can trust.

Holland twists his jaw and glances over my shoulder at Mack’s side of the duplex.

I awkwardly transfer my weight in my heels.

“If that’s what you want,” he says after a second. “What will you do?”

My stomach feels queasy again, because in the words of Sherlock Holmes, thatisthe question. I can hardly stay in Cashmere Cove. This is Holland’s hometown. But the thought of upending our lives again after having only been here for a month is preposterous.

“I…I’m not sure.”

Honest, if slightly terrifying.

He nods. “Take all the time you need to figure it out. I don’t need my car for any reason, so you’re welcome to keep using it, and I’m sure Mack doesn’t mind the neighbors.”

My stomach does a weird wiggle at the thought of moving out. Of someone else taking up residence in The Downer. I glance behind me. Mack’s side of the duplex is dark. I turn back to Holland. “Thank you for that. For everything.” I know he’s always meant well, and that’s what’s making this break-up both harder and easier. “I truly am grateful for our time together. I’ll always root for H. Bradley Pro!” I quip.

Holland furrows a quizzical brow. “H. Bradley Pro?”

“Yeah, you know. Your email handle?” I’d been pretty impressed with myself for coming up with that one.

He gives me a blank look, but then blinks. “Right. Of course.” He leans in and kisses me on the cheek. “Take care of yourself, Poppy.”

“You too.”

He waits while I unlock the door. I give him one small smile before I walk inside, throwing the deadbolt behind me. I walk straight to my bedroom and flop onto my bed.

I can’t believe I broke up with Holland Bradley.

I feel exhausted down to my core. I’m not sure if that’s from the break-up, or the dancing, or the uncertainty of what comes next for me. I kick off my heels and crawl toward my pillow, pulling the covers up to my chin. The sequins on my dress scrape at my skin, but I’m too tired to care.

I paw for my purse and find my phone. Texts from Noli and Rose stare back at me.

Noli:Umm, you two failed to mention that Holland’s brother is HOT.

Rose:There was no need. But that was before he started looking at Poppy like he wanted to memorize her.

I roll my eyes, which sends flecks of mascara into them. Don’t come at me about the damage I’m doing to my pores by not washing my face. I know, alright. But Neutrogena can’t save me now. My eyes are watering. Or maybe I’m crying. I don’t know. I swipe at my face, trying to see clearly. I click over to the photo I took of Mack and me.

I have to squint one eye closed to stop the burning of my cornea from the errant eye makeup, but what I see gives me pause.

I’ve got a toothy grin on my face, and Mack’s profile is all that’s visible. His nose is poised a fraction of an inch away from my forehead, almost as if he’s going to sniff my hair. He’s staring down at me as if I’m the most precious thing he’s ever laid eyes on. Like I’m the last sentence of his favorite storybook. His gaze is tinged with both longing and contentment.

Of course it’s a trick of the camera. Mack isn’tactuallylooking at me like that. I happened to catch him off guard. That’s it.

I don’t respond to my sisters. Not tonight. Not with burning eyes, and a muddled heart, and a future that looks about as clear as a dense fog advisory.

I drift off to sleep with my phone open to the photo of Mack and me clutched against my chest.

18

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