Page 4 of My Star-Crossed Summer

“You don’t give yourself enough credit. Kids would love you. Your skill set extends way beyond real estate and marketing.”

“Please. I don’t know the first thing about teaching kids. Mom’s dead right on that one—I’ve got zero maternal genes.”

She sips from the flask and frowns. “You need to stop letting other people define you, babe. Screw that noise.”

“Scotch makes you sassy,” I quip. But she’s not wrong. The problem is, now that I’ve let go of everyone else’s expectations of me, I don’t recognize myself. I’m not sure what I want.

“Sometimes getting out of your comfort zone is the best way to shake something loose. No one ever grew from being comfortable. Ask me how I know.” A chime splits the air, and she digs through the pocket of her dress to pull out her phone.

“It’s not fair,” I say. “You got all the curves and all the brains.”

“One hundred percent false, and you know it.”

“You’re a good sister, Gwennie.”

“Giddy up,” she says, pulling me to my feet. “Logan’s here to break us out for real. He’s parked across the street.”

“He really leans into the knight in shining armor thing,” I tease.

The tiniest blush touches her cheeks. “He likes to be protective,” she says. “Even though he knows I don’t need rescue.” She smirks, but I know she loves having a partner who makes her a priority.

I hope one day I’ll have that, too.

But right now, it’s time to make myself a priority. It’s time to find my happy.

I just need to know where to look.

Chapter Two

VICTORIA

Back at home, I change into my pajamas, pour myself a glass of wine, and collapse onto the couch. The lights are still on in Gwen’s house next door, so I can see her moving around the kitchen with Logan. I love living next to my sister, but sometimes it feels like staring at the sun. She’s got this great life doing what she loves, and now she’s got Logan, who encourages her to shine even brighter. She’s always been super talented at baking, immensely creative, and a whip-smart entrepreneur—even though she never would have described herself that way. Our mother was really good at making her doubt herself.

Once she met Logan, though, it was like she finally started to see herself the way the rest of her friends already did—like a total dynamo who can build whatever life she wants for herself. I’m so proud of her, and also friend-jealous. More than anything, I want to feel the contentment that she feels now. I want to go to bed each night happy with the knowledge that I’m doing something that makes the world a little brighter.

Gwen’s words echo in the stillness:No one ever grew from being comfortable.

I need to be braver. Think bigger. Take a leap.

Pulling my phone from my pocket, I text Roxy. It’s after eleven, but I’m feeling bold. And maybe desperate. Sometimes, the two overlap.

Hey,I write.That job you told me about at the camp. Is it still available?

Her notifications are turned off—probably because she’s spending her Saturday night doing something fun and not falling out of trees with her skirt above her head. I should have taken the job when she offered, but it seemed like a bad fit. Me, in the wilderness. With kids. It sounded like one more thing I’d fail at. One more way to be humiliated.

Ever since Theo, I feel like I can’t trust my gut anymore. I came so close to marrying a guy who undermined me, belittled me, and made me feel small because my parents had made me think that was normal behavior. I chased perfection because being wrong was bad, but being perfect meant being loved. So I spent years working endless hours in a job I didn’t like because it felt like one I should be grateful to have. I’d fooled myself into thinking that I’d needed those things—worse, that I wanted them.

But I was wrong. What I wanted was for my mom to tell me I was good enough. That I could stop trying so hard and just enjoy my life. And now, after so many years of living the life someone else told me to live, I don’t know who I am.

This job with Roxy still feels like a long shot, but when I think of how far Gwen’s come in the last year, I can’t help but think that maybe a long shot is exactly what I need to move forward.

I just hope it’s not too late.

When my phonerings for the sixth time, I grind my teeth so hard it’s a miracle I don’t crack a molar. My mother has already left me five voicemails, demanding to know why I left her partylast night without saying goodbye—and without meeting Dan Sterling, another person she thought could somehow salvage my career.

Ugh.

Five voicemails, and it’s not even ten in the morning.

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