An entire week has gone by and I have yet to hear from Livia. This isn't like her. Normally, she can't stand her ground for so long. I take solace in the thought that as hard as it's been for me to go without talking to her, our little standoff must be driving her absolutely bonkers.

I was tempted to cave and call her a few times—a lot has happened in my life this week and I really could have used her ear—but I refuse to budge first. After all, she was the one screeching at me and causing a scene right there on the street!

After that little soap opera, I'd planned on just crashing at Tom's house for the night, but he had already made plans with his friends and explained that I couldn't stay. Once I realized I didn't even have my overnight bag with me, I figured that wasn't such a bad thing. I mean, I was trying to get this guy back, and I didn't see that happening without clean clothes, makeup, and a toothbrush.

The exact location of all those things presented a bit of a new problem, however.

Tom agreed to drive me up to Monty and Walter's so that I could get my stuff from their place and then catch a train home. I'd snuck into the house, peeking through to the backyard from my vantage point in the foyer, making sure everyone was outside. It looked like the huge party was in full swing. I raced upstairs to the bedroom and grabbed my bag before hurtling down the stairs and back out the front door. Made it!

But then I saw that Tommy wasn't in the car. I guess he couldn't pass up the opportunity to pop in and say hello.

It was humiliating, sitting in his stupid Camry, counting the minutes until he came back for me. Thirty of them, to be exact. He kept me waiting for thirty whole minutes while he socialized with the enemy, every one of them aware of the fact that I was sitting out there by myself in the car. But wild horses couldn't have dragged me into that backyard, so I just sat and waited. I only wanted to get out of there as soon as humanly possible. Finally, Tommy came back and only offered a feeble apology. And then, he dropped me off at the train station without even getting out of the car!

I shot daggers at his back as he pulled away, when I suddenly became aware that my cell phone was ringing. Like a sign from God, calling at that exact moment to tell me he was on his way home, was Charlie.

I did a lot of thinking on the long train ride. I decided that no matter what, I was through chasing down Thomas Rivers. I was not, under any circumstances, going to follow him around like some lost puppy anymore. I had Charlie—rich, handsome, and only slightly dorky Charlie—waiting for me at home. Why ruin a good thing?

I mean, if Tommy came to me, that would be a different story, but why would I go out and try to deliberately destroy this thing I have going with Charlie? Sure, he's a little uncool and has a bit of a temper. Along with a rotten daughter. And a nosey family. But nobody's perfect, right? Take all those negative factors away, however, and Charlie is pretty damn close.

As it turns out, Tommy hasn't called me anyway. I am amazed to find that I'm not even that angry about it. A little upset? Yeah. I mean, this is a guy I thought I could marry! But I guess it's not his fault that he wasn't ready for such a big step. Plus, guys like the hunt. I was practically offering myself up on a silver platter at every turn. Where's the challenge in that?

So, as disappointed as I am, I've been trying to take heart in the wisdom my mother imparted: "If he can't realize what a catch you are, then it's his loss."

And she's right. Why would I waste my time on someone who doesn't think I'm the greatest woman he's ever met? Any girl deserves nothing less than that.

And so, I've been throwing myself headfirst, one-hundred-percent, no-holds-barred into my relationship with Charlie for the past seven days, which has been working out great.

I even bought Ashleigh the new Backstreet Boys CD for when I see her next week. Although, I have to admit, I did it more for Charlie than for her, so that maybe he'd start thinking about taking our relationship a bit more seriously, too. Who knows? Maybe he'll want to make me the little terror's stepmother someday.

I'm just finishing the wrapping on the CD when my phone rings, startling Snowball out of a sound sleep. I don't know why that stupid dog insists on curling up next to my cordless phone when it's just going to wake him up all the time.

I wrestle the handset from underneath his furry body, check the ID and smile to myself. Livia.

"Hello?"

In a carefully restrained voice, she asks, "So... were you planning on ever calling me to talk about this?"

Obviously, I know what 'this' she's referring to. But I answer innocently, "Talk about what?"

"Give me a break, Shana."

Attitude, much? "I don't know what there is to talk about... I thought you'd said everything you needed to say that day you screamed in my face at the beach."

There's a silence on the phone until Liv finally breaks it, trying to maintain her control. "I know I got loud, but have you ever seen me lose it like that? Don't you think that maybe you'd done something bad enough for me to get that angry?"

"I didn't think asking my friend for a favor was so 'bad'."

I hear a big sigh on her end. "Okay, Shane, fine. I'm sorry for screaming in your face. But do you really think I had no reason to be mad? That I was completely unjustified in getting angry that day?"

"Actually, I thought you overreacted."

"Well, okay... I've already apologized for that. What I'm asking you now is do you think that maybe you might also be sorry for the events that took place that day? That maybe we went all the way down to the beach for a party that you not only blew off, but made me miss, as well? By lying to me about why I was even doing it? By staying ten times longer than I'd originally counted on, ditching on our hosts, my friends, and my fiancé? Please tell me you at least understand why I was so angry."

I can tell Livia is not going to let me off the hook so easily this time. Fine. If it'll shut her up, I can throw her a bone. "Yes. You've made it very clear why you were so angry."

"Okay, and...?"

"And what?"

"And are you sorry for all of that?"

I hope she's not holding her breath, because I am sooo not apologizing. I didn't do anything that warranted her yelling at me like I was some misbehaving child. But I'm just itching to unload all these stories I've been stockpiling, and the quicker we get past this, the sooner I can tell them.

Obviously, she wants me to essentially say 'I'm sorry' but I refuse to speak those words out loud. Instead, I offer her a vague, "Mmm hmm," before launching into a diatribe on Ashleigh's latest escapades. Liv listens, and as I talk, she slowly starts to come around. It doesn't take long for us to fall back into the rhythm of our normal rapport. I know she's not thrilled with how this conversation went down, but I also know she'll get over it.

That's what best friends do.