Chapter Eighteen Friends Don’t Fall in Love #2
the meantime, keep this safe for me while I’m gone. I want it.”
The way she’s looking at me makes me think she’s not just talking about the flower.
Our faces are so close now that I’m almost positive I’ll get my kiss after all. I’m just about to close the space between
us myself, when she suddenly pulls back.
“See you in a week, Ducharme.”
Nikki’s out the door before I can react, leaving me standing there with a flower in my hair and thoughts of her lips. Her
rental car pulls away from the curb as she gives me a little wave, and yes, yes, I know the best part of leaving is coming
back. I just have to trust she will be back.
Pull it together, Anderson.
Regan and Johnny emerge about fifteen minutes later, looking winded and flushed, with still-full coffees in their hands.
A little bit of Regan’s lipstick is smudged on the corner of Johnny’s mouth, but I don’t bother pointing it out as he waves goodbye and heads down to his own shop to tidy up a bit while it’s empty.
At least someone got kissed this afternoon.
I go back to working on my arrangements, more orders filing out of the printer since we last cleared it, but I can’t help
but notice Regan walking over to the window. She watches him leave, staring after him the way I did Nikki—looking every bit
the smitten kitten.
“Someone’s down bad,” I say, pointing at her with an orchid in my hand. “When are you going to stop pretending that you’re
not dating?”
“When are you?” She laughs, taking a sip of her coffee.
“Me?” I ask. I can’t help the twinge of panic that rises up, like a rabbit caught in a snare.
This is different, I remind myself. This is your best friend asking. This is somewhere safe. You can talk to Regan. You probably should talk to Regan about all
this, actually. This isn’t like when we were forced to come out about our relationship last time. Not that it’s a relationship. It’s a friendship.
With benefits. That’s all.
It’s not that I’ve been keeping Regan totally out of the loop.
She knows how much time Nikki and I have been spending together.
She also knows all about me helping her revise the book and all that.
I’m sure she suspects a lot more is going on, though.
I’ve been telling myself that I wanted to keep it just for us, me and Nikki versus the world, like old times .
. . but the truth is, a part of me is scared of Regan’s judgment.
Will she think this is all an epic mistake?
“Oh, come on,” Regan groans. “You can pretend you two are keeping it casual all you want, but you look at each other like
you want to crawl into each other’s skin and stay there. It’d be creepy if it wasn’t so cute.”
I frown. I really didn’t think we were being that obvious, especially not around other people.
“We’re friends,” I say, even though saying it makes my heart sink.
Regan looks at me in disbelief. “Am I supposed to pretend you didn’t come to work with a hickey on your collarbone last week?
Is that what we’re doing? If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine, but don’t pee on my leg and tell me it’s raining.”
I scrunch up my face. “Okay, well, that’s a gross image, thank you.”
She laughs and curtsies. “You’re welcome. One of Johnny’s clients said it the other day. We’ve decided to adopt it as part
of our everyday vernacular.”
“Speaking of things we don’t talk about, you and Johnny seem to be getting pretty close . . .”
“That’s because we’re probably in love with each other,” she says, and I nearly snort my coffee out of my nose. That’s the
first time I’ve ever heard her admit it.
“So are you together, then?”
“No.” She looks away, stepping over to retrieve the fresh orders from the printer. “Not yet. I’m still working through some
things on my end, but hopefully someday.”
“That’s great,” I say, rushing over to give her a hug. Her admitting this to me is big.
“Okay,” she says, clearing her throat. “I showed you mine, now you show me yours. What’s really going on with you and Little
Miss Hollywood?”
“We’re friends,” I say, but when Regan gives me another dubious look, I add, “with benefits.”
“Really?” she asks, her voice trilling up.
“Yep, but that’s it. That is the whole story. Glorified coworkers who bone and like to hang out,” I offer up, wishing I could really believe it. Needing to really believe it for my own sake. “We’re working on the book and getting reacquainted slowly.”
