End of Story (End of Story, #1)

by Kylie Scott

The best friend of my ex is not my friend. Confucius probably said that.

Small-minded people terrified me. Imagine thinking you already knew everything there was to know. That you were never wrong. How the hell would you ever learn anything new?

thought the whole point of fate was that it was predetermined.” “Eh. I don’t believe that.” He raised a brow. “No?” “There is no fate but what we make.” “Are you quoting Terminator?” “I never claimed to be deep, just to have fantastic taste.”

I shrugged. “There’s every possibility I’m overthinking things. But I like to know where I stand with people. And this situation between us can be confusing.”

I liked to be liked. It was a failing of mine; being a people pleaser sucked. But at some stage, you have to accept that for some people you are never going to be enough. No matter what you do.

“You cannot change them. Assume anything you don’t like is here to stay. The same goes for their friends and family.”

They might be hot stuff now, but do you have other things in common to help sustain the relationship? Sex and intimacy matter, but it’s only one part of the whole. How good are you at communicating with one another?”

“Do you feel comfortable discussing potentially toxic situations or behaviors with them before they escalate?” she asked. “Can you problem solve together?” “Sort of. Sometimes.” “Are you both willing to work on the relationship? Are they putting an effort in that is at least equal to yours?”

“Then you move on to having the unsexy discussions about finances and children—if you’re going to have them and how you plan to raise them.”

“If you do get remarried, you’re going to need insurance. Have a prenup, an escape plan, and know how marriage affects you legally. Then be prepared to choose each other and keep choosing each other. Every day, week, month, and year for the rest of your life. It’s just that simple and that hard.”

I just smiled. Any day I converted a reader to romance was a good day.

I said, grabbing my cardigan off the sofa. The temperature had cooled off care of the wet.

An empty coffee cup and the latest book from Tessa Bailey sat nearby. He hadn’t been only working.