Page 79 of Her Royal Highness
This one just says,Was thinking about you today. Hope you’re having fun up there in Bonny Scotland!
She sent it just three minutes ago, and without letting myself overthink it, I type back.
Hi. Yup, things are good here.
Her reply comes back an instant later.
Plenty of unicorns?
Smiling, I type back,A surprising lack of, sadly.
That’s a bummer!
I stare at the screen, wondering what to say next, when another reply comes in.
I miss you.
The cursor blinks at me. Those are definitely welcome words from Jude, and I realize I miss her, too.
But... not like I did a few months ago. I miss myfriendJude, not my almost-sort-of-girlfriend Jude. Because while what I felt for her was real—and while seeing her back together with Mason sucked a whole lot—it was always a tightrope with Jude. I never knew what we really were or how she really felt, no matter what she said about being an us.
Flora hadn’t called us an us, but we’dfeltlike one.
My fingers move quickly.
I’m not mad anymore. About what happened this summer. I don’t even know if I was mad, I guess. Hurt? I don’t know. But I’d like us to be friends again if we can.
And then, after a pause, I add,But just friends this time.
This time her reply takes a while in coming.
I’m sorry, Millie. Honestly. Really, really sorry.
And I’d like to be friends again, too.
I go to reply with a smiley face in return, but there’s more.
Besides, I see you have a very fancy new girlfriend now, lol. GLOW UP.
My fingers hover over the keys, wondering if I should tell Jude about what happened with Flora, but before I can, there’s a knock at the door.
BRB,I type to Jude, then hop off my bed to answer the door.
It actually takes a beat for my mind to absorb just who I’m seeing.
It’s Seb.
He looks a little worse for wear, his shirt a bit wrinkled, his jaw patchy with scruff, but it’s definitely him, leaning against the doorjamb.
“Roomie Quint,” he says with a faint grin.
“Brother Seb,” I reply, and his grin deepens.
I shake myself out of my shock and usher him inside.
I quickly realize I have no idea where he’s supposed to sit, given that the only options are the bed—nicer, bigger—and my desk chair—probably more appropriate. In the end, I don’t have to offer because Seb makes the decision himself, sitting heavily on the end of my bed, his elbows braced on his spread thighs.
“So,” he says on a long breath. “This is buggeringly awkward, but I’m here to talk about you and Flora.”
