Chappell didn’t flinch. She just smiled—sad, knowing, infuriating. “Good luck, Babe.”
“You look busy,” Chappell said.
“I want you to stop saying ‘good luck.’” Chappell reached out, brushing a strand of hair from Sabrina’s face. “I want you to admit that luck has nothing to do with it. You’re just scared.” Sabrina Carpenter Good Luck- Babe- -Chappell...
Chappell tilted her head. “You haven’t asked me to leave yet.”
Sabrina finally looked up. Her eyes were calm, but her jaw was tight. “Bold assumption.” Chappell didn’t flinch
“What do you want me to say?” Sabrina whispered.
Chappell laughed—that sharp, unapologetic sound that used to make Sabrina’s chest ache. Now it just made her tired. “Come on, Babe. ‘You can pretend all you want, but I felt you shiver when I said your name.’ Sound familiar?” “I want you to stop saying ‘good luck
“The one about you.”
Sabrina’s laugh was dry, humorless. “And how’s that working out for you? Showing up at my door at midnight?”