Page 54 of I Wish I Would've Warned You

Bullshit.

Your worst enemy doesn’t deserve to know what a broken heart feels like…

19

EMILY

The house I left is not the house I came back to.

Downstairs is now a maze of editors, PR staff, and Aidan’s podcast team. There's a full espresso bar on the marble island and two different assistants sorting through lighting equipment in the living room.

Someone asked me if I could step out of frame when I was walking out of the bathroom.

Apparently, this is a normal thing whenever Aidan is gearing up to release a new book and plan a countrywide book tour.

Not the slightest bit interested in asking questions about it, I toss my luggage into my room and shut the door. Then I slip into Cole’s room and undress before plopping onto his bed.

The sheets still smell like him. Musk, mint, something darker.

I scroll through his texts again, hoping he’ll show up soon like he said.

Cole

Running late. Don’t wait up.

Ugh…

I slip out of his bed and grab my clothes, barely getting my shorts on before I pull the door open—and nearly collide with Taylor in the hallway.

She jumps, blinking. “Why were you coming out of Cole’s room?”

I smooth my shirt like it matters. “Uh… just looking at his art.”

Her brows lift. “You went inside? He never lets anyone in there.”

“Well, he wasn’t there, so I didn’t really ask.” I start to move, but she plants herself in front of me like a puppy who thinks we’re still playing.

She squints at me. “You look different…”

“I just got back from a writer’s retreat,” I say. “Still readjusting.”

“Let’s get coffee and walk to the beach.” She loops her arm through mine and leads me downstairs.

I don’t bother protesting because I don’t want to spend time in an empty room.

After grabbing custom lattes from a staff tray, we take the path behind the garden that cuts through the trees toward the beach. The wind’s lighter than I expected, but the air smells like salt and sunscreen.

“It’s so cool that your mom is about to be a multimillionaire,” Taylor says, voice light as sea foam. “She’ll probably never have to work another day in her life.”

“Um hmmm…” I sip my drink. I’m slowly accepting that she’s an amenity that comes with this house.

“Did you meet any famous writers at the retreat?” she asks. “Take any amazing pictures?”

“No, not really. Everyone pretty much kept to themselves.”

“I meant hot guys, Emily. Brooding, tortured, reading-something-by-the-fireplace guys. Isn’t that, like, a thing?”

“Not exactly.”

---