“Have I tried to call? You’re joking, right? I’ve been calling you nonstop for the last three hours,” he huffs. “I even called Christian.”

“What?” I say, but then, not wanting things to escalate, I follow up quickly with “I was just hanging out with Kim.”

“Where?” he immediately demands.

“Here, at the house,” I say and begin to fold my dirty clothes and place them in the hamper; I figure I’ll do a load of laundry before I go to bed.

“Well, next time you really need . . .” He lets out a groan of frustration, and his voice softens as he begins again: “Maybe next time you could just send me a text or something if you’re going to have your phone off.” He releases a big breath, then adds, “You know how I get.”

I appreciate the change in his tone and the fact that he stopped himself from saying whatever it was he had originally planned to say, which I’d rather not find out. Unfortunately, the small buzz I got from the wine has mostly disappeared, and the revelation of Hardin’s plans to go to England rests heavily on my chest.

“How was your day today?” I ask him, hoping that if I give him an opportunity to bring the wedding up, he will.

He sighs. “It was . . . well, long.”

“Mine, too.” I don’t know what to say to him without coming out and asking point-blank. “Zed texted me today.”

“Did he?” Hardin’s voice is calm, but I can detect a note of harshness that would usually intimidate me.

“Yeah, this afternoon. He says he’s coming to Seattle on Thursday.”

“And what did you say back to him?”

“Nothing yet.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Hardin asks.

“Because, I want us to be open with one another. No more secrets, no more hiding things.” I emphasize the last part of the sentence, hoping it will elicit the truth from him.

“Well . . . thanks for telling me. I appreciate it,” he says. And then says nothing more.

Seriously?

“Yeah, so . . . is there anything you want to tell me?” I ask, still clinging to the dwindling hope that he’ll reciprocate my honesty.

“Um, I talked to my dad today.”

“Really? About what?” Thank goodness, I knew he would come around.

“Transferring to the Seattle campus.”

“Really!” The word comes out sounding more like a squeal than I intended, and Hardin’s deep laugh resonates through the line.

“Yeah, but he says it will postpone my graduation, so it wouldn’t make sense to move, this late in the semester.”

“Oh.” I feel myself pouting. I hesitate a moment before asking, “But after graduation?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Yeah sure? That’s it? That easy?” The smile that overcomes me crowds out everything else. I wish he were here; I’d grab him by his T-shirt and kiss him, hard.

Then he says, “I mean, why stall the inevitable?”

My smile fades. “You’re speaking like moving to Seattle is a jail sentence.”

He stays quiet.

“Hardin?”

“I don’t think of it like that. I’m just annoyed by the whole thing—all this time has been wasted, and it frustrates me.”

“I get that,” I say. His words aren’t elegant, but they mean he’s missing me. My head is still spinning from his agreeing to finally move to Seattle to be with me. We’ve been battling over this issue for months, and he’s suddenly given in without so much as a final fight. “So, Seattle it is, then? Are you sure?” I have to ask again.

“Yeah. I’m ready to start fresh somewhere, may as well be Seattle.”

I hug my arms around my body in excitement. “No England, then?” I give him one last chance to bring up the wedding.

“Nope. No England.”

I’ve already won the Great Battle of Seattle, so when the niggling irritation about the wedding flares up again, I don’t push my guy any further tonight. Whatever’s going on with that, I’m going to get what I want: Hardin in Seattle, with me.

chapter

one hundred and twelve

TESSA

When my alarm sounds the next morning, I’m exhausted. I barely slept at all. I spent hours tossing and turning, always on the brink of sleep but never achieving it.

I don’t know if it was the excitement over Hardin agreeing to move to Seattle, or if it was the looming discussion we’re bound to have about England, but either way, I got no sleep, and now I look like hell. Dark shadows aren’t as easy to hide with concealer as the cosmetics companies would have you believe, and my unruly hair looks as if I stuck my finger into a light socket. Apparently the joy I felt about him moving here couldn’t completely eliminate the underlying anxiety about his lying by omission.

I take Kimberly up on her offer to ride to work together this morning, buying myself a few extra minutes to apply another coat of mascara while she recklessly whips in and out of lanes on the freeway. She reminds me of Hardin, cursing at nearly every car and honking more often than any reasonable person needs to do.

Hardin hasn’t mentioned whether or not he’s still planning on coming to Seattle today. When I asked him just before we got off the phone last night, he told me he’d let me know in the morning. It’s close to nine now, and I haven’t heard from him. I can’t shake the feeling that something is happening within him, something that if not handled properly will cause us more turmoil. I know Steph got to him; I can tell by the way he’s doubting everything I say. He’s keeping things from me again, and I’m terrified of the problems this could lead to.

“Maybe you should go back this weekend instead of having him coming to you,” Kimberly suggests between cursing out a semi and a MINI.

“It’s that obvious?” I ask, lifting my cheek from the cold window.

“Yes, very obvious.”

“Sorry, I’m being such a downer.” I sigh.

Going back this weekend isn’t a bad idea. I miss Landon terribly, and it would be nice to see my father again.

“You are.” She grins at me. “But that’s nothing a little coffee and some red lipstick won’t fix.”

When I nod my agreement, she quickly exits the highway, makes a U-turn in the middle of a busy intersection, and says, “I know a great little coffee shop nearby.”

BY LUNCHTIME, my morning blues have disappeared, although I still haven’t heard from Hardin. I texted him twice but ultimately stopped myself from calling him. Trevor is waiting for me at an empty table in the break room, two plates of pasta in front of him.

“They sent double my order, so I figured I’d save you from a microwave meal for at least one day.” He smiles, sliding a packet of plastic eating utensils across the table.

The pasta tastes as savory as it smells. The delicious Alfredo sauce reminds me that I skipped breakfast this morning, and I flush when a small moan falls from my mouth as I take my first bite.

“Good, huh?” Trevor beams, wiping his thumb across the corner of his mouth to capture a drop of the creamy sauce. He brings his thumb to his mouth, and I can’t help but think how odd the causal gesture looks on a man who’s wearing a suit.

“Mmm . . .” I can barely answer, because I’m too busy shoving noodles in my face.

“I’m glad . . .” Trevor’s deep blue eyes dart away from mine, and he shifts in his seat.

“Is everything all right?” I ask him.

“Yeah . . . I . . . well . . . I wanted to talk to you about something.”

And like that, I begin to ask myself if the double meal wasn’t in fact purposely ordered.

“Okay . . .” I respond, hoping this isn’t going to be too awkward.

“It may be a little awkward.”

Great. “Go on,” I say with an encouraging smile.

“Okay . . . here goes.” He pauses and runs his fingertip over a silver cuff link. “Carine has asked me to attend Krystal’s wedding with her.”