The Moment of Letting Go

by J.A. Redmerski

Genres: Contemporary Romance

Synopsis

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author J. A. Redmerski brings a heart-wrenching, stand-alone new-adult novel.

In The Moment of Letting Go, Sienna Murphy finally lands her dream job. It’s everything she’s ever wanted—or so she thought. When she’s sent on a business trip to Hawaii, she meets Luke Everett, a guy who makes her want to forget all her responsibilities and give in to the promise of happiness. As their passion grows, Luke makes Sienna begin to question whether the carefully constructed life she leads is really as perfect as it seems.

Release date: August 11, 2015

Publisher: Grand Central Publishing

Print pages: 432

Sample

Tripping over my suitcase, I land on my knees, which take the brunt of the fall as I skid across the carpet. Biting back the burning pain, I stumble out of my bedroom to answer the front door.

“Sienna!” Paige calls out from the other side.

“One sec!” I say and slide the chain lock away from the door.

“You’re not even up?” Paige’s mouth falls open.

She pushes past me and comes inside.

“I’ve been calling and texting you for the past hour.”

As I run both hands over the top of my head and through my hair, a long, deep sigh escapes my lips.

“I overslept.”

“Thank you, Captain Obvious,” she says and brushes her hands toward me in a hurrying fashion. “Let’s go; we have half an hour to make it to the airport.”

In my camisole and panties, I rush past her back toward my room, still trying to fully wake up. I yank the outfit I set out last night from the back of my desk chair and throw everything on in seconds. I’ll have to forget about a shower because there’s no time. There’s not even time to brush my teeth, so I swig back a mouthful of mint—gargle, swish, and spit—and then graze my deodorant sloppily underneath both arms so fast that I think I missed the left pit altogether. No makeup. Dark auburn hair pulled into a messy something-or-another at the back of my head. I look like death.

Finally, when I’m as ready as time will allow, I shoulder my purse and yank on the pull-out handle of the suitcase I tripped over, rolling it behind me as I rush toward the door. Stepping into my red Chucks without stopping long enough to push my heels into them properly, I slam my apartment door behind us on the way out, wincing as I hear the photograph of my parents hanging by the window hit the floor with a thump and a crash.

I’m hardly ever late for anything. Ever. My fear of flying has everything to do with why I didn’t hear the alarm this morning. I want to go to Hawaii—more than anything—but I know the next several hours of my life as I’m moving through the sky in a glorified sardine can forty thousand feet above an abyss of ocean will cause enough stress to take years off my life—if the plane doesn’t crash and kill me first.

Everything about this trip so far is going wrong.

We make it to the airport just in time, surprised I didn’t have anything suspicious in my purse that I forgot to take out before going through security, and we’re on the plane minutes before takeoff.

“You sure you’re gonna be all right?” Paige asks, sitting next to me in the window seat.

“No, I’m definitely not sure,” I say, trying to settle myself, “but nothing I can do about it.”

“Want me to knock you out?”

I smirk over at her.

“No, I think I’ll pass, but thanks for the generous offer.”

She grins and shakes her head, peering down into her phone. I know she’s itching to tell me how ridiculous it is to be so afraid to fly, but she’s doing well to hold her tongue. For now. I give her an hour and she’ll cave to the urge and tell me anyway. Because that’s what best friends do—they give each other shit.

Paige is slender and tanned like a Hawaiian Tropic model, wearing a pair of short shorts and a pink ball cap that fits snugly over her small, blond head. My boss, Miss Cassandra Harrington, glamour girl extraordinaire with a passion for money and all the things it can buy, agreed to hire Paige on as my assistant, even against her initial concerns about Paige being my best friend. We love the new arrangement—me because she helps keep my head on straight in this hectic profession, and Paige because she started out as Cassandra’s assistant and that’s enough to break anyone ten times over. I should know because I also started out there.

So I don’t have an anxiety attack and embarrass myself on this flight, I slip my earbuds in and lay the back of my head against the headrest, hoping to soothe my rattled nerves somewhat with the constant sound of rain pattering and swishing in my ears. It’s not nearly as effective as a Valium might be, the sound of rain, but it helps a little and I’ll take what I can get. I keep several variations of rain sound effects on my iPod for times like these.

