Page 18 of More Than an Ex-Girlfriend

“Perfect. Don’t you think?”

“Oh! Much better. When I get sick of my arrangement, I’ll have you over to move my stuff around.”

“Now you’re just making fun of me.”

I retreat back to my safe spot. “I wasn’t trying to make fun. I was trying to—you know—start over.”

Hope explodes in her dark eyes.

And I rush to correct the misunderstanding. “Just as neighbors.”

CHAPTER7

LETTIE

Sleeping isn’t easy with Archer on the other side of the wall. Most days I have to be out of bed at three in the morning to be at work by four, which means I’ll be running on fumes tomorrow. But eventually I’ll figure out how to sleep knowing Archer is on the other side of the wall. My body will shut down and force me to crash.

Since I spent last night baking cookies instead of sleeping, I’m exhausted. But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m staring at the ceiling. I’d get up and bake like I did last night, but Archer would hear me. Probably. The walls are insulated, but I hear him sometimes. And in the silence of the night, he’d definitely hear an oven timer.

So I pick up my phone and type out a note to my Reddit pen pal. It’s dangerous to send messages when I’m sleep deprived, but I spew out a message anyway.

Regretful-Raccoon: When I posted about something I regret, I was talking about breaking up with my boyfriend. It probably wasn’t hard to figure that out. But anyway, I saw my ex. It was unexpected and didn’t go well. And I’m writing to ask you a question. Reading between the lines of some of your messages, I gather that someone broke your heart. So I want to know, is there any scenario where you’d forgive her and consider giving the relationship another chance? I convinced myself that when I saw my ex I’d realize that my heart had moved on. But nope. Seeing him again made my heart flutter like the first time he kissed me. And he’s changed. For the better. The lanky guy I loved in high school has filled out and become a man. An incredibly hot man. Sorry that’s probably TMI. And I’m not even sure why I’m telling you that part. I’ll probably delete this whole thing right after I send it. Which is dumb, but whatever. I can’t even sleep because I just keep thinking about him. Anyway, if you see this, let me know if you’d give your ex a chance. Or maybe tell me only if the answer is yes. I just want a sliver of hope that maybe we can get back together. By we, I mean my ex and I, but you probably gathered that. Now I’m just rambling. Bye.

I hit send and read the message again. Crocheting-Cowboy won’t see this message until morning, and while he hasn’t talked about his breakup, I can tell it hurt him. But maybe I don’t want to hear his response. And if he doesn’t message me back after that text vomit, I’ll assume he won’t give her another chance, and that will just make me sad.

The bed creaks on the other side of the wall, and I freeze. Is Archer awake? Or was he just rolling over? Footsteps confirm that he wasn’t just moving around in bed. He’s up.

I stay as still as possible, listening. Any movement risks making noise, so I stare at the message, waiting to delete it until he’s back to sleep.

But I’m not sure how I’ll know when he’s back to sleep. Unless he snores loudly.

After a few minutes and another spurt of bed creaks, everything quiets. And I finally delete the message I should never have sent in the first place. Crocheting-Cowboy will see that a message was deleted, but I’ll worry about that if he brings it up.

Right now, I should just be happy that Archer and I are on friendly—excuse me, neighborly—terms. That’s more than I expected. But he made it clear with his just-as-neighbors bit that there is no chance of anything more. That isn’t a surprise. Because not only did I hurt him, but I also ballooned. I’m not the twig he dated in high school.

He’s gotten better looking, and I’ve gotten fat.

* * *

Turnsout my body can’t make it two nights without sleep. My three-a.m. alarm wakes me, and I lunge for my phone. I don’t want to wake Archer at this ungodly hour. After turning off the alarm, I slide out of bed and tiptoe through the house. Being extra quiet, I rush through my morning routine, then head to work.

There is something therapeutic about being alone in the kitchen making donuts before sunrise. Country music plays from my portable speaker, and my mind wanders while my hands are busy.

I knew from the beginning that moving here was a risk. But I had nothing to lose. When my dear mother threw me out, I decided to leave my hometown for good. Life after my dad died was only tolerable because of Archer. So the years after he left town were miserable.

For the longest time, I made excuses for my mom. She was never the same after Dad’s death, and I let her use grief as an excuse for many inexcusable things. But that ended when Archer’s grandmother died and I saw him at the funeral. The man I loved wouldn’t even look at me.

That’s when I realized that I’d sacrificed for people who didn’t even care about me, let alone love me. I scrimped and saved, forming a plan for setting out on my own, which was derailed thanks to my mom throwing me out. But I made things work.

Meeting Layla helped. Rooming with her connected me to Tessa and this new job, which has been a godsend, and not just because of the money.

For the first time in years, I feel connected to people. Accepted.

I haven’t felt that since Archer.

Layla hurries in before opening and grins. “I want all the details. Have y’all talked? Kissed and made up?” She flexes her arm, showing off toned muscles. “If he’s being mean, I’ll have a conversation with him. ’Cause I’ve been working out with Nico.”

“You’ve been working out with Nico since forever. And no matter what you say, I’m convinced it started because you wanted to see him without a shirt on.”

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