I'm Done Squeezing Into Their Love Lane

When I came out of the bathroom, my phone screen was still lit.

The property manager, George Wafford, had just sent me a message.

"Ms. Mabrey, you have a great parking spot. Are you sure you want to sell it?"

I stared at the message for a few seconds before replying, "I'm sure."

The reply came almost immediately.

"Okay. We've had people asking about it for a while. If the price is right, we can sign the paperwork tomorrow."

A wave of relief washed over me as I stared at the screen. For the first time in a long while, the frustration I'd been carrying around seemed to finally lift.

Over the past year, I'd lost count of how many times I'd been inconvenienced because of that parking spot.

Genevieve Sachs, my best friend, always said she was a terrible driver and was afraid of scratching my fiance, Logan Poole's, car, so she'd park farther and farther into my spot.

Whenever I came home late from work, the only space left for me in the garage was a narrow gap that I could barely squeeze into.

I'd call her, but she'd never answer.

Eventually, Logan would pick up instead. He'd always lower his voice, as though he were worried about disturbing someone.

"Just park outside for now. She didn't do it on purpose. I'll remind her next time."

Those words were still clear as day in my mind.

After that, whenever Genevieve took my parking spot, Logan always had an excuse for her—she didn't mean to, she already apologized, or she was nervous and couldn't park properly.

Everyone seemed to worry about hurting her feelings. I was the only one who wasn't allowed to be upset.

I dried my hair and went back out to the dining room. The food was already on the table, and the two of them had started eating.

Genevieve sat beside Logan, carefully picking the bones out of her fish.

Without even thinking about it, Logan put some ribs on her plate and pulled a napkin from the dispenser for her. The gesture was so familiar, as if he'd done it countless times before.

Genevieve was the first to notice me.

"Keira, you're done?" She looked at me with a smile. "I was worried the food would get cold."

Logan glanced at me too. "Come eat."

I stood there, my damp hair leaving the back of my neck cold under the air conditioner.

"I'm cold."

Genevieve was holding the remote and had just lowered the temperature. She glanced at Logan before turning to me.

"Sorry. I just finished cooking, and I was feeling a little hot."

Before she could finish speaking, her eyes turned red.

"Are you still mad at me?" she choked out. "I really didn't mean to take up your parking space."

"Keira, she's been working all day and still came over to cook for us," Logan said, frowning. "Don't come home and start giving her the cold shoulder."

"I only said I was cold," I replied flatly, meeting his gaze.

He paused for a moment, but then he put some food on my plate anyway, soothing me as though I were being unreasonable.

"Just eat. Don't overthink it."

I sat down and picked up my fork.

The shrimp was prepared with the bolognese sauce I loved, but I could barely swallow.

This was supposed to be my home, yet all they talked about was work and people I didn't even know. They laughed together so easily, always picking up exactly where the other left off.

Whenever I looked at them, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was just some outsider who'd been invited to sit at their table.

Genevieve was very good at knowing exactly how far she could go. She kept a pair of slippers by the front door, saying it was more convenient. Her face wash sat in the bathroom, too, because she'd gotten used to leaving it there.

The fridge was always stocked with the yogurt she liked, which Logan had just picked up while he was shopping.

In this house, she looked more like the woman who belonged there than I did.