Page 22 of Love, Morgan

“What?”

“Don’t forget to send it with a note that’s signed off ‘Love, Morgan.’”

My nostrils flared. “I will be doing no such thing. This is a formal apology. There’s no place forloveanything.”

“You don’t think people in love apologize?”

“I didn’t say that,” I replied, frustrated.

“You kind of did.”

“I did not. You’re just tired. Go back to sleep now. Night, night. Goodbye.”

I hung up the call before either of them could sneak anything further in.

They had been somewhat helpful but their opinions were too informed by the happy little love story they were living. And, right now, I needed crisis management, not hopeless fools with love letters and sentimental sign-offs. I needed an apology gift and a formal note acknowledging my wrongs.

I pulled on more clothes in order to be resort-appropriate—I wouldn’t normally care, but I’d already caused enough damage—and set off for the main reception. They’d be able to tell me what I could buy a gift certificate for. Although, for a woman who needed a break and couldn’t seem to stop working, the spa was probably the best bet, and I’d definitely be able to buy a gift certificate for that.

I smiled to myself as I entered the main building. I was a genius. A gift certificate for the spa, time for relaxation, a choice of services to suit her needs, and an apology note that I didn’t sign off with love. Genius.

Chapter 8

Iona

My dad had warned me, years ago, that if I spent all of my time working and being serious, I was going to have plenty of work associates but very few friends. He’d been worried about me not having anyone to call in those moments when you just needed someone to hear you out, or, possibly, offer an additional perspective. At the time, I’d thought he was exaggerating. I was young, foolish, and focused more on my goals than on attempting to force my friendship on people who didn’t want it.

Now, it turned out he was right. And it wasn’t great.

I worked hard, I sometimes chatted with other YouTubers, I talked to the fans a lot, but none of that amounted to having an actual friend I could call in a crisis.

In truth, I think I’d been hiding. Friends were people who saw you—they saw the good, the bad, the ugly, and they still loved you. And I had always been that kid that was just a little bit forgettable. My best friends had other best friends. Sure, they liked me enough, but I wasn’t the one they were itching to hang out with.

In part, I was certain it came from the fact that the woman who’d birthed me had run off when I was too young to remember, and I’d been my dad’s everything as he worked on pulling himself out of the despair her departure left behind. He’d been my best friend, my protector, my only parent, and the only person I trusted loved me for me. It had always been just the two of us, and it always would be.

The other part was just that I was an anxious, shy, and somewhat weird kid.

I’d been heartbroken when I’d realized, but then, I’d put on my armor, accepted my life, and set about building something for myself, as if that could be my friend instead.

It hadn’t gone particularly smoothly, but, now that I’d done it, and I had something I wanted to talk to someone about, things felt painfully lonely.

I could call my dad, sure, but this wasn’t the kind of thing I wanted to talk to him about. And I didn’t want him bringing up why I hadn’t called a friend instead, especially after how reluctant I’d been to even let him approach the topic of me having a vacation fling. If I wanted to talk about my ridiculously beautiful neighbor, who may or may not hate me, and who may or may not be a fan of mine, I wasn’t going to do it with my dad.

But I needed to talk to someone.

My brain felt like a radio that couldn’t find the correct station, but nobody seemed to want to turn it off, so it just kept buzzing. Loudly.

I’d met fans before. I’d talked to them like a normal person, like the kind of person who knew how to chat. Like the kind of person who had friends. So why hadn’t I been able to speak like a normal person with Ms. Franklin? Why had things felt so weird and loaded? Other than the fact that I didn’t know her first name, and, in this day and age, referring to your friends asMs. Franklinwas not the thing to do.

Not that we were friends. Of course not. I didn’t know what we were, but we weren’t friends. I just needed to talk to her like we were. Like I knew how to be a normal human being.

Honestly, if my dad called me tomorrow and told me I was an alien from outer space that he found dropped off in a field one day, I think I’d believe him. It was a much more attractive option than simply being a grown woman who’d failed at making friends.

Maybe it was difficult for everyone after childhood.

Maybe that was wishful thinking.

I grabbed my phone, scrolling through my DMs. Was I friends with any of these people? Would they take it well if I messaged them to chat?

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