Page 1 of Love, Morgan

Chapter 1

Morgan

Ithrew the door to Petal and Pebble open with all of the dramatic flare of a Hollywood heroine—exactly the way I enjoyed entering every room, but especially appropriate when the situation was dire. “I’m leaving tomorrow and my bags still aren’t packed.”

Ripley Stone—my supposed best friend, and owner of Petal and Pebble—looked up in amusement from where she was arranging flowers. “You say that as if they’re just going to pack themselves.”

I rolled my eyes, making my way to the random armchair she had set amongst the flowers in one corner of the store. When she’d first put it there, I thought it was an odd choice. Now, I thought it might just be the best idea she’d ever had. It was nice to have a place to sit when I visited, and it was a great place to forget the world—just you and the flowers. Lovely.

She laughed as I adjusted the cape I was wearing to drape across the chair with me.

I scowled. “You know very well that before you were back with that annoying wife of yours, you’d do my packing for me.”

She shook her head, her dark red hair shining in the dappled light from outside. “I thought youwantedme to get back together with Alicia? You and Harlow put way too much energy into trying to force us back together for you to talk about her like that.”

I huffed, folding my arms. “Fine. I like your wife.” They weren’t actually married—again? Yet?—but they might as well have been. Eight years after their divorce, I’d teamed up with Alicia’s best friend, Harlow, and the two of us had pulled off the heist of the century.

Okay,heistwasn’t the right word, and maybe it wasn’t as impressive as other things that had happened in the last century—such as my birth—but it was still pretty impressive. Ripley and Alicia had figured out their problems, were back living together, were happier than they’d ever been, and everyone in Jackson Point knew they’d be heading back down the aisle any day now if they knew what was good for them.

But none of that changed the fact that being in love again had turned Ripley into a lousy friend. The kind of friend who didn’t do my packing for me.

Ripley smirked, leaning on the counter. I didn’t care to understand flowers the way Ripley did—except that time she’d sent Aliciafuck youflowers. That was awesome—but I did love that counter. Smooth, sleek wood, visible grain, solid construction… It was a thing of beauty.

“So, what’s the problem then?” she asked, her tone teasing. She already knew the problem. Clearly. “No new Taylor Swift album?”

I sighed. “I’m going to murder you with a Venus flytrap.”

She laughed. “I don’t actually stock those, but I appreciate the originality of the threat.”

“Ugh. You know what the problem is. Are you really going to make me pack my own bags all because you and Alicia are back together now?”

“You are aware that this is a vacation to a gorgeous, tropical island, at some luxury resort, that you booked yourself, right?”

“What’s your point?” I watched her with narrowed eyes. “Are you suggesting I should have gone camping instead? Because I’m really not that kind of queer.”

“No,” she said immediately, practically snorting the word. “I absolutely do not think you should have gone camping. You’d likely die.”

“Hey!” I thought about arguing, but, really, was she wrong? “Okay… fine. Continue.”

“My point is that you are a grown-up, and, ostensibly, a highly capable one. You should be able to pack your own bags.”

I was perfectly capable. “But I don’t want to.”

“Oh, I know.”

I sat up straighter in the chair. “So, you’re going to do it for me?”

“I am not.”

“Ugh.” I sagged back down again. “You’re the worst.”

“I know.”

I watched her as she smiled to herself, working on her flower arrangement again. It was different, somehow, from her usual style. I hadn’t realized how well I knew her style until she was doing something different. Maybe that was why she wouldn’t pack my bags for me—this version of her was an imposter.

She raised her eyebrows like she could feel me watching her. “Yes, Morgan?”

“What are you doing?”

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