Page 18 of Meet Cute Reboot

Nana relaxes her stance and pivots to the stove to drop a handful of green beans into boiling water. “I gotta get me an Instagram account.”

“It’s a publicity stunt,” I say. “That’s all. A publicity stunt that took an unexpected turn.”

“When the stunt’s over, stay ten miles from Luke,” Nana says with her back to me. “Once a cheater, always a cheater.”

“How many subscribers have you gotten?” Madison asks.

I shrug. “A few...”

“Hundred?” Madison finishes.

“Less.”

“Dozen?”

“I haven’t checked my numbers today, so it might be more.”

I’m trying not to stress about the numbers. These things take time. My launch was only two days ago.

Who am I kidding? I have twenty-five new subscribers. The number guts me every time I check, which is why I decided not to look today.

“These things take time,” I say to break the silence that fell over the room.

“Sure, honey,” Mom says. “Rome wasn’t built in a day. It took years to build the Colosseum.”

I don’t have years. If I don’t meet my targets, Excel will lose confidence in me and pull their funds. I’d do the same in their position.

“Where’s my roll?” Granny says from the kitchen entryway, her frail frame hunched over, borrowing strength from her cane.

I jump up. “Oh gosh, Granny. I’m sorry. Here, sit.” I help her over to the chair I just vacated.

“You all are talking up a storm in here without me,” she says.

“Sorry, Granny,” I say.

“We were just talking about Cassie’s ex-boyfriend,” Nana says.

I wince.

“Michael?” Granny asks.

“Michael was her husband,” Mom says.

“Luke Curtis,” Madison says. “Do you remember him?”

Granny lights up. She thumps the end of her cane against the vinyl floor. “Luke Curtis. That handsome devil. Whatever happened to him?”

“Here,” I say, setting down her buttered roll. I squeeze some honey onto it before she grabs it. “I’ll be right back.”

“Where are you going?” Mom says.

“Taking out the trash.”

“The trash isn’t full.”

“My brain is.”

I pull the trash bag from the can and tie it closed, then I pick it up and head for the back door. Two cement steps descend from the door, and a broken sidewalk leads to the sagging garage. I walk carefully over the uneven sidewalk, making sure my toe doesn’t catch on one of the cracks.