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“I overshared my teeth-brushing habits earlier.”

“That’s not remotely close. I just told you something I’ve never told anyone. Not just that I never loved Wyatt, but that he’s crap in bed. Your preference for an electric toothbrush doesn’t compare.”

“Okay then.” I stretch out my legs in front of me. “What would you like to know? Ask me anything.”

“Anything?”

“Sure.” I shrug. “Why not?”

“Okay.” She shifts on the couch, facing me and crossing her legs. I try not to look, but it’s damn near impossible, especially with her being so close. “Who was your first?”

“My first?”

“I told you mine. It’s only fair you tell me yours.”

“Right.” I clear my throat. “Claire Thomas.”

“Claire?” Her eyes widen. “As in your best friend, Claire?”

“That’s the one.”

She launches herself off the couch and stumbles across the room, grabbing a photo off a shelf. “This Claire?” She spins and drops back onto the sofa, this time sitting even closer than before, thrusting the image of Claire and me into my hands.

“Yes. That Claire.”

“You two dated?”

“Sort of,” I say noncommittally, setting the frame onto the coffee table.

“You either dated or you didn’t. Which is it?”

“I don’t know if I’d call it dating.” I drag my fingers through my hair. “We had an…understanding.”

Her eyes narrow on me. “Like friends with benefits?”

“More or less.”

“And now?”

“We’re just friends. No benefits. Like it should have been from the beginning.”

She nods, sipping her water.

“Although I did ask her to marry me.”

Water sprays from her mouth, and her eyes fly to mine. “That doesn’t sound like just friends. Or even friends with benefits. You asked her to marry you? When? How?”

I let out a self-deprecating laugh, rubbing a hand over the back of my neck. “Not my proudest moment. It was around the time Mom decided to stop chemo and go into hospice.”

The humor drains from Wynter’s face. “Oh.”

“I got this stupid idea in my head that maybe it would be easier for her if she knew I was settled. Happy. That I wouldn’t be alone.”

Wynter’s expression softens. “Trust me when I say it wouldn’t have ended well. I’m proof of that.”

“What do you mean? You didn’t want to marry Wyatt?”

“I guess I didn’t think I had a choice. We were high school sweethearts. I followed him to his college so we could be together. At the time, my dad convinced me it was the smart move, since becoming a professional dancer wasn’t realistic, at least in his opinion.” She rolls her eyes, her frustration clear.