She leaned in close, eyes narrowing on me. “Wait a New York minute… is that a sad puppy face I see? Do I sense trouble in paradise? Sugar-pie, what’s the matter?”
“Nothing good. Everything bad. Heart hurt.”
Bea gasped. “Good lord, have you just lost the ability to use the English language in your usual snarky, sparkly way? What on earth has happened to you? Did that bronzed Aussie demigod hurt you? Did he make you eat Vegemite on toast? Did he throw a boomerang for you to catch and accidentally hit you in the face? Did his didgeridoo leave stretch marks?”
“No, nothing like that.” I exhaled like a lovelorn damsel in a Scottish highland romance. “He got a phone call from one of the editors he works with. They want him on assignment in Patagonia.”
“Patagonia? Isn’t that something you fix with a course of penicillin and a little hemorrhoid cream?”
“No, it’s a place. On the other side of the world. Apparently he’ll be there for three months, maybe four.”
Bea pursed her lips and laid a hand on my forearm. “Oh honey, I know you’re hurting. But you have to remember, Mulligan’s Mill was never the destination for a man like that. It was a stopover. A scenic detour on the way to his next glossy feature.”
Although her tone was soft, the truth hit hard. “A stopover? Is that all I am?”
“Now, now. Don’t go looking at me like I just kicked a squirrel. I’m not saying he doesn’t care for you—he does, sugarplum, anyone with a functioning eyeball can see that. But sometimes it’s hard to keep man like that from moving on. Like my Grammy always said—just because a rolling stone gathers no moss, don’t mean it ain’t too slippery to hold.”
I rubbed the bridge of my nose. “So, you’re saying I should just let him go? You’re saying I was always just something… temporary? Just a cozy little motel on the highway of his life. Lovely curtains, hot shower, please leave the key in the box when you check out.”
Bea flicked me on the forehead with a sharp little nail. “Oh, stop. You’re not some roadside motel, you’re the Taj Mahal… just without the royal corpses buried beneath the tiles. But men like Cody? They’re the kind who pass through, scribble a postcard about the experience, and catch the next flight. And you can’t change that.”
The peppermint tea cooled uselessly in my hand. “So what am I supposed to do exactly? Just smile and dab my tears as I wave him goodbye, like some wartime bride at a train station watching her true love disappear in a veil of steam?”
“Dramatic… but yes,” Bea said simply. “Smile. Wave. Set him free. Because if he loves you—and I think he does more than he even knows yet—he’ll circle back. Not because you begged. Not because you tried to cage him. But because he wants to.”
I swallowed. My bow tie suddenly felt like it was strangling me. “And if he doesn’t?”
“Then you grieve like a diva who got voted off Broadway too soon. Loudly, with fabulous eyeliner, and an encore no one forgets. Then you rebuild, because you, my cherub, are stronger than you think. You’re not fragile. You’re a diamond. Forged from pressure, impossible to break, and dazzling when the light hits you just right.”
I drew a breath and shuddered. “So there’s nothing I can do?”
“Oh, there’s plenty you can do, but trust me, it’ll all end in humiliation and heartbreak. I’m saying there’s nothing youshoulddo, other than let him choose his own path.” She pushed herself off the counter and tucked her pineapple handbag under one arm. “Be gallant. Be gracious. And for fuck’s sake, don’t go doing anything theatrical to prove yourself. That’s my department.”
She kissed the air by my cheek and swanned out, sequins catching the morning sun. “Remember, darling—if you love them, set them free. If they love you, they’ll come back.”
The bell jingled behind her, leaving the shop quiet again.
Leaving her words hanging in the air.
Set him free.
Easy to say when you weren’t the one left behind with nothing but peppermint tea and the echo of Patagonia still ringing in your ears.
But as I stood there, staring out through the window of the Book Nook, the phrase began twisting in my head, reshaping itself into something else entirely.
If I was strong, shouldn’t I act courageously?
If I was a diamond, shouldn’t I shine?
If I wanted him to stay—stay withme—I had to prove I wasn’t just a stopover.
Not fragile.
Not temporary.
Someone he’d never want to leave.
My stomach clenched. My heart pounded in my chest. And an idea began to form, stubborn and undeniable.
