Page 47 of Love, Morgan

She smiled softly. “It’s okay. But, I promise, everything is okay. Ms. Franklin likes you. Just have fun with her. And you can tell her about the mango.”

“I don’t want to just throw you under the bus…”

She laughed. “Don’t worry. I absolutely cannot wait to see her bursting in here, asking questions. She seems like the type.”

I shrugged and nodded. If I had to guess, I would absolutely expect Morgan to be charging in here, demanding answers from Thalia about how she could possibly choose to impersonate me.

I winced. After doing that, Morgan would probably make her sit down and watch my videos, giving her lessons on how important it is that any gifts sent from me look absolutely perfect.

It didn’t really matter. Nobody outside this place would know, and, even then, I didn’t send the mango. Plus, who amongst us hadn’t simply thrown something in a gift bag and hoped for the best? I didn’t think it would be quite the career-ending scandal Morgan seemed to think it would be.

“You should consider talking to Ms. Franklin about all the things rattling around inside your head,” Thalia said carefully. “I’m sure she’d want to listen.”

“Oh, no. I couldn’t.”

She smiled. “I’d be happy to listen, too. That’s what friends are for, but I’m getting the feeling Ms. Franklin might beveryinterested in listening.”

I didn’t need the implications she was making in my head again. I was already trying so hard not to notice them, not to give in to wanting them, so I shook my head. “Are you going to call herMs. Franklinforever? It might be a little weird if we’re going to stay friends.”

“Ha. No. Only while she’s still a guest here. It’s only polite.”

“You don’t call me Ms. Engle, though?”

“Yeah, because we’re friends. I would if someone else came asking for you.”

I smiled. Everything felt so full of turmoil—and turmoil of my own doing, my own overthinking—but that felt nice. My dad had been right. I’d really needed friends.

“Plus,” Thalia continued, leaning to glare at me, “now that I’m aware of just how well you know the internet, finding you and staying friends isn’t going to be difficult at all, is it?”

“Oh, god. You don’t need to…” My stomach clenched unpleasantly. I knew people watched my videos, but it still felt weird when it was someone I knew. “I have personal social media, too. You don’t need to find my professional stuff.”

“Oh, I’m going to. I got you and Ms. Franklin together, didn’t I? You really think tracking you down is going to be hard? You don’t even have to tell me your account. I’ll find it.”

My face was burning. “You absolutely did notget us together. Don’t say that!”

She threw her head back laughing. Even through my embarrassment, I liked seeing it, I liked making someone laugh, liked brightening their day. I really was looking forward to knowing her better. And I didn’t care how far away we’d be, I wasn’t giving her friendship up.

“If you say so. Come back to me in a year with that and maybe then I’ll believe you.” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively at me.

“Oh my god.” I hung my head. “I’m going now. I guess I’ve got to… go tell Morgan it was you.”

She cackled as I walked away, calling after me, “I’ll be right here, looking you up, just in case she wants to know where to find me.”

“I really hope she doesn’t,” I called back before stepping out into the hot, bright sun again, praying it would warm my freezing extremities. “You two teaming up would be a nightmare.”

Chapter 15

Morgan

“And you’ll never guess who swung by the shop yesterday,” Ripley said. Her scandalized tone was the only thing that could snap me out of the uncomfortable stupor Iona had left me in when she’d run off and left me alone at the door to an empty bungalow.

“You’re right, I won’t,” I said, knowing as I did that my usual approach would be to guess increasingly absurd options until Ripley became bored of my antics.

She paused. “What? Why aren’t you guessing?”

“No reason,” I said, drumming my fingers on the table on my deck—the place I’d finally wandered to when I realized Iona wasn’t immediately returning. I didn’t want to be too clingy, but I hoped she was okay. “Tell me who it was.”

“Not until you tell me what’s going on,” Ripley replied with that slightly tense, stern edge in her voice. It only really showed up when she was worried.

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