As the plane takes off, I grip the arms of my seat so tight it feels like my fingernails could pierce the hard plastic. Breathe, Sienna. Just breathe. Paige is sitting next to me with a big smile that I assume is supposed to be her way of saying, See, there’s nothing to it—look at me. I’m not afraid. She means well, she really does, but like a lot of people, she just doesn’t understand the fear.

I close my eyes and listen to the rain, picturing myself sitting on land, watching the droplets fall all around me and sink into the earth. And I think about my twenty-two years of life as if it’s my last chance to be intimate with my happiest memories.

Six hours later I’m on Oahu in one of the most beautiful places in the world. And I’m still alive. I’m equally excited and disappointed to be here—excited because, well, it’s Oahu, disappointed because I’m not here to inhale the beauty of the island or spend days photographing it as I’d always dreamed, but instead to work my butt off arranging someone else’s wedding. But I can’t complain. The trip is fully paid for and not a lot of people can say they’ve even been to Hawaii, much less went on someone else’s dime—I’m a lucky girl.

“I’m so excited!” Paige says over the buzzing of conversations in the airport. “Our first time in Hawaii. It’s going to be awesome.”

Paige reaches out a ring-decorated hand for my duffel bag. “When we get to the hotel I’ll get you checked in and make sure your room is up to par.” She’s trying so hard to play the assistant—carrying one of my bags for me, pretending she’s not my best friend, speaking to me in a sort of proper way that just comes off as weird to me.

I laugh. “Up to par? I’m not Cassandra,” I remind her. “No need for a white-glove inspection or phrases that aren’t typically part of your vocabulary.”

Paige grins, shoulders my duffel bag, and then slides the handles out from one of my two rolling suitcases, in addition to her own.

“What, no servant waiting on hand to dispose of your chewed gum?” she jokes.

I laugh with disbelief. “Tell me Cassandra didn’t do that—though I wouldn’t put it past her.”

Paige shrugs. “Nah. I read that somewhere and immediately thought of Miz Harrington.” Her pale blue eyes flutter as she raises her head high and mimics Cassandra’s dramatic personality.

We make our way outside into the perfect summer Hawaiian breeze to find a cab. While I’m standing on the sidewalk, my cell phone buzzes around inside my purse, and I fish it out just in time before the voice mail picks up.

“I got a call from Mrs. Dennings. She couldn’t get ahold of you. I guess your phone was off,” Cassandra says into my ear as Paige waves at a cab making its way toward us. “They’ll be there later tonight, but she said you can go ahead and start without her. The bride’s sister—her name is Veronica—is already there.”

The cab stops and the driver gets out to help Paige store our bags in the trunk.

I slide into the backseat.

“How late did Mrs. Dennings say they’d be?” I close the cab door and adjust myself on the squeaky leather seat. “I can’t do much until she gets here with the rest of the supplies.”

“She didn’t say,” Cassandra answers. “But do what you can with what you have.”

A smile warms my face as sudden thoughts of non-work-related ideas begin to materialize in my mind.

“Well, maybe I’ll get to relax and have a look around before they get here with everything,” I suggest, hopeful.

“Perhaps,” she says simply, as if she were telling me in her most cultured and sympathetic way, No dear. I’m sorry, but that’s not possible, though you may continue dreaming about it if it makes you feel better.

I knew that before I came here; there’s no such thing as relaxing when you work as an event coordinator for the most high-profile event planning business in California. One hundred percent of Cassandra’s clients are wealthy, half of them are famous, and the rest are people who know someone famous. There’s a lot of money in it, but it’s very demanding and often so stressful that most who get into the business quit within the first month—at least, those who work for Cassandra Harrington do, anyway.

I still can’t believe I lucked into this job with all its perks. Like all-expense-paid trips to Hawaii, a career in a creative field where I’m paid generously and have job security that allows me nowhere to go but up. They don’t come along often and one would be crazy not to take it. I grew up with financially struggling parents. I made up my mind long before I was out of high school to not go through life as they have had to. Like they still do. And now, with Dad’s failing health—prostate cancer, though they caught it early and he’s in remission—I’m more determined than ever to have a good-paying job so I can help my parents; they’ve done so much for me.

Paige slides onto the backseat with me and shuts the door behind her, cutting off the sudden stream of voices from outside. Knowing I’m on the phone with Cassandra, she gives me that look, suppressing her playful comments about our boss, and leaves me to our conversation.

