Author/Uploaded by Annette Christie
Table of Contents Cover Title Page Copyright Dedication Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Ch...
Table of Contents Cover Title Page Copyright Dedication Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two Chapter Twenty-Three Chapter Twenty-Four Chapter Twenty-Five Chapter Twenty-Six Chapter Twenty-Seven Chapter Twenty-Eight Chapter Twenty-Nine Chapter Thirty Chapter Thirty-One Chapter Thirty-Two Chapter Thirty-Three Chapter Thirty-Four Discover More Acknowledgments About the Author Also by Annette Christie Navigation Table of Contents The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. Copyright © 2023 by Annette Christie Cover design by Kirin Diemont Cover art by Gatty Images Cover © 2023 Hachette Book Group, Inc. Hachette Book Group supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights. Little, Brown and Company Hachette Book Group 1290 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10104littlebrown.comfacebook.com/LittleBrownandCompanytwitter.com/LittleBrown First ebook edition: February 2023 Little, Brown and Company is a division of Hachette Book Group, Inc. The Little, Brown name and logo are trademarks of Hachette Book Group, Inc. The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher. The Hachette Speakers Bureau provides a wide range of authors for speaking events. To find out more, go to hachettespeakersbureau.com or call (866) 376-6591. ISBN 9780316451239 E3-202212121-NF-DA-ORI For my mom, who has always given me a safe place to land And for my dad, who reminds me that “good things happen too” Explore book giveaways, sneak peeks, deals, and more. Tap here to learn more. Chapter One There is a perverse pleasure in being able to pinpoint exactly where you’ve gone wrong in life. To take a failed moment and place it on your memory’s mantel, to be examined only in your darkest hours: On Sunday afternoons when the rain is coming down and you can’t stop listening to Sinatra sing “In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning” or in the middle of the night when insomnia is your only friend and, frankly, he’s a bit of a dick. Or, perhaps, when you are on the verge of making another grave mistake and you aren’t sure you can stop yourself. At least, that was Layla Rockford’s experience. And right now, her apartment was one big reminder of everything she’d lost. Of him. She dreaded being there as potently as she craved its hidey-hole comforts. And yet that was where she was headed, if she ever made it off this stretch of crowded Seattle sidewalk, because these days, when work was over, there weren’t a lot of other options. She couldn’t bear being at a restaurant surrounded by couples. Or being at a bar surrounded by couples. Even Sunday dinner at her parents’ house meant being surrounded by couples, which was why she’d opted out for the past two weeks. She sped up, the wool pants she’d chosen that morning making her legs itch. In their original glory, they’d had a satin lining. She’d seen the remnants of the shimmery pink fabric when she bought them at her go-to vintage store in Belltown, and she’d vowed to replace the lining herself. It hadn’t happened yet. She silently swore she’d tear the pants off and throw them in the back of her closet as soon as she made it home. Layla dodged a teenage couple making out under the awning of a coffee shop, and her heart hiccupped. Thinking about Ian was like pressing on a bruise. A dull, familiar pain washed over her. She sidestepped a man in a suit traveling by on a Segway and turned to watch his ponytail flap behind him. Ian had been keeping track of their Segway Man sightings. If he were here, he would’ve looked at her, a twinkle in his eye, and mouthed, Twelve. She could picture it: his single, playful dimple flickering as he smiled, his blond hair ruffling in the coastal breeze. Layla would’ve reminded him that when they got to twenty, they’d agreed to go on a Seattle Segway tour themselves, and Ian, laughing, would’ve protested that he’d never agreed to those terms, and she’d have reached for his hand… She didn’t know why she was still counting. The number didn’t matter anymore. Layla finally arrived at her apartment building—fifteen stories of brick stacked up to the overcast sky. She sighed, used her key card to buzz through the main entrance, and rode the elevator (which made just a little too much noise for comfort but not quite enough for her to track down the super) up to the eighth floor, avoiding her own eyes in the elevator’s mirror. She got off on her floor, unlocked the door of her studio apartment, and heaved an even greater sigh. It was a space her best friend, Pearl Kaes, referred to as the Museum—or had back when Layla dusted and vacuumed regularly. And not just because it was clean but because everything in it was carefully curated and placed just so. Ian had helped Layla make sure of that. To give the impression there was some separation between the bedroom area, the living-room area, and the kitchen, Layla put up lovely antique dividers Ian had gamely helped her carry home from a flea