She gave a watery snuffle as she realized that her little epiphany was starting very much the way this crazy journey had begun—with her crying in a bathroom stall feeling sorry for herself.

Which was pathetic, because the only one who had made a victim out of Brynn was herself.

Starting with that stupid list and a lifetime of pointless, self-inflicted expectations.

Brynn glanced down at her feet. She was wearing the same boring nude pumps as before, and this time she knew they were all wrong.

The black leather clothes had been all wrong too, but that was okay.

It was time to discover the real Brynn Dalton.

The version of herself that Will deserved.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Spontaneity is overrated.

—Brynn Dalton’s Rules for an

Exemplary Life, #7

Where’s Will?” Marnie asked, setting a platter of avocado crostini in front of them. “These are his favorite. He’s usually here by now.”

Brynn nearly opened her mouth to answer her mother’s question. To tell Marnie that she didn’t give a flying bat where Will Thatcher was because the guy was an irrational jackass who seemed to think that just because she slept with him, she was supposed to be fawning over him.

But then she realized that her mother hadn’t been asking her—nobody ever thought to ask Brynn about where Will might be. Because nobody knew that Brynn had seen parts of Will that Sophie never had. Intimately.

Stop. Thinking. About. It.

Sophie snagged a piece of avocado off the plate and slurped it off her thumb noisily. “Will moved to Boston.”

Dimly Brynn heard the sound of shattered wineglass, absently noting that shards of wineglass would be hell for someone to pick up.

It took several seconds to realize that it was her wineglass that had shattered.

Marnie came bustling over to fuss over the broken glass, but Brynn’s eyes never left Sophie’s face.

“What do you mean he’s moved to Boston?” Chris asked, looking nearly as stunned as Brynn felt. “We just saw him last Sunday and he didn’t say a word about it.”

Sophie shrugged and explained that he’d simply had a new work opportunity come up, and made a last-minute decision to move to Boston.

Brynn wanted to shake her sister. Why was there not more detail? Like when would he back? What was he doing there?

And why?

“He’s sorry he didn’t say good-bye,” Sophie was saying.

Brynn had thought she’d known just what a selfish, thoughtless prick Will was, but looking at her parents’ wounded faces, and the unmistakable sting of hurt on Sophie’s, made her livid.

The Daltons had always treated him like family.

Apparently he didn’t think of them as the same.

“Well, that’s just…just….I don’t know what to say,” her mother sputtered, speechless for once.

Me neither, Brynn thought.

“He said he’ll be back someday, Mom,” Sophie said gently. “And I’m sure he’ll come visit.”

Marnie gave a little head shake and went back to tossing the salad, her motions more violent than before. Brynn’s dad had turned back to the baseball game, but he too looked crushed. Probably because nobody else in the family could talk Mariners stats the way Will could.

Brynn finished picking up the last of the big chunks of wineglass before absently getting the broom and sweeping up the worst of it.

Blindly, she turned to the sink, her eyes fixed unseeingly on her parents’ backyard landscaping.

She didn’t know how long she’d stood there with the water running before her sister came over and put a hand on her arm.

“You okay, Brynny?” Sophie asked.

No. Not even close. And I don’t know why.

“What? Oh, sure,” she heard herself say. “Did Will say why?”

Sophie shook her head. “Nope. Maybe he just wanted a fresh start.”

But why the hurry?

“Brynn, the water?” her mother said.

“Oh, right,” she muttered, returning to the task of washing her hands.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her mom and sister exchange a puzzled glance. She couldn’t blame them. She should be thrilled to have Will out of her life. Or at least indifferent.

Instead she felt…confused.

And maybe a little bit broken.

* * *

Telling Michael Alden that she had feelings for someone else had been surprisingly easy. And freeing. And as she drove home—drove toward Will—she sang at the top of her lungs, feeling the best she had in weeks. Months. Forever.

She’d thought that she’d been seeking freedom after James had ditched her, but that had merely been fear causing her to move away from something.

It was nothing compared to the euphoria of moving toward something.

Moving toward someone.

Brynn slapped a hand over her mouth as a little giggle escaped.

I’m in love with Will Thatcher.

The thought felt…right. No, it felt wonderful.

“I’m in love with Will Thatcher.” Felt even better to say it out loud.

She rolled down the window, and yelled it again just because she could, not caring that nobody else on the freeway could hear her. She only needed Will to hear her.

As she exited the freeway, she let her mind flit back through the years in a sappy, heart-thumping montage of the two of them. Will punching her prom date right before pictures, and her throwing a punch in his face in retaliation. And then he’d asked her to dance that one last dance, and she’d been so mad, and yet that too had been right.

Will letting the air out of her tires. Just so he could help her afterward.

Her sneaking into the boys’ locker room and cutting out the crotch of his favorite jeans.

Her knocking on his door that night three years ago.

That moment when she’d found out that he’d moved to Boston.

The moment that she’d learned he was back.

The moment she’d learned that he’d come back for her.

Brynn mentally cursed the slowpoke speed limit on her street, but just because she was done following all the rules didn’t mean she wasn’t going to follow some.

As she crawled closer to her house, it took her brain several seconds to register what she was seeing.

“No,” she whispered. “Oh God, no, please. Not again.”

Brynn careened into Will’s driveway before spilling out of her car, not noticing that she lost a shoe as she burst through the open front door.

“Hello?” she yelled. “Will, what the hell!”

A male face appeared at the top of the stairs. Not Will’s. “Who the hell are you, lady? I don’t think you’re supposed to be here.”

She turned wild eyes on the burly stranger. “There’s a moving truck out front. Why is there a moving truck?”

The guy rubbed his greasy hair as he moved aside as two other men scooted behind him carrying a mattress.

“Put that down!” she shrieked. “Where’s Will?”

“The guy who owns the place? Never met him. Hired us over the phone and told us to pack it all and move it.”

This couldn’t be happening again. Not when she’d finally figured things out. Not when she’d finally gotten it.

“Moved where?”

The guy rolled his shoulders and stared down at her, taking in the missing shoe and the fact that she was now literally tugging on her hair.

“Don’t know that I should tell you that. Who’d you say you were again?”

“I’m his friend. Neighbor. I’m his girlfriend,” she said, everything running together in one big burst of panic.

“Riiiight,” he said, leaning down to pick up two enormous boxes like they were Kleenex. “Well, we respect our clients’ privacy, and if your ‘boyfriend’ didn’t tell you where he was movin’ to, I don’t think that I should either.”

“No, look, you have to,” she said desperately, kicking off her other shoe and climbing the stairs even as he came down them. She scooted along the walls, careful not to bump him while he was carrying stuff but also really wanting him to just stop and listen to her.

“See, we had this fight, you know?” she said, trotting after him toward the truck. “And I thought he wasn’t the one. Because he’s so…unpredictable, and kind of mean, and, well…he’s been with lots of other women, although now I don’t know if that’s even true, and…”