“You’re just being nice.”

“You really think I would edit my ex’s books if I didn’t believe in her?”

I snort, nudging him with my elbow.

“We need to get you out of this bookstore. It’s not healthy to mope in here.”

“I love this place, though. It’s my favorite bookstore.”

“It’s mine too,” he admits, and I remember why I dated him for so long.

We were drawn together by our mutual love of literature. I always wanted to be with someone who I could go on library or bookstore dates with. Or sit in separate armchairs and read our respective novels, and then discuss what happened in the latest chapter over drinks.

It was hot. It was nerdy. I was really happy, then.

But we didn’t last. A classic case of it’s not you, it’s me. I was the “me” in this situation. I couldn’t balance my relationship with Geoffrey with my writing career. Getting words on paper and having those words read was more important to me than my boyfriend. I’ve been like this for as long as I can remember. I should’ve known that we’d be doomed from the start because of it. I thought maybe this time could be different. That I could be different.

But despite what all of the self-improvement books around me claim, I know I am incapable of change.

“You can’t let your self-doubt get the better of you. It’ll drown you. You’ll turn into one of those miserable writers who survives on hard liquor and develops an allergic reaction to vitamin D.”

If he only knew.

“It’s a funk,” he decides. “That’s all. You’ve been in them before. You’ve gotten out of them before. Look at it like this—if you’re feeling like shit now, you’re probably at least at the halfway point of this feeling. Better feelings are on the other side.”

For someone this hot, he is obnoxiously naive. How does someone go through life being so optimistic? His positivity bugged me when we were a couple. We often fought about it. It was a sort of inside joke. I was Sad, and he was Happy. We complemented each other. Balanced each other out, so to speak. Until I got fed up with him always looking on the bright side and he couldn’t take my constant insistence that the glass is always half empty.

I’m grateful that he’s still in my life, even if it’s just to make sure my words aren’t complete gibberish and that they end up in bookstores. The fact that we’re together now, in this bookstore, where my novels are on the shelves? That should be a sign that we work better this way. We’re both getting what we want.

I do miss him sometimes. In a more intimate way. I’m reminded of this every time he smiles or I get a whiff of his signature cologne. We’re standing very close, and I can smell it right now.

Snap out of it, Rhea. Worry about your characters’ romantic lives, not your own.

“You’re right,” I say, pretending to warm up to his Jiminy Cricket buoyancy. “I’m sure tomorrow I’ll wake up on the right side of the bed.”

I’ve barely been sleeping, but he doesn’t need to know this.

“I have the utmost faith in you,” he tells me.

“Aw. You’re cute when you’re delusional.”

“I’m not delusional. Your books are a hit. You’ve got the fan following to prove it. Give yourself more credit.”

“Give yourself more credit. A book is nothing without its editor.”

“You’re doing that thing where you refuse to accept any acknowledgment of your own brilliance.”

“Duh. Have you met me?”

Are we flirting? I can’t tell. I feel like we’re playing hot potato.

He can’t be flirting with me. I look atrocious. I paid more attention to how I dressed and made myself up when we were together. I’m grateful he hasn’t mentioned anything about my appearance. It’s kind of him.

And anyway, he has a new girlfriend. Some willowy blonde nearly half his age.

As if on cue, Geoffrey’s phone buzzes with a text. He glances down, a little smile crossing his face. It must be her.

I used to make him smile like that.

“I almost forgot, I’m meeting Anne at Vesuvio shortly.”

Vesuvio used to be my favorite bar. It still is my favorite bar, but it stings to go there. Geoffrey and I used to go there all the time. Now Anne and Geoffrey go there all the time, apparently.

“Well, don’t let me keep you,” I say quickly, before petty feelings of jealousy overtake me. “It was nice bumping into you. I’m sure I’ll have pages for you to look at soon.”

Before I can make a quick, cold exit, Geoffrey clears his throat.

“Why don’t you join us?”