Page 57 of The Serendipity

Mel and I are old friends in the sense of old news. As in, our friendship is totally a thing of the past.

And I’m glad because if it hadn’t been, it would be now.

I’m not one of those women who feels like they can keep some kind of claim on an ex. I feel no ownership over Trey. Not after four years.

I wish him happiness. Long life. Love, I guess.

But love with a woman who had been one of my closest friends foryears—a woman who met Trey throughmewhen we were dating?

She places her hand over Trey’s on the cart handle, like they’re about to walk through the store, pushing it together as a show of couple unity. It makes me want to barf.

It just feels so intentionally dramatic. Like, let’s not just stab you in the back, but do it with ten pitchforks, a couple of swords, and then run you over with a steamroller for good measure. Especially considering the way Mel disappeared at a particularly critical time for me—just after I said no to Trey’s proposal and he left for France.

Only now I’m wondering ifthisis the reason why my friendship with Mel ended. Did she ghost me because she was angling to be my replacement with Trey?

Not cool, Mel. Or Trey. Not cooleitherof you.

Archer moves slightly, leaning in so his arm rests against mine. It’s an oddly comforting gesture coming from him. I glance up, and his gray-blue eyes lock on mine.

“Sorry to cut this reunion short,” Archer says, not looking sorry and not looking at them at all, “but we need to get going.”

Does he realize how … couple-y that sounds?

“We should have dinner!” Meldefinitelygot the couple vibe, and her features brighten as I drag my gaze away from Archer. “Just the four of us!”

Trey looks like she’s just suggested he go skinny-dipping in a piranha tank. I’m sure my face expresses similar horror.

“Mel,” Trey says, a note of pleading in his tone. Like maybe they’ve talked about this before, and he’s already told her it’s a bad idea.

I’m trying to find a vague way of saying no, not even if this were the zombie apocalypse and they were the only ones with a fortified shelter and a stockpile of food, when Archer says, “We’re busy.”

With two words—two and a half, if we’re being technical about the contraction—Archer just declined the terrible offer while doubling down on the couple thing.

The idea has my cheeks going hot. Also, now I feel terrible for not helping him with something so simple as a mailbox combination when he’s stepping in to save me from a dreadful ex encounter.

“Oh. Okay. That’s fine.” Mel’s face falls, but I can’t bring myself to feel bad for her.

I distinctly remember texting Mel in the dark days after Trey left for Paris. She sent back things like crying face emojis. Then stopped responding at all.

Yeah … that ship has sailed. Sorry not sorry, Mel. Shrugging emoji.

Trey offers up a tight-lipped smile and starts to steer the cart away with a half-hearted goodbye.

If I were a stronger, mouthier woman who spoke comebacks out loud instead of replaying the moment with the perfect reaction hours later, I’d call after Trey and tell him to pick a different store because this one ismine.

But I just lift a hand and give a limp wave of relief to see them go.

Archer shows zero interest in goodbyes or pleasantries of any kind, and I respect that. His attention is still focused solely on me, and I wonder briefly what it would be like to have this kind of intensity directed my way in a different context.

I shiver. Archer frowns.

Then he shocks me for a second time by taking off his suit jacket and draping it over my shoulders.

“You’re cold,” he says.

I’m really not, but I am instantly warmer as I push my arms through the too-big sleeves.

“Thank you.”

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