“Two days setting up,” Cassandra says into my ear, “a one-day wedding, and then it’s back to San Diego.” She pauses. “After that, you’re off to Jamaica.”

Blinking back the stun, I turn my head to lock eyes with Paige on the seat next to me. “Jamaica?” I say into the phone.

Paige’s face lights up.

“Thought you’d like that,” Cassandra says with a proud air. “A client I’ve known for a long time in San Francisco is getting married in Montego Bay. And he’s loaded, honey.” I picture her brushing her thumb and fingers together rapidly to demonstrate money. “It’ll be your biggest commission yet.”

My face stretches into a smile as I gaze past Paige toward the window as palm trees and colorful landscaping fly by—it’s not the money I’m thinking about, but photographing Jamaica. Paige sits there quietly but anxiously, waiting for the details.

“Getting used to this kind of money is hard, I know,” Cassandra teases, followed by a dramatic sigh. “But I’m afraid you’ll just have to stick it out.”

“Oh, the hell you put me through, Cassandra,” I tease her back.

“Think you can handle it?” Cassandra asks suspiciously.

I laugh. “Of course I can! Didn’t you say on our last event that I’m the best coordinator you’ve ever hired?”

“Well, I was referring to the flight,” she says, and my smile fades with the realization. “It’s a little over nine hours to Jamaica.”

My heart picks up a nervous pace just thinking about it. Nine hours on an airplane. Thousands of feet above the ocean. Humans weren’t born with wings for a reason.

“I can handle it,” I half lie, and make a mental note to schedule an appointment with my doctor soon to get some Valium because I think somehow the rain sound effects on my iPod just aren’t going to cut it this time.

“Jamaica?” Paige asks eagerly when I hang up with Cassandra. “Please tell me I get to go on that job.”

“Well, yeah?” I look at her as if she’d just asked a ridiculous question. “You’re my assistant. You get to go wherever I need you to go.”

“Awesome.” Her smile seems a permanent fixture on her face, along with that thoughtful, dreamy look I usually have when I first learn I’m going somewhere I’ve never been. Only difference between me and Paige is that she has yet to learn that these trips never turn out the way we dream about them. She was Cassandra’s assistant for only a month before becoming mine and didn’t travel farther than Chicago. Not that Paige couldn’t afford to travel anywhere she wanted on her own—she has plenty of family money—but she’s not above being appreciative of all-expense paid trips, either.

We arrive at the hotel. I turn to Paige, who’s trying to steady my heavy duffel bag, suppressing an uncomfortable look.

“What the hell did you pack in this thing?”

I laugh.

“I think I packed everything I own—Cassandra must be rubbing off on me.”

“God, I hope not.” Paige chuckles and readjusts the duffel bag strap on the opposite shoulder, her wispy blond hair poking out from underneath the ball cap.

“Well, you know me,” I say with a shrug, “prepared and organized as always.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” I don’t see it, but I sense Paige’s eyes rolling dramatically.

When we finally make it up to my suite, I gasp as I open the door. Immaculate. Lavish. And with a beautiful balcony view to die for.

Paige places my bags next to the wall.

I kick off my Chucks and plop down on a wicker chair with a soft teal cushion near the sliding glass balcony door.

“Nice, isn’t it?” Paige says, looking about the room.

“Nice is an understatement.” I run the palm of my hand across the smooth surface of the table next to me and I think of my parents momentarily, about the only time we ever went on a vacation when I was younger. We stayed in a cheap roadside motel one night on the way to visit friends of my parents somewhere in Texas. It wasn’t much of a vacation really, but I was glad to see my parents spending time together, doing something other than working sixty-hour weeks and too tired to talk to one another when they saw each other in passing.

Paige plops down on the end of my perfectly made bed, her tanned legs dangling off the edge, her feet dressed in an expensive pair of Louboutin gladiator-style sandals.

“How much time do you think we have?” she asks, bouncing gently on the bed to test the feel of the mattress.

I don’t even want to think about work because I just got here, but it was inevitable.

“I’ve gotta take a shower,” I say, raising my back from the comfort of the chair, “and put on my makeup and fix my hair—we’ll head down to the pavilion in about an hour.”

Paige nods and gets up from the bed.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it. I’m gonna get a bite to eat. I’m over in 510. Call me when you’re ready—unless there’s anything you need before I go… boss?” She winks.

