I've been ghosted.

Okay, technically, it's only been twenty-four hours. But in girl math, that's like six months, especially when you're waiting for a text from a helicopter pilot who called you "Sticky" like it was the most charming thing he's ever said in his life.

Theo.

THEO.

I hate how his name sounds like something you'd name a fictional prince in a trashy romance novel. And worse, I hate that I was already halfway through mentally designing our wedding invites by the time I woke up this morning. Cream cardstock, gold foil, a wax seal. Maybe a tiny little helicopter charm attached to the envelope like a deranged, sentimental...