The girls were waiting at the airport.

Ella, Louise, and Ophelia were standing near the curb, carrying a large bouquet of flowers and a sign that said, "Welcome Home!" in homemade letters. Ella was wearing a baseball cap and a large pair of sunglasses, and Louise had mascara smudged under her eyes. Ophelia was carrying a tote bag crammed with books.

Sophia's heart swelled.

They looked like home.

"We brought chocolates," Ella called. "Boxes of them."

"And wine," Louise added.

"And we can play trashy music," Ophelia said, taking her suitcase. "I have Shawn Mendes queued up on my phone." She looped an arm around Sophia's shoulders. "You can scream-sing on the way home."

Sophia couldn't help it; she burst into tears.

Months of pent-up frustration and anxiety spilled out, exploding in chest-choking sobs. Her throat felt tight. Her eyes burned. She wiped at her face, trying desperately to stop, but it only made the situation worse.

Louise looked alarmed. "Soph?"

She shook her head.

"Oh, Soph," Ella said, her face softening. "What is it?"

Sophia shook her head again, trying to find her voice. "I'm not—" Hiccup. "Very—" Another hiccup. "Happy right now."

Ella wiped a tear away with her thumb. "Whatever it is, we can fix it."

"And we love you," Ophelia said, laying her head on her shoulder. "A lot. More-than-chocolates-and-wine a lot."

"And if somebody did this to you," Louise added, "I will kick their ass. Or egg their house. Maybe both."

She looked delighted at the prospect. Sophia made a noise — she wasn't sure that it could quite be classified as a laugh — and pulled the girls closer. They formed a human barricade around her, blocking out the bustle of the airport.

"I love you girls," she murmured.

Three hands squeezed her arm.

"I don't want to do this anymore," Sophia said.

They were sitting in the living room of her mother's apartment. Louise was sprawled out on the blue velvet sofa, a glass of wine in hand; Ophelia was sitting on the floor beneath her, a fluffy white cat on her lap. Ella was clearing up the empty chocolate boxes, tactfully ignoring the way Jenna Huntington's bin was overflowing with take-out boxes, coffee cups, and a selection of dead plants.

"Don't want to do what, darling?" Jenna asked.

"I don't know." Sophia curled her legs into her chest. "Instagram. Social media."

Jenna frowned. "Ever?"

"Not as a career."

It felt weird, Sophia thought, to say it out loud; she popped a chocolate in her mouth, trying to focus on the caramel-cheesecake flavour. The crying had stopped, thank god, but she still felt tired. Hollowed out.

Ophelia stood up. "Do you want the cat?"

"I'm okay," Sophia said.

"Take the cat," Ophelia said, holding out the feline.

Sophia held out her hands. "Thank-you."

The cat curled up on her lap, a warm, wriggly pillow. Sophia stroked the cat's fur, and the cat gave a big yawn. Some part of her relaxed. After all, you could never be that upset with a cat on your lap, could you?

"Okay," Ella said, plopping down on the sofa. "Talk us through it."

Four heads turned in her direction. Sophia kept petting the cat, trying to gather her thoughts. Dating Kit. Estrella. The young girl's Instagram post. She thought about what Finn had said to her that day in the hospital: if you feel like the world has put you into a box, then break the goddamn box.

"I know I'm lucky," Sophia said slowly. "I know that not everybody gets an opportunity like Estrella, and I'm so grateful for that. But I'm also more than my looks." Her voice rose. "I'm more than my brand. I don't want to worry about what happens when my skin begins to wrinkle, or I get fat while I'm pregnant, or I have a bad hair day."

"You feel like you're pretending," Ophelia observed.

Sophia stabbed a finger in her direction. "Exactly."

"And you've lost yourself," Ella added.

"A bit." Sophia scratched the cat's chin. "I just know that when I walk into a coffee shop, I don't want to think about what lattes look good on Instagram. Does that make sense?"

