Page 48 of Love, Morgan

I sighed. “Nothing is going on. I’m just… waiting for Iona.”

Was I? I didn’t know. I mean, I was, but she hadn’t said she’d be back, just that she had to go check something. She had been adamant about going alone, and, since she wasn’t usually so forceful, I knew she’d been serious, but I wasn’t sure what to do with that. Just sit around and hope she returned?

I didn’t like sitting in my feelings too much, so I’d called Ripley as a distraction. Only, it wasn’t working. She was keeping part of my brain occupied, but the other half was running free, thinking wild conspiracy theories about what the look on Iona’s face had meant, where she’d run off to, and what I was supposed to do if she never came back.

“Ah,” Ripley replied, and I knew she was smirking now. “That does explain the tone. How’s it going with your celebrity crush?”

“It’s not a crush. I don’t get crushes.”

She laughed. “You don’t get crushes and you’re not a liar. Sure, Morgan.”

“Hey!”

“Fine, I guess you’re not usually much of a liar, and you don’t usually get crushes, but there is zero chance you’re ever convincing me that you’re not interested in Iona.” She paused thoughtfully. “I’m not sure why you’re still trying. We all know. Your entire bridge club knows. You might as well admit it.”

My stomach dropped. “They do?”

“Of course. Freddie was in here, I told them you’d run into Iona, and I didn’t even have to explain who she was. It turns out, in true Morgan fashion, you’ve talked to them about her too. Enough that they all knew you had a crush before you even left, and Freddie’sveryinterested to hear how things go.”

I breathed deeply against the feeling that my stomach was no longer in the right place. It didn’t matter. Everyone got crushes. I was perfectly entitled to be attracted to whomever I wanted. It didn’t matter that I hadn’t had a crush before. It didn’t matter that I’d built my life around not doing all of that. It didn’t matter if they knew. None of it mattered. Ripley didn’t need to make such a big deal out of it.

“I’m not surprised, by the way,” Ripley continued. “It wouldn’t be very you to not talk about her. So, what’s going on now?”

“Weren’t you supposed to be telling me who came by the shop?” I countered, knowing that avoiding talking about myself and Iona was very unlike me and not stopping anyway.

Ripley snorted. “Yeah, yeah, we’ll get to that when you tell me why you’re acting like a kicked puppy.”

“I am not a kicked puppy. Firstly, how horrible. Secondly, how dare you.”

“Morgan, come on, it’s me. What’s going on?”

I deflated, sinking further into my chair. It was her—Ripley, my best friend, the person who’d been in my life the longest, the one who’d gone through far worse than a little crush with me. I just hated having to admit I wasn’t the solo, independent person I’d spent my adult life trying to be. I didn’t think she’d judge me, but I guessed I was judging myself. Or, not judging, exactly, more worrying. The last time I’d had connections like that, a family, it hadn’t exactly been a walk in the park. When other people had been that invested in my life, they’d made it a nightmare. I’d spent the rest of my life running away from that. And now, all because of Iona, everything was thrown into turmoil.

But it was such lovely turmoil when she was there.

I huffed. “We were investigating a mango, and she just got this horrified look and then ran off without me.”

“What? You were investigating a mango?”

“Yes.”

Ripley laughed. “Okay, sure. I guess it’s not that weird.”

“You sent Alicia yellow carnations. A mango shouldn’t even register as a blip on your radar.”

She was quiet for a moment, but I knew she’d be narrowing her eyes at me if we were together. I could tell from the loaded way the silence grew.

Finally, she spoke carefully. “Firstly, I’m a florist. Sending people flowers isn’t that odd. You’re not a mango dealer.”

“Mango dealer?” I laughed. “Pretty sure that’s not what they’re called.”

“Secondly, did you send her the mango?” she continued, not to be deterred. Of course she wouldn’t be. She was clinging to the exact thing I shouldn’t have said and drawing her own conclusions from it. I didn’t care how accurate they were, it was still frustrating.

“I did not.” I examined my cuticles. “She sent me one. Except she didn’t.”

“Come again?”

“Iona did not send me a mango.”

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