Page 94 of Lucky
I could already picture the comments.
The snide remarks.
TheWho does she think she is?jabs from people who suddenly think I don’t deserve to exist online because I’m dating Lucky Branson.I stared at that post button forever, heart pounding, fingers hovering.
And in the end… I closed the app with so much frustration, I wanted to cry.
Three days.That’s how long it’s been since I posted, which might not sound like a big deal to anyone else, but for me?It’s a red flag.I post daily, sometimes twice a day, and I think I might be broken.
And now I’m late, mentally spun out and totally discombobulated as I look around the restaurant while removing my jacket.
The warm scent of cinnamon, espresso and maple syrup relieves some of my tension, but I’m far from hungry.I’m battling low-level anxiety nausea and I’m thinking toast and tea are on the menu.
The place buzzes with Sunday brunchers clinking mugs, soft pop music in the background, sunlight pouring through the tall front windows.I scan the room until I spot them—Farren, Mila, Tempe and Willa—settled around a table in the corner like they’ve been here for hours and haven’t run out of things to say.Tempe’s mid-laugh, Willa’s got her hand wrapped around a glass, and Farren waves when she sees me.Mila’s pulling out the chair next to her for me to sit.
I take a deep breath, square my shoulders, and paste on a smile like everything’s fine.
Even if I’m unraveling on the inside.
I plop down in the chair after hanging my jacket and purse on the back.“I’m so sorry I’m late.”
“No worries,” Tempe chirps and points to a fluted glass in front of me.“We’ve been sipping on mimosas and took the liberty of ordering you one.”
I take a grateful sip as Willa asks, “You do drink mimosas, right?Because if you don’t, you are not allowed to hang out with us.”
I take another longer sip and nod.“Love me a mimosa.”I look around and ask, “Where’s Mazzy?”
“I’m guessing it was a very late night after the proposal,” Farren says, waggling her eyebrows.“She sent her regrets only an hour ago, having apparently just woken up.”
“Can’t say I blame her,” Tempe says.“That proposal was something else.”
“I was so emotional!”Mila admits, fanning her face.“I think it scared Penn.”
“You were ugly crying,” Tempe teases, flipping her dark braid over her shoulder.“But like… glam crying.Your lashes didn’t even budge.”
“I will say,” Willa chimes in, raising her coffee mug, “while that was an incredibly romantic proposal, Bowie Jane and her T-shirt stole the show.”
Farren lifts her drink in salute.“She nailed it.”
We chat for a few minutes and order food when our waitress checks in.Quiche all the way around and I indulge in a cinnamon latte.The conversation is never ending, and I mostly listen in.These ladies have known each other awhile and I’m new to the dynamic.
“Are you okay, Winnie?”Tempe asks and the table goes quiet.
All eyes shift to me and I feel the proverbial spotlight.I glance around wildly, and then proclaim, “What?Yes, of course, I’m okay.Why would you say that?”
Farren rests her chin in the palm of her hand and eyes me skeptically across the table.“I don’t buy it.”
“Excuse me?”I ask, wanting to be offended but a little impressed she’s picking up on the mass of internal feelings I have going on.
“You heard me,” she says, eyes narrowing.“I call bullshit.Something’s bothering you and if you can’t spill it to your friends while drinking at brunch, how will you ever get past it?You’ll never get better therapy than what’s around this table right now.”
“That’s true,” Willa says with a grave nod.
I glance around.All the women staring at me with open expressions of acceptance and concern and I think… what the hell?My insurance plan doesn’t cover therapy anyway.
My gaze lands and stays on Farren.“North told Lucky this morning about the incident in the bathroom.”
Farren winces.“I’m sorry I told him.I mentioned it offhand.”
