Page 48

My readers, apparently. The stark truth I’d discovered over the past three weeks was that now even hints of my personal life wouldn’t cut it—they only thirsted for one thing.

Will.

They’re not the only ones, are they?

I could practically hear the teasing tone of Joe’s voice. I shoved the plate of meatballs away.

Friends,I reminded Joe.That wasyoursuggestion.

And Will’s. My chest felt like lead. It shouldn’t have—Will and I didn’t have anything together, but it did.

The salt in the wound was how much the post was taking off. WHEN LIFE THROWS YOU SNOWBALLS, DRINK BEER was now the most popular blog post I’d ever written. Not just recently. But ever. By a long shot.

1500 likes. 255 shares. And 341 comments, mostly speculating who the handsome man with the winch was. My readers were losing their minds over the mysterious W. They couldn’t seem to get over how handsome and chivalrous he was.

I should have been excited, but it only stung, knowing how much of a distance we were keeping each other. There wasn’t any knock-on effect either. My next post, without Will, had tanked.

“You could always get him to pose for some more pictures,” Reese had suggested. “It doesn’t have to be real.”

“I need to do this myself,” I’d told her. I didn’t want to be beholden to Will. I wanted my blog to be successful, full stop. The success with the SNOWBALL post felt like a step in the wrong direction, like I was back at square one.

But more than that, it hurt too much. Especially since Will and Ihadactually started growing close—as friends, and by text only.

Reese took a giant bite of meatball. She’d dried her tears for the time being and was inspecting me as she chewed. She knew I was thinking about him.

“How are you able to eat anything?” I asked, needing her not to ask. The last thing I wanted was to talk about Will.

I meant the question though—watching her eat made my stomach hurt. Two hours after I’d taken my last bite of dinner, I was still feeling uncomfortably full, having overdone it on pretty much everything. Of course, along with taking photos of everything as we went, I’d also accepted spoonfuls of everything from Mom, something I only did when I was cooking with her, and only because she insisted I wasn’t eating enough.

“Crying takes energy,” Mom said as she cleared away the container of meatballs. She eyed me with one eyebrow raised like I should know what she was talking about.

I did, of course.

Mom had stuffed me with all of hers and Nona’s favorite recipes that year the girls and I had moved home, after Joe. I half suspected she’d quit her job as much so she could cook for us as watch the girls.

A surge of love for her washed through my frustration as she returned to the table and rubbed Reese’s back.

It had been a good afternoon—a great one really, with Dad playing with the kids and me and mom cooking as usual. She’d lit up when Pietro had called from London, and even I’d had fun talking to my annoying big brother. Plus, the food was quite possibly the best spread we’d ever created together.

Even if I had been constantly looking at my phone. And even if it wasn’t just blog notifications I was checking for.

Reese had shown up just before dinner, and though she’d tried to hold it in, the moment I saw her I knew. It was only when I asked for her help with something in another room that she told me the short, blistering affair she’d had with Eli, Will’s friend, had petered out.

Or more like been squashed.

I had asked Will about Eli over text this afternoon once Reese had opened up about what had happened. That’s what we did now—text, like friends.

He’d said he thought Eli was a decent guy. He didn’t know himallthat well though.

We’re divorce buddies,he’d said.

I’d asked him what that meant and he just said, ‘picture another me, only younger.’

I could exactly picture another version of Will, with his handsome face and semi perma-frown. But was Eli a good guy like Will?

Was Will a good guy? Had he really done anything different than Eli?

I stood up and began putting the dishes away.