I shake my head and smile, leaning my back against the chair. “No, I’m good, but thanks. See yah soon.”

The door closes with a click behind her.

Finally I’m alone. In Hawaii. I’m in Hawaii! I can hardly believe it. I glance over at my hard-side suitcase sitting upright on the carpeted floor and I contemplate pulling out my camera gear packed safely inside of it—I bring it pretty much wherever I go. Then I glance at the clock on the nightstand beside the bed and a long, deep sigh escapes my lungs.

Accepting that it’s not a good time—unfortunately, it rarely ever is—I erase the camera gear from my mind and get up from the chair, sliding the glass door open and stepping out onto the balcony. The warm eighty-degree breeze greets me as I make my way out, pushing through wandering strands of dark auburn hair pinned sloppily to my head. I shut my eyes for a moment and breathe in deeply, taking the wind into my lungs and savoring the moment of peace while I can. Because once I step out that suite door to head down to the wedding site near the beach, peace and tranquility will be nothing but a memory.

I meet Paige in the hallway an hour later and we’re on our way to the elevator. She’s changed into another pair of shorts and a cute lacy top. Her blond hair has been brushed and lies softly over both shoulders.

“I’ve already met a guy,” she admits.

I look over at her.

“You’re kidding.” This doesn’t really surprise me much; Paige has always been a social girl; not to mention she’s beautiful, with a magnetic personality to boot—she dreams of becoming a model someday, and personally I think it’s just a matter of time.

Her slim mouth spreads into a grin.

“Hey, it’s not like I went looking,” she says as she moves a few long strands of hair away from her face, tucking them behind her ear. “I went to check things out and ended up in the bar downstairs.”

“The bar? Paige!” I shake my head disappointedly.

The elevator dings and stops on the fourth floor, the doors parting. A thirtysomething couple steps in.

“I wasn’t drinking,” she whispers, rolling her eyes. “I was just looking around and getting a feel for the resort.” The woman looks in our direction. “Anyway, he works at the bar and told me to stop in and have a drink sometime when I get a chance.” She grins and lowers her voice even more. “He’s not the kind I usually go for, but he’s hot enough I’m willing to make a few adjustments on my requirements list.”

The elevator stops on the third floor and the couple gets out, leaving us to our privacy.

Paige has quite a requirements list—I’m surprised she’s not still a virgin. I’m not as picky, but I admit my list isn’t all that short. Difference is that mine is more reasonable.

“Just remember we’re here to work,” I say. “And unfortunately, I doubt we’ll have time for hot breakfast, much less hot bartenders.”

“I know, I know,” she says. “But there’s nothing wrong with flirting while we work, y’know. Am I right or am I right?” Her lips spread into a broader grin and she looks across at me under hooded eyes the way she always does when she’s trying to shift my attitude.

She wins.

“Yeah, you’re right.” I give in and then shake my finger at her. “But don’t make me regret getting you hired on under me, Paige.”

She turns to me, a bright smile plastered on her sun-kissed face. “I’d never put you in a bad position, and you know it,” she says, collapsing her hands about my upper arms and pretending to look all serious.

I smile, pursing my lips on one side, and then slip my arm around her.

When we arrive at the glass wedding pavilion on the wave-washed edge of the beach, a tall, dark-haired girl with long bare legs swishes her hips underneath a pastel flowered dress, sashaying like a model down the center aisle toward us. Her hair is like a wave of dark silk flowing unrestricted against her bare back.

“You must be Sienna Murphy,” she says in a confident, dramatic voice, reaching out a dainty ring-decorated hand to me. “I’m Veronica Dennings, sister of the bride-to-be.”

I get the feeling she expects me to be impressed. I’m not, so I fake it. I’m good at faking these kinds of things—a skill I’m proud to have mastered in this job.

I know the look of disgust on Paige’s face without having to actually see it.

Veronica barely touches my hand with her fingers, as if she’s afraid to mess up her newly manicured nails.

“It’s nice to meet you, Veronica,” I say brightly, strategically placing my fingers about her hand without touching her nails. “This is Paige Mathers, my assistant.” Veronica’s dark blue eyes barely skirt her. “You must be so excited for your sister.”

“Of course,” she says. “As I’m sure Valerie will be excited for me when my wedding day comes.” Her hand goes up and lightly brushes against her dark hair, pushing it away from her shoulder with such a self-important grace that it actually makes me feel momentarily inadequate—until I realize how ridiculous that is.

