I tossed the last of my clothes into my suitcase. Cole hadn’t even flinched the night before when I’d told him I was leaving. “I don’t know, sweetcakes. I’ve never been in love,” she said. I had her on speaker. She was coming in on a flight in a few hours, but I needed advice. I had to end this thing with Cole before she arrived. I loved her, but she couldn’t keep a secret. And if she saw us together, she would know. “I’m not in love,” I said, frustrated as I sat on my suitcase to close it. “Uh-huh. If you say so. But I’m pretty sure if your heart actually hurts, you either need to cut back on the Twinkies and pizza, or you’re in love. But like I said, I’m no expert.” She was the second person in two days to tell me this. But I had no point of reference. I mean, I loved my family. But I’d never been in a romantic kind of love, with the exception of a short period of time when I was younger and didn’t know Chris Hemsworth was married with kids.
