Page 79 of The Book Club Boyfriend

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There it is. The gut punch I didn’t know I was waiting for.

I stop walking.

The podcast keeps playing—something about being present and letting go—but the words blur behind the buzzing in my ears.

He’s getting married.

He’s moving on, promising someone else the forever he swore to me, then yanked away when I dared to have dreams of my own.

My fingers tighten around my phone.

Itshouldn’t bother me. Not after all this time. Not after everything I’ve built.

But it does.

And Ihatethat it does.

I blink hard and stuff my phone into my pocket, jaw clenched. This is why I don’t do love stories. This is why I don’t believe in happy endings.

This right here.

And yet, a new thought pushes in—uninvited, unwelcome.

If he could fall in love again… could I?

Nope.

I hop off the treadmill and head home, ignoring the sting in my chest and the tightness in my throat.

Because I don’t want love.

I want a deadline extension, a decent cup of coffee, and the world to stop asking me to feel things.

That’s it.

By the time I get back to the house, my head is still spinning. I don’t even remember the drive—just flashes of traffic lights and the uncomfortable silence.

I peel off my leggings in the hallway, strip off my top on the way to the bathroom, and turn the water on too hot. Just to feel something.

Thirty minutes later, I’m freshly scrubbed, swaddled in an oversized robe, and have my wet hair wrapped in a towel like a turban. I walk straight to the bed, ignore the pile of laundry I meant to do two days ago, and fling myself across it.

Then I grab my phone and text Harper.

Me:You up?

Harper:Always. Spill it.

Me:I’m coming over. I’m bringing wine. And I’m emotionally unstable.

That last part kind of goes without saying; it’s barely after 11 a.m.

Ten minutes later, I’m at her door.

She answers in fuzzy socks and a tank top that saysMain Character Energy. Honestly, it’s a vibe.

“I brought the good cab,” I say, holding up the bottle.

“Bless you. Come in. Do you want snacks or just a crash mat and a friend-slash-therapist?”

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