Page 150 of The Winslow Brothers

And when the pacing is only causing me to freak out more, I stop and pull my phone out of my pocket and look at the last few text exchanges between my sister and me.

Winnie: It’s go time, bro. She’s going to be at her apartment soon.

Me: Are you sure, Win? It’s Saturday night. She usually has wedding events on the weekends.

Winnie: I’m positive. Get your ass in gear and head to her apartment, stat.

That was the last message she sent me, but it’s been nearly two hours and I’m too impatient to just stand here clueless and waiting.

Me: We all set, Win? What’s her ETA? Give me an update, for fuck’s sake.

But a full minute goes by and no response.

And then another full minute goes by. Still, no text back.

When the count moves to four minutes and only radio silence, I begin to demon-dial Winnie. Over and overand overagain, I call her, get voice mail, hang up, and call again.

“Oh my God!” she snaps into my ear once she finally answers. “Relax. I swear to you that everything is all set.”

“You know,” I retort back and run a hand through my hair. “You could’ve just texted me back and told me that.”

“I’ll haveyouknow, Mr. Attitude, that I was on the phone with a certain someone by the name of Julie.”

Sophie’s assistant.

“For real? What’d she say? How is Sophie? Did she say anything about me?”

I am officially a man in love, and apparently that means I act like a fool. But honestly, after spending the last week trying to get in touch with Sophie—more texts and calls than I’m certain I’ve ever sent anyone in my life—I don’t care about anything besides seeing her.

“Shit,” Winnie mutters. “Hold on just a sec, Jude.”

Hold on? Fucking hold on?!

“Oh my God,” I breathe out in frustration and resume the pacing again.

When I was a teenager, I can remember my mom wearing the life out of two DVDs. Repeatedly, she watched those damn movies. They were her go-to when nothing else was on.

One was a movie calledTwister. It was a love story wrapped up in a dramatic tornado, storm-chasers plot. The visual effects made it seem like they filmed it with a potato, and the acting, in my opinion, wasn’t all that great either.

The other movie was the famousWhen Harry Met Sally.

And truthfully, I always thought the one monologue Harry delivers when he’s trying to make Sally realize that he loves her was gag-worthy. I’d cringe if I heard those clichéd lines coming from our living room television, and trust me, I heard them a lot with Wendy Winslow’s frequent viewership.

I thought Harry was a fucking sap. Pathetic, even. But right now, standing outside Sophie’s apartment, I realize that IamHarry. I’m Harry, and I’m desperate to make the woman I love, the woman I know I screwed things up with, understand that I need her.

And the urgency to do all that is pressing around my neck like a vise.

“Okay, I’m back.” Winnie’s voice is in my ear again.

“What the hell, Win?” I question and stop pacing so I can give my full focus to the conversation.

“I’m sorry, okay!” she apologizes, but it’s more sass than apology. “Julie was calling me on the other line again.”

“Oh, well, you should’ve fucking said that. What’d she say? Did she tell you if Sophie has said anything about me?”

“Jude,” Winnie responds on a snort. “We’ve been through this. I am not calling Julie to get the girl gossip. She thinks I’m a flipping bride trying to find an event planner, even though I’m just carefully trying to figure out what Sophie is up to so my brother can give her the big romantic gesture that will make her realize he may be an idiot, but he’s an idiot who loves her.”

“Yeah, I keep forgetting about that.”

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