Chapter 1.
Isla
Wednesday felt like a great day for a breakup.
To the kind of person who thinks things through—like knowing in the morning which dessert I planned to eat after dinner that night—Wednesday made the most sense.
For the record, it was apple pie, preferably à la mode.
Wednesday was far enough away from the previous weekend to blur the memory of the beautiful brunch Tom and I had eaten at Sam’s in Tiburon and far enough from the upcoming weekend that I wasn’t worried about sitting on my couch alone with no plans.
If I waited until Friday, there was a chance I’d get lazy, decide that kissing the wrong guy was better than kissing no guy, and decide to wait another week.
Like I’d done for the past two months.
So Wednesday it was—the day I’d tell my unfairly handsome, highly
