Chapter 4 Present Day

AINSLEY

I knew the kind of guy Rhett was. I knew serious wasn't his thing. I knew using the word love usually sent him running for the hills. I knew it, and I did it anyway.

But he wasn't that guy with me. He and I were different. I know he loved me. I've loved that man since I was fifteen years old. How could I not? Forget the abs, the tan skin, those pale, sexy blue eyes. Forget the fact that his voice sends shivers down my spine. The first time we kissed, I felt my whole world shatter and fall into place at the same time.

I tried to pretend to be "that" girl. The kind that can kiss a guy just for fun, screw a man and not imagine a life with him. I tried. I failed. The hopeless romantic in me wasn't having it. My heart should've known better—but my heart was no match for Rhett Bennett. When Rhett and I fell apart, I broke up with social media. I have to say, that breakup was a lot easier.

No hashtags, no emojis, no memes to post. Some people use social media as their therapist. I've seen people post play-by-plays of their divorce, or explain every detail of their latest illness or drama.

I probably could've attracted a lot more followers if I chronicled the demise of our relationship. It's the stuff of soap operas. But instead, I broke it off with Facebook, banned Instagram, and boycotted Twitter.

Today, Facebook and I are having one last romp. Relationship status update: Single. That's it. That one little change. I have to start somewhere. Skye's right about that. The one part of being single I have embraced is the diet. The single woman diet consists of basically any breakfast food for dinner, coffee, and alcohol. I've gotten so good at it, I no longer need a grocery cart when I shop. Quick tip, don't get a cart at the grocery store, only buy what you can hold. It's good for the budget and the waistline. Unfortunately, that rule doesn't work so well at clothing stores.

My hands full of cereal, bagels, orange juice, and the champagne Skye introduced me to, my overloaded arms tell me my shopping is done for the evening. I step up to the self-checkout. There's something about sliding my items across the scanner that takes me back to being a kid. I think all little kids dream of one day making that little beep beep sound.

The ding of my phone from my purse doesn't give me the same feeling. When Rhett and I were together, I loved when my phone dinged. It was almost always a sweet message from him or something funny to make me laugh. Now the dings are either work or Brody worried about me and checking in. I'd love a pic of Sadie right about now. I think about her almost as much as I think about Rhett.

I don't want to be this woman. The one who can't let go and move on. The one that others feel sorry for. I know Rhett wouldn't want this for me, either.

Grabbing my grocery sacks in one hand, I muster a smile, remembering Rhett trying to carry all the groceries inside in one trip. He'd have bags lined up his forearm, both hands holding at least eight bags each. Crazy man! It's little things like that. Just when I think I'm moving forward, something tiny like that will pop into my mind, and I'm sucked back in. I make it to my car. Thank God for keyless entry! Getting the handle is hard enough with my arms full, I can't imagine if I had to dig through my purse for my keys.

First world problems all the way.

Tossing my bags in the passenger seat, I glance out the back window to make sure no one is waiting for my parking spot before fetching my phone from my purse. It's the worst when you are waiting for someone to pull out of a parking spot, and they are taking their sweet time. I refuse to be that person, so I make sure no one is there before checking my cell. I hope you don't mind Skye gave me your number.

That's as much as I need to read to know who's texting me—the hot, older doctor from her clinic. My stomach does a somersault. A new man should be a new beginning, but instead, it only makes things feel more final. Suddenly, I wish someone was waiting for my parking spot. Staring down at my phone, I realize Rhett's name is no longer on the home page of my messages app. It's been too long, too many other people have messaged me. He's buried beneath a sea of people far less important than he is to me—even still.

Tossing my phone back in my purse, I start my car and pull away. I didn't actually open the message, so I know that little number one will be taunting me from my message app, daring me to answer. Of course, I could always delete the message. That might put Skye in an awkward situation, but I'm sure she'd understand.