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About the author:By day, Becky Monson is a mother to three young children, and a wife. By night, she escapes with reading books and writing. In her debut novel, Becky uses humor and true-life experiences to bring her characters to life. She loves all things chick-lit (movies, books, etc.), and wishes she had a British accent. She has recently given up Diet Coke for the fiftieth time and is hopeful this time will last... but it probably won't.
Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/
Goodreads Author Page: https://www.goodreads.
Literary Addicts: http://literaryaddicts.ning.com/profile/BeckyMonson
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"Bridgette, please.” He shakes his head. Water under the bridge, okay?” A faint smile plays on his lips. Anyway, you got on with your life, I got on with mine—”
And now we’re here,” I interject.
"Yes. And now we’re here.” He looks at me in a nostalgic kind of way.
Butterflies in my stomach start to rumble. Oh no, this was not part of the plan today. I was
supposed to apologize to Ian, get the gnawing guilty feeling that has haunted me for the past four years off my back, and then get back to fixing things with Adam.
But suddenly, sitting here, I’m feeling all sorts of things I was not planning on feeling. It’s like
all of a sudden, we’re back in college, settling back into our old Bridgette and Ian ways.
"You okay?” Ian asks. Apparently my inner struggle was outwardly playing on my face.
Yes.” I shake my head, blinking longer than necessary, trying to bring myself back. Yes . . .
sorry, I’m fine.” I take a deep breath. I do need to ask you something, though.” I purse my lips together, slightly nervous to ask the question I’ve wondered about for some time now.
He puts his chopsticks down on his plate, giving me his full attention.
"How come you never called me, never tried to make contact?” I look to his face for an answer.
He looks away from me and then down at the table. I don’t know . . .” he trails off, probably
looking for the right words to say. I guess I was hurt a little . . . or maybe a lot,” he says,
looking up at me and giving a small, awkward smile. My heart sinks. I hate that I hurt him.
I tried to find you, you know. I looked on Facebook. I basically scoured all social media.” I
smile slightly, hoping he doesn’t see me as a stalker, but rather a concerned friend.
"Oh, I don’t do any of that. Don’t have time for it. But thanks for letting me know you were
stalking me.” He smiles mockingly.
"I wasn’t stalking you. I was just trying to see what you were up to, what you were doing. You
know, making-sure-you-were-alive type of stuff.” Oh yes, perfect explanation. That didn’t sound like stalking at all. Way to go, Bridgette.
"Ah Bridge, I should have called you.” He looks directly at me. Sorry. I’m a prideful idiot.” He
runs a hand through his dark hair, tousling it slightly.
We sit there in silence for a moment, looking at each other, not knowing what to say.
"So, we’re good?” he finally interjects, giving me a small smile.
"Sure, we’re good.” I reach across the table to shake his hand to show how good we are, but he doesn’t know what I’m doing and ends up giving me an awkward high five.
Okay, so we’re not exactly settling back into our old Bridgette and Ian ways.