32 | Time to Talk

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Just as Silbie predicted, social media reported more sightings of her new lover than Sasquatch

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Just as Silbie predicted, social media reported more sightings of her new lover than Sasquatch. She was finally enjoying the craziness. Every talk show, magazine, and influencer begged for an interview.

Jolene and Aoife practically had brain bleeds over the news. Silbie didn't care. She was taking her life back. No more little country bumpkin trying to please everyone. What she lacked in experience, she made up for in gumption.

From now on, she'd handle each situation with the same initiative she'd used with Owen. She knew what she wanted, and she'd get it—one way or another.

She'd waited two weeks for Dante's call, and when it hadn't happened, she chose another route. Her sister-in-law, Zari. Since she was sort of Owen's sister and married to Silbie's brother, they had a strong connection. Zari understood how stubborn Owen could be. She was more than willing to join in the fight to help Silbie win him back with one condition. Silbie had to make nice with Mom. Things wouldn't go back to the way they were before the deceit, but she was willing to let her mother back into her life to gain Zari's alliance.

Silbie didn't confide in her about the mystery woman scheme. Figured the less who knew about that, the better. She only asked for Zari to keep her informed about Owen's recovery. Turned out, he was currently in Parkers Prairie staying with Dante and Bea. That made Silbie happy. Zari could keep tabs on him, and she'd answer Silbie's calls. No more dealing with Dante's silent treatment.

Tomorrow, the cast and crew for The French Mistress would move to New Orleans to wrap up the production. If they stayed on schedule, in fourteen more days, Silbie would return to Parkers Prairie, and she planned to make the most of it.  Sleep until noon. Binge on Pistachio Almond. Forget about makeup. Throw her hair into a ponytail—unless Owen found her by then, or was still in Parkers Prairie. If so, she had an alternate plan of how she'd spend her time—with him.

She carried her plate and cup to the sink, rinsed them, and placed them it in the dish drainer. Same breakfast each morning. Toast, jelly, and hot cocoa. Mom would not approve.

The door to Silbie's room swung open, and Maia breezed in. She shook a paper in the air. "You won't believe the latest prediction."

Maybe Silbie wouldn't buy it, but she wouldn't be surprised. So far, she'd been linked to everyone from directors to Jolene's pool man. The wild speculation had caused her to start her own hashtag—#keepguessing. She'd promised to reveal the identity if someone solved the mystery. No chance of that since the object of her affection wouldn't have anything to do with her.

"You want some toast? Hot chocolate?"

"Already had cereal." Maia nodded to the paper again. "Care to guess?"

She tapped her chin and fauxed contemplation. "Does it out do the one from last week? Because I'm not sure, anything can top me carrying on with an alien."

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