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CHAPTER1

Dani

Friday nights don’t have the same excitement or relief they did in college. Which, for me, was less than a month ago. I could end the week knowing life would be okay even if I didn’t do so well on my calculus test. I’d go out with the girls and my ex-boyfriend, Clay, and enjoy every minute of whatever we did, because I knew I had time before I “officially grew up.”

Adult things make me want to find the customer service line and cancel my subscription. Can’t there be an “I didn’t learn all I needed to in my teenager-hood” lane that will allow me to go back and relearn all the things I forgot? A few more months, even a year or two should do it.

I wait outside The Riptide, a fun little restaurant in downtown Boston I’ve always wanted to try. And my date is already ten minutes late.

That’s another thing about college. For all except six months of my undergraduate degree, I had a boyfriend.

Clay and I started dating in high school. I’d been duped into thinking the end of college would mean he’d be down on one knee holding out an engagement ring of any size or shape, and that we’d ride off into the sunset with a happily ever after. We came back after Christmas break of our senior year, and he gave me the sob story.

“It’s me, not you.”

Which I believed until I saw him walking down the road in front of my apartment building, holding hands with my mortal enemy. If you buy the newest edition of the dictionary, you might see my photo under the term ‘heartbroken.’

I never had to think about meeting guys back then because I already found him. And now I was constantly in the up and down sea of trying to connect with someone who likes me back. I’ve gone on twelve first dates since then, but my date tonight counts as number three with the same guy. Progress is progress, right?

Okay, so Cameron is my first attempt at a relationship since the breakup. And attempt is the real descriptive word because there is no talking long-term with the guy. If I ask him what he’s doing tomorrow, we’ll end up in a conversation about how he broke his arm in elementary school and it’s left him with some emotional trauma.

The man can dodge a question like my younger sister, Harper. Anytime our mom asks her something, she launches into a crazy long discussion that pacifies her audience and makes us forget the original query.

To be honest, I don’t see a future with the guy. Now I’m wondering why I’ve been standing here so long, allowing the irritation to fester. Maybe it’s the fact that he doesn’t respect me or my time.

Adulting and planning a future. It’s like a bad drink.

Cameron and I met on a cruise a couple weeks ago when my brother, Landon invited me. That was back when he was still sad and single.

I shake my head. I’ve missed my chance to play that as a nickname of sorts. Landon married one of the most amazing people on the planet, his long-time girlfriend and former fiancé (twice), Rachelle. And I’m pretty sure they are #couplegoals now that they’ve bridged a few hurdles.

I glance toward the street, watching as an older couple gets into a cab. The man holds the woman’s purse over one arm and her hand with his other, helping her slide in through the door.

My chest squeezes and the familiar ache swoops in.

Is it too much to ask for a future with that? The caring, sweetness of it all.

Trying to date now is like repeatedly banging my head against the wall and hoping for a different result.

Back to Cameron. Is it sad that I’m bored just thinking about him? It might be time to start letting things just be after tonight. If he ever gets here.

Yep, that’s what I’m doing. I’ll just delete his number from my phone.

I’m a confident, smart woman in Boston, working to get over the betrayal of my ex-boyfriend. I think that’s a good start at an affirmation. It could use some work, but that will have to come later.

“Danielle,” a voice says from behind me. I turn to see Amber Dettling, the woman who’d stolen my ex-boyfriend all those months before. A loud groan rumbles through me and I’m wishing I’d either gone inside sooner or had left altogether.

“Amber,” I say through clenched teeth.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again after graduation. Ever.” She walks closer and gives me a good up and down glare.

Amber and I had been assigned a research assignment in one of our courses last fall. She’d done nothing for it and struggled through our presentation after promising to pay for my books the next semester if I’d give her my notes. Which I didn’t do. Cue the animosity there. She received a zero and I got an A.

Triumph at everything working out how I wanted was quickly replaced with tears and frustration as I’d had to watch her and Clay make out every time I was near.

“You know what, Amber? I was kind of hoping the same thing.” I glance down the sidewalk in search of Cameron.

Apparently, I have a type and it’s names that start with C.