Page 116 of Until It Was Real

“Seriously? You walked into a wall to avoid me.”

Paisley glances back and forth between us. “I’m confused. I thought you two were hooking up in the distillery.”

She saw us? She never mentioned a thing. We work together every day. And we’re friends.

A blush covers Jaxon’s face. “It was a mistake.”

“A mistake?” I screech. “I’m a mistake?”

I’ll put up with a lot of shit from a man. As evidenced by my asshole ex who I should have left long before he cheated on me. But saying I’m a mistake? No way. Nuh huh. I have more pride than to be referred to as a mistake.

I spin around and march out of the restaurant. I do not want to breathe the same air as Jaxon right now. He can fall off of a cliff for all I care. Would it be wrong if I pushed him? Probably. Stupid morals.

“Blossom!” Jaxon shouts.

I glance behind me to find him chasing me. Now, he chases me? When we’re in a crowded resort with all of his family watching?

Two can play at his hide and seek game. I scan the hallway I’m running down. There. An open door.

I rush inside and slam the door shut behind me. Jaxon will never find me now.

“Blossom?”

Mother fluffing ducks not in a row. Speaking of exes. I close my eyes and hope I’m hallucinating due to lack of oxygen. I really should work out more.

“Is that you, Blossom?”

Damn. No such luck. I force a smile on my face and spin around.

“Alan. What are you doing here?”

He chuckles. “I was about to ask you the same thing.”

“I live on Smuggler’s Hideaway.” My cheeks are starting to hurt from how hard I’m forcing this fake smile.

“I always wondered where you ended up.”

“Welp. Here I am.” I throw my arms in the air. “What are you doing here?”

I cross my fingers behind my back.Please don’t say you’re moving here. Please don’t say you’re moving here.Talk about a disaster in the making.

Alan grins. “I’m getting married here.”

“Here? As in on the island of Smuggler’s Hideaway?”

He nods. “In this resort.”

Bleeping smugglers drowning in the sea. Thanks for the reminder that things can always get worse.

“Congratulations! Where’s your future wife?” I scan the room, which I now realize is filled with all things bridal – sample bouquets, various champagnes, a plethora of cakes, etc.

“Stacey hasn’t arrived yet.”

At least he’s not marrying the tramp he cheated on me with. I don’t care who he’s marrying. I need to extract myself from this conversation and leave.

“Too bad. I would have loved to meet her.” This is my cue to exit.

“You can meet her. Why don’t you come to the wedding?”

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