Page 34 of The First Love Myth

He grins. “Come on. I don’t know what stupid thing Andrew did this time, but I do know that you will survive it.”

I hate my life. My cheeks burn, and my voice is stuck in my throat. He knows. And why wouldn’t he? It’s only my darkest secret.

“I have eyes, Zee,” he says to my stunned silence. “Now, let’s go.”

I nod, my voice still hiding somewhere in my rib cage. Had it beenthatobvious?

The question still hangs heavy by the end of the day, but I must admit I feel better. Max paired me with the rising junior-varsity potentials—fourteen-year-olds. There’s a lot of drama with them but so much talent. This camp is the best thing you can do if you want to be called up to varsity sooner rather than later, and these kids want it. Our training is invaluable and targeted, and with a limited number of runners each session, these kids get a personalized approach to their program. I, of all the staff here, understand the importance of this summer session. It’s what shaped me, molding me into the record-setting runner I became for Ardena. It started here. Like so many other things.

I stop on the thirty-yard line. It’s a football field. Nine years from now when we all pose for our ten-year high school reunion photo, will I even remember this is where Andrew and I shared our first kiss? Probably. Will it still hurt? Not in this way. Maybe not at all. Claire and Andrew and this awful summer will be far behind me. It will be a memory of that pain, of the loss of something you don’t realize you have until it’s gone—the innocence of first love. You have to survive your first love. I step off the line and walk toward the parking lot. And I will.

Chapter 30

Liz

There’s a line for speed dating. A line of divorcees, young and old, extending out the door. Walk-ins are frowned upon, which means that all these people had the same idea I did, that arriving five minutes before the start of the event was a good idea. I figured there was less of a chance that I would back out if I didn’t have time to think about it. I’d get in, and the event would start. No time for chickening out. That was the plan. I didn’t account for the line. And apparently, neither did the man behind me, who keeps shuffling from foot to foot and muttering under his breath. Maybe I should’ve taken the organizer’s advice and gone to dinner here beforehand.

The line inches forward until I’m finally standing at the check-in table.

“Name, dear?” the woman asks. She’s older than I am—maybe my mom’s age—with sun-kissed skin, deep-brown eyes, and hair an unnatural shade of blond.

“Liz Madden.”

Her acrylic-tipped finger scans the list in front of her. “Ah, yes, here you are. A newbie. I’m Kara. I run this shindig and the support group.”

I saw the host organization’s name—Divorc-ease—on the event registration page but didn’t think much about it or what it might be. It’s hard to imagine sitting in a meeting with someoneI didn’t pick at speed dating, but there must be rules to make sure things don’t get awkward.

“You should come to the next meeting.” Kara holds up a diamond-bedazzled hand. “Might meet your future husband.”

I try not to laugh at the fact that the support group is run by an engaged woman. Wow. “Maybe.” I take my name tag from her. I step to the side, and Kara’s attention is already on the next victim.

As it turns out, speed dating is slow going. Three guys in, and five minutes is now an eternity. Guy 1 was shy with bad teeth. I prattled on about living in Princeton to fill the silence, but it was still forever. Guy 2 was hot, and he knew it. He worked in finance and had plenty to say about himself. His suit probably cost more than my couch. I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised to find out he gets manicures. This latest guy isn’t too bad. Shaggy brown hair, hipster glasses, nice jeans, and a polo with the Princeton logo. He’s a professor, which is intriguing until he says, “of history.” Now I feel like I’m speed dating a younger version of my dad. The timer dings, and Guy 3 slinks off to the next woman. Thank god. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea. I flip to a clean sheet of paper and write a big number four on top.

The setup tonight is good. Each table is separated by a curtain to prevent previewing the next date. The men move, which is a nice touch. There’s something liberating about having my pick of men, even if they do have to choose me back. There’s another ding, and I hear the shuffle of feet that signals my next date has arrived. I look up from the spiderweb I’m drawing in the corner of my paper—maybe I will ensnare this one in my web—and smile at the man standing in front of me.

Holy shit.

I blink, my smile faltering. The man blinks back at me, recognition dawning on his face.

“How are you enjoying your book?” Hot Bookstore Dad sits down and places his forearms on the table, his hands tented. His eyes don’t quite meet mine.

He’s nervous, I realize. “Almost done. I was about halfway in, but I left my copy...”

He raises an eyebrow. “Someplace you weren’t willing to go back?”

“You make it sound scandalous,” I say with a laugh.

“A man can hope.” He extends his right hand. “Spencer Williamette.” He pronounces it like the river in the Pacific Northwest.

I take his hand. “Liz Madden.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you again, Liz.” His green eyes light with intrigue. At the bookshop, I was wearing my wedding ring, and he had his son. But tonight, a sexy confidence comes off him in waves. I cross my legs underneath the table as his eyes dance with mine. This isn’t friendly neighborhood dad Spencer. This is a man seeing something he likes. Something that is now seemingly available to him.

I match his flirty gaze with one of my own. Game on.

The rest of speed dating is a blur. It’s possible there were a few promising dates in the back half, but my mind is already checked out and focused on the plans I made with Spencer. As soon as the lady collecting our match sheets grabs mine, I sneak out. The streets are full of life. I love the Princeton downtown, equally quaint and collegiate. I glance down at my phone before turning the corner. Zoey is spending the night in Ardena with Becca. That’s her story at least, but I’m choosing to believe her. There’s been no covert texting or sketchy alibis since Wildwood. And if Zoey is with Andrew, she’s an adult, as Cecilia pointed out. Andrew is Zoey’s mistake to make.

Spencer Williamette stands outside the restaurant. He doesn’t fidget or shuffle. He isn’t even looking at his phone. I take him in, the same and yet different from the man I met at the bookshop. Then he was friendly in the way that you are when someone you find attractive mistakes you for a bookseller. He respected my wedding ring. Tonight, standing in a fitted button-down, slim straight-leg jeans, and black leather shoes, he looks like my own perfect mistake. One I want to make, maybe more than once.

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