Page 25 of Love, Morgan

“I’m Iona, by the way. Iona Engle.” Chances were, she knew my name—my first name, at least—but it still felt right, polite, to introduce myself. As if any part of our interactions so far had been done right or politely.

She started walking backwards to her bungalow. “I know. I’ve been around long enough to know. Plus, I’m sure your number one fan would have made sure to go back and watch every video from the beginning. Hypothetically speaking.”

My breath hitched awkwardly. She’d seen every video? She might be pretending to speak hypothetically, but, really, she’d just admitted to watching every single video I’d ever uploaded. The fact she wasn’t embarrassed was inspiring. I was embarrassed just imagining some of the things she’d seen, and I put them all out there. I couldn’t imagine ever meeting someone I was a fan of and owning watching everything they’d ever done. But here she was, fearless and bold, walking backwards in a place she couldn’t possibly know well, and yelling to the world that she was my number one fan.

I’d had people say that before. It was always sweet, but I’d never quite believed it. With Morgan, though, I think I might have.

Chapter 9

Morgan

Icouldn’t breathe. My heart was pounding so fast I was certain it would give out. My legs were jelly. And I could barely even feel the door handle in my palm as I shut the door to my bungalow, shutting out the world beyond.

She wasn’t supposed to be there. I was supposed to drop the gift at her door, leave it for her to find, and never interact with her again.

But, there she’d been—those wide, innocent, brown eyes staring back at me. And she’d started a conversation like that was the most normal thing in the world. What was wrong with her? I’d screamed at her multiple times and, upon finding me at her door, she thought a polite hello was the way to go? I could have been trying to murder her! She needed her sense of self-preservation checked out.

And I’d gone and admitted to being her biggest fan? I mean, I clearly was, but that wasn’t the kind of thing you admitted to the person in question.

I was obviously still a genius, but maybe I needed my sense of self-preservation checked out too. Perhaps hers was so poor, it had infected mine. Just what I needed. Take a vacation, meet Iona, become afflicted with terrible judgment.

I didn’t have time for terrible judgment. I was busy, doing things with my amazing judgment.

I needed a doughnut. And a nap.

I threw myself onto the bed, getting lost among the crisp, white sheets, and dragged myself over to the bedside table that had the phone on it. I’d need the phone, but not yet. First, I needed the menu.

The food here was ridiculous. It was amazing and varied and like nothing I ate at home, and I wouldn’t eventhinkabout cooking it, but, while I was here and it was included, I was making the most of it.

Now, however, I didn’t want a tropical fruit platter or a local delicacy. I wanted a greasy, trashy, delicious doughnut. And they had to have those, too, right?

I flicked to the end of the menu that was tucked inside a sleek wallet.Desserts and baked goods. Exactly what I was looking for.

But no doughnuts? Really?

Three types of croissants, muffins, twelve different desserts… no doughnuts. Why did this place hate me?

Beignets.Weren’t those fancy doughnuts? I was pretty sure I’d seen that in a film once.

I grabbed my phone and looked them up. The pillowy little squares felt like the best thing I’d ever seen in my life, which was objectively untrue. I’d just been chatting toIona Engle. Clearly, she was the best thing I’d ever seen. But, I’d made something of a fool of myself and I needed doughnuts, and, if beignets were as close as I was getting, that was good enough for me. Heavenly little pieces of fried dough. What else could I possibly need?

I picked up the phone and ordered, vaguely aware of how infrequently I used a landline these days. Ripley had one at the store, but it wasn’t like I used it unless I needed to order emergency food provisions and I couldn’t be bothered using my own phone. And this one was somehow even better than annoying Ripley. This one was going to bring me desperately-needed desserts, and it was going to let me avoid running into Iona again. There was no way I’d be able to withstand another interaction with her today, not if she was going to look at me in that curious, interested way she had done.

Ugh. Who even was I? Sure, I ordered doughnuts a lot, but other than that, I wasn’t this person. I didn’t hide from crushes in my room with a plate full of snacks—I didn’tneedan excuse to have snacks. I didn’t buy gifts and confess to being my crush’s biggest fan. I didn’t get crushes.

And that was the crux of it, wasn’t it? It had always been the crux of it. I didn’t do this. I wasn’t this person. I was perfectly happy with my life as it was—I lived alone, I had my business, I lived my life, and did whatever the hell I wanted. I didn’t need other people. I had my friends, sure, but I wasn’t this dependent on romantic relationships. I didn’t need to fall in love to be complete. I was perfectly happy alone.

Ripley and I had been doing great being alone together. She’d, obviously, still been in love with her ex-wife, but, with no sign of Alicia in Jackson Point, we’d been good. We’d had a great little thing going where neither of us was interested in anyone, and we lived our happy lives.

And, once I’d yelled at the bridge crew one too many times, they’d finally gotten the message—and spread it to the rest of town—that I wasn’t interested in dating. I wasn’t interested in being set up. I wasn’t interested in anybody’s grandkids. And I wasn’t interested in the random person they’d run into at the grocery store who they thought would be perfect for me.

I was interested in me, and that was all.

Until it wasn’t. And what was I supposed to do with that? Was I supposed to just become a different person? Was I supposed to just waltz back into town with Iona and fend off everyone’s comments about how they thought I wanted to be alone forever?

And, worse even than that, what wasIsupposed to do with this information? I’d spent so long being happy alone, it hadn’t even occurred to me that, someday, I might be interested in someone. How was I supposed to handle that? Especially when she was basically famous, and staying in the bungalow next to mine. And I’d yelled in her face. Multiple times.

I was genuinely shit at having a crush.

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