Page 19 of How to Break My Heart 1

My phone pings with a text.

Maddy

I’m on my way. Do we want tacos? Chinese? Pizza?

I quickly respond.

Me

Why are you even asking? All three please.

Maddy

Roger that

“Goodbye, Houdini. See you soon.” I smile as I stand, then make my way to my car to drive to my actual home.

My home is far from a mansion. It’s the exact opposite. It’s a one-bedroom apartment above the café. Since my whole life revolves around the café, it made sense to rent it. Plus, it allows me to save money. The owner, Mr. Wilburn, charges me low rent in exchange for free coffee and donuts whenever he visits. The man is too generous, always reminding me I’m the granddaughter he never had.

The complex consists of two apartments. Mrs. Sherman lives on the second floor, and she’s lived there forever. She keeps to herself, never complains, and as far as neighbors go, I think I got lucky. My apartment is on the third floor. Besides a living room combined with a kitchen, there’s a bathroom, a laundry alcove, and a decently sized bedroom with a walk-in closet.

There’s a view of the town church from my bedroom, not that I spend much time gazing out the window. When the bells ring, it’s close enough to wake me up from my slumber.

It’s nice, and it’s convenient, and it will do for now.

As promised, Maddy brought all three cuisines over, and now I’m in a food coma.

There’s a bottle of Pinot Grigio teasing me from my kitchencountertop. Actually, it’s two bottles, since there was a sale at the liquor store and I thoughtwhy the hell not. If I twitch my nose, maybe I’ll have some magical power to move objects… or, I can get off the couch.

Beneath the beige faux-fur throw, my warm body refuses to move.

I wrinkle my nose, only to get up anyway and take the two steps over to the kitchen to grab a bottle and two glasses. Maddy brought a Merlot, which I’m so not a fan of.

“I forgot to ask you, what did the priest say?” I question Maddy as she sinks into my sofa with a glass of red wine. My eyes watch her cautiously, since red wine and ivory fabric do not mix.

Maddy is quick to correct me: “Minister.”

“Potato, potahto,” I mumble.

“He brought up my virtue like I thought he would, so I kinda lied.”

“Maddy!” I shriek, hugging the cushion in my arms tighter. “You’re going to hell for lying to a minister.”

Maddy sighs, obviously bothered by something. Earlier today, she was bouncing around like a kid in a candy store, eager to show off her gorgeous ring and tell the world her news. Upon closer inspection, her shoulders are slumped, and her previously styled hair now looks unkempt.

“Look, I have bigger problems to solve.”

I sit up, suddenly worried. “Why, what’s wrong?”

There’s a sadness in her eyes. She shakes her head as if to fight off tears, then blurts out, “It’s just my mother—she called me before I saw the minister. She seems less than thrilled at having to fly back here to be mother of the bride. I get it, the whole wellness retreat or whatever the hell she’s doing, but this is my wedding.”

The first time I met Patricia Beaumont, I was so taken by her poised manner and class. She always wore Chanel and carried herself like the queen of the castle. Not that they live in a castle, but more of an incredibly large mansion overlooking the town.

They have a maid, a gardener, and a cook, if my memory serves correct. At the time, they were the wealthiest family in Cinnamon Springs, and God forbid Mrs. Beaumont ever lifted a finger.

The woman was beautiful, there’s no arguing that. Yet, she barely spoke, always shadowing her husband. Their marriage felt forced, the complete opposite of my own parents, who enjoyed each other’s company.

I have no idea what to say, given that Mrs. Beaumont isn’t exactly maternal.