I smile slimly in response and glance around the area suspiciously, noticing right away that she has already been draping the guest chairs with extravagant fabric—made of a design that is entirely different from what was agreed on two weeks ago. Paige notices the look on my face, and I straighten it out quickly before Veronica sees it, too. But I’m too late and she notices anyway.

Veronica waves her hand about the room in a sophisticated fashion. “I know my sister’s taste better than our mother,” she says about the fabric. “That hideous floral pattern Mother chose without consulting me just had to go; don’t you agree?” An arrogant smile glows on her face.

That “hideous” floral pattern is what your sister, the bride picked out.

I nod slowly. “I respect your concerns,” I say with a kind expression, “but I think it’s best we keep what the bride chose. I’d be happy to talk with her about your ideas, if you’d like.”

Veronica looks quietly stung, but she raises her chin as if to look important and then shrugs it off as if she doesn’t care either way.

“Whatever. Do what you like. But it’s hideous.”

Then she motions for Paige as if she were merely an errand girl and puts her to work right away, insisting she find a Starbucks before she loses her damn mind.

Paige eyes me secretly from the side and mouths, You’ve got to be kidding me.

“What will you have?” Veronica asks me.

I put out my hand, palm forward. “No, I’m good, but thanks.” Really, I just don’t want to contribute to the balancing act I’m sure Paige will have to do carrying the drinks back. And sure enough, she’s got a list with the needs of Veronica’s two assistants who just walked up—petite, bubbly, one more stuck-up than the other, pretty, and wearing Daddy’s bank account from their colored roots to their glittery pedicures.

What’s happening here? Did Paige and I just become Veronica’s assistants, too?

I swallow down my disappointment; my kind, professional smile is still intact as always, though already it’s becoming more difficult to pull off. I like my job. I enjoy creating an event to remember for my clients, but every now and then I get one like this where I don’t really get to put my creativity to work.

Once Paige is out of earshot, I say in a respectful, even manner, “You know, Paige has a great eye for this stuff. She can really help out with the setup.”

Veronica tosses her head back majestically and laughs in a gentle manner so as not to overly alter her smooth complexion. I’m not sure what to make of that, her laughing, but it leaves a sour taste in my mouth.

I look over when I feel her hand touch my shoulder.

“I’m sure she’s helpful,” she says with a twinkle in her deep blue eyes. “But today she’s the perfect coffee girl. Come. I’ll show you what I intend to do with the archway.”

Wow. Talk about a sour taste…



Long after Paige gets back with the coffee, she and I are listening to Veronica’s harping demands and superior personality. But it looks like I’m the only one of us who can let it all roll right off my back. For the most part.

“And I thought Cassandra was bad,” Paige mumbles under her breath. She ties another long ribbon around the back of a chair.

I tie a ribbon around the chair next to hers, afterward wedging a finger behind the satiny material to straighten out the fabric pinched beneath it.

“It comes with the job sometimes,” I tell her quietly. “You just have to learn to ignore it.”

“I don’t know how you do it,” she says, standing up, her lips pinched in frustration.

Sometimes I don’t either, but somehow I manage.

Veronica walks up carrying a clipboard pressed against her breasts.

“I guess this is all we can do until my parents get here later,” she says. “They’re due around six, so until then I suppose we can all take a break.”

“Thanks, but I have a lot to do,” I say. “Phone calls to make and—”

“Suit yourself,” Veronica says, twirling a wrist, “but if those phone calls have anything to do with the wedding, I’ve got all that under control.”

I just look at her, surprised, not liking the sound of that at all.

Veronica smiles importantly—her assistants stand next to her, staring down into their phones.

With that famous fake smile of mine, my teeth grind harshly behind my closed lips. “You already called the caterer and—”

“Not yet, but it’s next on my to-do list,” she interrupts me again. “Take a break, girl. You look like you need one.”

I’m sure that last comment wasn’t meant in the kindest of terms, but like everything else I dislike about her, I let it slide. Paige isn’t as forgiving, and glares at Veronica with flames in her eyes. I step in front of Paige quickly to distract Veronica before she notices.

“I appreciate the help,” I say, “but don’t worry yourself with the phone calls; I’ll take care of them. We’ll finish up here and then I’ll take you up on that break.” I smile, hoping Veronica takes the bait. I want to get her as far away from the arrangements—and the vendors—as possible.

