Page 113 of The Wedding Forecast

‘What should I read into that?’

‘I was trying to get you out of my system. Out of my head.’

‘Did you?’

‘What do you think?’

‘Not talking to me every day would probably have been a better strategy.’

‘I know, and yet.’

‘And yet?’

‘Do you think about me, like that?’ he asks.

‘I haven’t been with anyone, since you,’ I say. ‘If that answers your question.’

‘Oh,’ he says.

There’s another long silence.

‘But don’t read too much into that. I’m not the kind of girl who tries to hook up with randoms in restaurant bathrooms or anything.’

‘No, certainly not.’ He lets out a breath. ‘Do you want me to tell you? About other women? Not details. But, like, if I’m with people.’

‘No. Wait, yes. Or no. I don’t know.’ I close my eyes. ‘Only if it’s serious, I guess.’

This is so weird, and so messy, what we’re doing. Maybe it’s normal. I only really know relationships. One relationship, with Joel. This isn’t a relationship. Or is it? Am I in an open relationship without knowing it? Or a situationship? Or are we simply friends, and I am projecting more onto it than there is. Maybe we’re forging something new. Oh, please. We’re not. We’re doing the opposite of that, because we’re avoiding any discussion of what we could possibly be. And, anyway, I don’t want anything new. I just want old-fashioned, in-person love.

‘Okay,’ he says. ‘Same.’

‘I should let you go to sleep.’

‘Goodnight Anna.’

‘Goodnight Mac.’

35

BOBBI WANTS TO have a meeting to talk about the future. I’m worried, suddenly, that she wants to sack me. Surely not. I scan back through everything I’ve done since I started. A lot of mistakes, sure. I’ve accidentally set off the alarm, I’ve crashed the computer system, I’ve sold things at the wrong price. This makes me sound terrible. But I’ve also sold a lot of books. Plus there’s our social-media success. There’s now a bunch of regulars who come in and ask for my recommendations, my thoughts on the newest release, and happily buy the books I press into their hands, which continues to be the best feeling ever. I hold on to this list in my head, a ready defensive battalion, as I sit across from Bobbi in the backroom. We have fifteen minutes until we open. The backroom is so small that when we are sitting like this, opposite each other in swivel chairs, our knees are touching.

‘What’s up?’ I say.

‘Well, you’ve been here for a little while now, and I wanted to check in. See how you’re feeling.’

‘I’m feeling good.’ It’s true. But maybe that’s too confident.

‘Pretty good?’ I say, trying to downgrade in case she’s going to sack me. Am I still on probation? I have no idea.

‘How’s the book?’

‘All done. It goes to print soon.’

I have two good endorsements from bigger-name authors. The sell-in is looking solid. I am tentatively optimistic. This is the most I can hope for. Well, that and becoming a major bestseller.

‘I mean, the next one. Book three.’

‘Oh, I’m only dabbling. It’s not anything.’ I’m playing with the idea of time travel.