“So slowly that you have to bang about it?”
“The chemistry between us was never an issue.” I laugh. “It was a natural progression.”
“A natural progression to start hooking up with your ex?” She leans against the counter. “And there’s no feelings involved
beyond being friendly, casual acquaintances?”
“Basically,” I say, not realizing how much of a lie that feels like until I say it out loud.
She frowns, looking worried. “Annie, you look at her like she hangs the moon. You’ve been moping about her leaving all morning.”
“So? Friends can miss each other,” I grumble.
“Sooo,” Regan says, dragging the word out.
“I thought you had it under control, but I gotta say, you pretending you’re ‘coworkers who bone’ has me worried.
It’s one thing to lie to me about having feelings, but are you lying to yourself too?
If you really want to be friends with benefits, go with god, she’s hot as hell, but if there’s more to it—and from the outside, it looks like there is—then you’re doing each other a huge disservice by not being open about it. ”
I look out the window and sigh. None of this is news to me, obviously. I’ve been wrestling with my feelings since even before
we started up the friends-with-benefits thing, and while Nikki’s been up-front about the potential for more, I haven’t been.
Not to Nikki, not to Regan—maybe not even fully to myself.
“What do you mean, ‘it looks like there’s more’?” I ask, sliding the arrangement over to begin work on the next one.
“Nothing really. Just happiness looks good on you. You’re very cute together and it seems like you genuinely care for one
another. I can understand why you fell in love with her twice, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, but—”
“I’m not in love with her again,” I say, wrapping a tulip bouquet so tight with twine that I accidentally crease a stem. I
cut the wrapper off in a huff, pulling the flower back out to trim it.
“Are you positive about that?” Regan asks, sipping her coffee.
No. Yes. No.
I sigh. “I missed having her in my life, Regan,” I say. “We’re building a kind of friendship while I help her fact-check the
book. We have a lot of chemistry, yeah, and that’s probably what you’re picking up on. It’s . . . confusing but it’s not love.
I won’t let it be. Like I said, we’re glorified coworkers who bone. That’s all we can be. The sex is amazing and the friendship
is fun, but I could never really give her my heart and she knows that. We both know that.”
Stop lying, my heart screams.
“Okay,” Regan says, studying my face. “If you say so. Just be careful with yourself, you know?”
“Yes, Mom,” I say, trying to lighten the mood—which reminds me. I really should call home again. I’ve been texting them Nikki
updates, but Mom and Dad are definitely due for an extended FaceTime.
“Ugh, gross, ‘Mom’ is the last thing I ever want to be,” she laughs, flinging a paper towel at me before getting back to work.
I turn Regan’s words over in my head as I rearrange some of the flower displays and freshen up others. Regan’s not wrong;
happiness does look good on me. I love living here, and I love the little flower shop. I love that working with flowers has
given me a way to reconnect with my family on a whole new level, bringing us even closer. I’ve built a good life, with good
friends, and a new career I’m proud of—and now I’ve even wrangled a way to get my sex life back on track.
I’m not hiding. I’m not. I’m not taking the easy way out. I’m getting shit done.
Besides, even if I wanted something more than friends with benefits, and I don’t—Nikki and I wouldn’t stand a chance together with us living on opposite coasts, leading very opposite lives. It wouldn’t be fair to either one of us to ask the other to stay.
Nikki would never be happy here, not forever, and my life on the West Coast is a door that needs to stay shut. No matter how
much it hurts to watch Nikki head to the airport alone, it’s necessary. I have to keep that in perspective.
Someday soon, Nikki will get called to film and be gone.
That’s the truth. We’ll go from friends with benefits to friends who occasionally text, and after a while maybe not even that.
If there’s something I’ve been avoiding, it’s not the idea that I’m in love with her, it’s that this reboot has a hard stop and always has.
Maybe it’s good we’ll have this week apart—a little practice for when, not if, she’s gone for good. We’re friends. Friends. And friends don’t fall in love.
Liar.