"No," Louise said, "but only because I don't order coffee." She held up her wine. "Unless it has booze in it, of course."

Ella shot her a long-suffering look. "Must you make jokes?"

"I must," Louise said cheerfully.

"Sophia." Her mother turned to face her, bracing her hands on her knees. "I'm sorry if I ever made you feel that you had to do the influencer thing. Of course you don't. If it isn't making you happy — if you aren't loving it — then we'll find something better."

A lump rose in her throat. "What about university?"

"We'll take out loans," Jenna said.

"And this apartment?"

"Honey," Jenna said, shaking her head. "I can find other influencers to manage, but I only have one daughter." She set down her mug. "You come first. Always."

Sophia busied herself with fishing through the chocolates, mostly because if she looked at her mother, she might cry again. Ophelia held out a hand, and Louise passed down her red wine automatically.

"What do you want to do?" Ophelia asked.

"I want to come up with ideas," Sophia said. "I want to implement marketing strategies. I want to take a product and sell the hell out of it."

Her cousin took a sip of wine. "You'd be good at that."

"I am good at that." Something burned in her chest. A steely resolve of sorts. "I just wish I'd realized it sooner."

"What's the plan, then?" Ella asked.

"I want to go back to Bashaw," Sophia said. "I want to work on Blush Wines."

As soon as Sophia said it, she realized it was true. Working with Gemma on various campaigns had been the most fun she'd ever had. And she was invested, now; she wanted to help plan the Blush Wines Canada Day campaign. And the Halloween campaign. And every other campaign, come to think of it.

She was excited about it, Sophia realized. When was the last time she'd felt like that?

"Then do it," Louise said, plucking the wine glass back. "Move back to Bashaw. If that's what you want, we support you, Soph."

"It is what I want," Sophia said. "And I want..."

Finn.

God, she wanted him. She wanted to sit on a porch swing with Finn, sipping sweet tea on July days. She wanted to ride horses through fields with him. She wanted to complain about his terrible taste in country music.

She missed him.

"Tell Finn," Ophelia said firmly. "Tell him that you want him."

"It's too late." A hollow ache filled her. "He won't want to speak to me."

Louise threw a chocolate at her. "Try anyway."

"You don't get it," Sophia said. "I've messed things up twice now."

Ella leaned forward. "If he loves you, Soph — if he really loves you — then he'll forgive you. Because that's what we do for the people we love. We watch them fall down and get back up again, and we love them even more for it."

All three girls stared at her in amazement. Ella flushed.

"What?" She shrugged. "I do come out with the occasional pearl of wisdom. There's no need to look so surprised."

Louise raised her wine glass. "Our own little Shakespeare."

Ella's colour intensified. "Oh, shut it, Lou."

Sophia's phone buzzed. One new text, from Tabby.

Hey babe—

How's Toronto? Just thought I'd letcha know that Casper has officially proposed to Ava (Saoirse is FUMING lol) and they're having their engagement party tomorrow. Bit short notice, but are you free? Ava wanted me to invite you.

Her phone chimed again.

Oh, just an FYI — Finn will be there.

Sophia bit her lip, setting down the phone. Finn. Even the sight of his name made her stomach engage in a very uncomfortable series of acrobatics. Tomorrow had to be... what? She did the mental math. Thursday? Mid-July?

Oh, god.

Tomorrow was the thirteenth of July, wasn't it? As in "first-day-of-the-Calgary-Stampede" day. As in, Finn would make a brief stop at the engagement party and then drive down to compete in the rodeo.

An idea began to form in her mind.

"What?" Ella sat up, taking in her expression. "What is it?"

"She has crazy eyes," Louise announced. "Whatever she's thinking, I love it."

"I have an idea," Sophia said slowly. "A very insane, possibly terrible idea. But I think I might be able to win Finn back."

"Excellent," Ophelia said. "I'm coming with you." She bounded to her feet. "When do we leave?"