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DID HE TALK TO YOU TODAY, BY CHANCE?Please say no. Please say no. Please say no.

I CALLED HIM. I HAD A SUSPICION, AND IT WAS CONFIRMED.

He’s been pushing that stupid video, because people are rallying behind it for some reason. I should have thought of that. I know him well enough to have realized that already. I’M SORRY.

In that moment, I’m so sorry that I feel it in my toes. My nose. My eyes. My entire body is just throbbing with misery. What do I bring to the table? Other than being cute in a very girl-next-door-who-is-not-at-all-glamourous way?

Nothing.

I’m a waitress.

My grandfather’s a disaster.

My mom’s even worse.

My foster brother-roommate is a rabid dog.

I honestly can’t think of any reason why Easton even likes me, much less a reason why he should put up with all the trash that has been hailed down on him since we met. I THINK WE SHOULD BREAK UP.

I’M COMING OVER.

NO, DON’T.

He calls.

My finger hovers over the talk button for a second. Then another, but before it can go to voicemail, I swipe to answer. “I’m not trying to be melodramatic.”

“It feels like you are,” Easton says. “Because there’s no way we’re going to break up because your politician grandfather is a megalomaniac. All politicians are like that, and it’s hardly your fault.”

“What did he say to you?”

“He threatened to make things hard for my company if I didn’t dump you,” Easton says.

I want to cry. Not a lovely, sophisticated cry like Octavia earlier. No, I want to wad my fists up and press them against my eyes and cry long, and terrible, and ugly. “That’s why you should dump me,” I manage to say. “Exactly that. It’s too much. I’m like the taco you’re not sure if you want, and then it gives you food poisoning and you really, really regret eating it in the first place.”

Easton laughs.

Helaughs.

“I love tacos. I’ve never once regretted eating a taco. Not ever.”

I find myself laughing too, even though I don’t think any of this is funny. “Easton, you’re not listening to me.”

“Oh, I am listening. You’re not listening tome.”

“You haven’t said anything.”

“I don’t mean right now. I mean to everything I’ve said since we met. The only reason you’d liken yourself to a taco you think I don’t even want is if you weren’tlistening. You are the first and only girl I’veeverreally wanted. You’re kind, funny, brilliant, and unbelievably talented. As I sat in the audience at that jingle thing, I remember thinkingmine, not once, but several times. Every time you spoke, played, or sang.” He grunts. “You’re impressive anywhere you’re put, with anything you do, and in everything you say. Even now, your first inclination when your grandfather tries to take a dump on you is to try and keep me safe from it. But his crap isn’t your fault. It’s his.”

“But it’s really not your fault, and it’ll become yours,” I say. “That’s the problem. I’m not worth the misery.”

“Au contraire,” he says. “You are nothing but joy to me, and if misery tags along, you’re still worth it. Do you know whatIdid today?”

“No.”

“My parents have been sponging off me as long as I’ve been alive. First, they stole from the trust fund my grandparents gave me. Then they borrowed from my college fund—not one they had created in the first place. And then, once I started making money, they took every dime of it they could.”

“Emerson hasn’t been overly impressed with them either,” I confess.

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