Veronica, probably not used to being struck down once, much less twice, in just a few hours, manipulates the inside of her mouth with her teeth and just looks at me, wordless and quietly disapproving. Then she says something about how she needs to go lie in the sun, and walks away with her assistants, sashaying her hourglass hips down the center aisle as if she were the one getting married tomorrow.

“I swear, Sienna,” Paige says, “I feel like I need to shower every time she’s within five feet of me so I don’t get infected with cuntilitis.”

As Paige’s best friend, I would have to agree with that, but as her boss, I decide to keep my mouth shut this time rather than fueling the fire.

“Do me a favor,” I tell Paige, “and call the vendors to make sure everything’s on schedule. I’m going to finish up here and check on a few more things just in case Veronica got any other ideas.”

“I’m a step ahead of you,” Paige says. “Was thinking the same thing.”



Later I do find time for a short break and I end up on the beach with my camera. Hawaii is too beautiful not to photograph, and so I sacrificed lunch to take advantage of it while I could. As I inch closer to where Veronica is sitting on her towel with long, tanned legs stretched out like landing strips in front of her, I make it a point to keep my distance. I just want to get a few shots of the surfers riding the waves. A few guys—and girls who are probably girlfriends—are among the group. All of them are tall and tanned and look like they walked right off the pages of a Hawaiian magazine.

Squeals pierce the air as Veronica’s assistants are sprayed by water from a small, boisterous wave. Veronica throws her head back daintily and laughs like a wannabe 1950s movie star—I suddenly feel embarrassed even though I’m not sitting beside her.

I peer back into my lens as two more guys from the group head out together into the wave-capped water, surfboards in hand.

Snap, snap, snap.

Suddenly the tall guy with a nice body in the red and black wetsuit looks in my direction briefly. Through my lens I see his eyes looking right at me, and I suck in a sharp breath, dropping my camera from my face with a pang of embarrassment settling in my stomach. I hope he doesn’t think I was photographing him, even though I was.

Maybe he wasn’t looking at me—I mean, I am across the beach. Though I’m sure, with them being surfers and all, they get tourists out here all the time taking photos of them.

I watch the group for a short while as they ride the waves. It’s said that the North Shore is the best place to surf in Hawaii, but I guess I expected giant waves and bodies disappearing underneath a frightening, towering tunnel of water only to shoot out the other side to the gasps of onlookers. This isn’t as nail-biting, but it’s still impressive. I doubt I could stay up on a surfboard for more than a few seconds—these guys make it look easy.

The guy wearing the red and black wetsuit emerges from the water and walks onto the beach with his surfboard tucked underneath his arm. He looks over in my direction as he walks forward, pushing a hand over the top of his wet golden-brown hair. My heart leaps a little. I think… yeah, he was definitely looking at me.

My awkwardness comes back full force, accompanied by a hot blush in my cheeks.

Veronica pushes herself to her feet, dusting sand from her fingers, and walks toward the group, her little bubble butt swishing beneath her black bikini bottom as she moves through the sand.

A little baffled by her sudden brazen decision, I watch as Veronica approaches the guy in the black and red wetsuit. He looks right at her. He smiles and nods. Veronica twirls the end of her long, dark hair around the tip of one finger, cocking her head coyly to one side.

Words are exchanged.

Then a few more.

The guy’s smile fades.

Did his brows just furrow?

Uh-oh.

Veronica’s arms navigate upward and fall into a locked position, crossed loosely over her chest.

The guy shakes his head at her with a look of… Is that disgust?

He bends over and picks his surfboard up, turning his back to her, and then heads back out toward the water.

Veronica spins angrily on her heels and marches back over to her towel and beach bag with the most offended expression I’ve ever seen on a face before. She snatches her towel from the sand, thrusts her feet into her flip-flops, kicking up sand around her toes, and goes to leave, headed straight in my direction.

“Unbelievable!” she says as she steps up. “The locals around here are rude, that’s for sure.” She shoves her towel angrily into her canvas beach bag.

“What happened?” I ask.

“He was an asshole—that’s what happened.”

Even more baffled now, I just stare at Veronica for a curious moment, part of me wondering whether she’s actually going to cry, the rest of me just wanting to know what he could’ve possibly said to someone like her to spark th