Page 80 of Just My Type
I shake my head, too many emotions threading together inside of me to separate any single one. “Have you always been like this?”
“Like what, honey?”
I laugh despite myself. “A person who knows everything.”
Cece shrugs casually. “I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t. The universe is always giving us clues. It’s the smart ones who pay attention. Like the way I paid enough attention to know that you were offered a traditional publishing deal for all of your books. Why haven’t you taken it yet?”
I can’t do anything except for laugh at that abrupt change of subject, one that is so on brand for Cece. “They want all my books, including the series I’m writing now, and I was worried I wouldn’t be able to finish it. I’m far enough along in the book I’m writing now that I know I’ll finish it, but there are still two more, and like I said, it could all disappear again tomorrow.”
Cece shakes her head. “It won’t, and I’ll save you the trouble of asking me how I know. I know because you’re not writing again because of Noah, amazing as he may be. You’re writing again because of you. Because you’re happy, and you’re finding your place. Trust yourself and take the deal, Hannah. You earned it, all on your own.”
“You think?” I ask, a shot of confidence straightening my spine at Cece’s words.
She must see it because she smiles. “I know.”
I take a deep breath and nod. “Okay.”
“Good girl. Now, we have to celebrate.”
I chuckle. “I haven’t accepted it yet.”
“No, but you will. So, we’re celebrating.”
“What are we celebrating?”
Jo’s voice has both of us turning to the sidewalk. She and Amelia are standing there, grinning up at us, rolled up yoga mats slung over their shoulders.
Cece gives me a conspiratorial wink. “Perfect timing ladies. We’re celebrating the fact that it’s Wednesday, which means it’s practically Thursday, which means it’s almost the weekend. I happen to know that all the men are doing some kind of man thing tonight, so I’m thinking we get Pammy over here, order in Chinese, and have ourselves a little girls’ night.”
“Fuck yes,” Jo says, bounding up the stairs, bending to kiss Cece on the cheek and squeeze my shoulder. “My mom is making me insane, and I’m starving after that yoga class. Count me all the way in.”
“Same,” Amelia says, following Jo up the stairs. “Even though we didn’t really do the yoga so much as we laid around on yoga mats while Jo alternated between texting you and Hallie and complaining to me about your mom.”
Jo shrugs. “I am who I am. I hate yoga. Too much relaxing for me. Not enough moving.”
Amelia laughs. “I hate it too. Exercise in all forms, really. So, a girls night sounds great.”
“What about you, Hannah?” Cece asks, and her question sounds a whole lot more loaded than asking me if I want to come in for Chinese. I look at the three of them. These women. My women. And I accept that, for the first time since I left Pittsburgh six months ago, I am well and truly home.
“It sounds absolutely perfect to me.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
NOAH
Hannah
[picture attached of Hannah, Jo, and Amelia each holding two pink cocktails]
How many pink cocktails is too many pink cocktails?
I grin at the picture, drinking in the happiness on Hannah’s face, the flush on her cheeks and the hazy look in her eyes that tells me she’s about to motor past tipsy and straight into drunk.
Me
The limit does not exist.
Hannah
