Chapter 18
CHAPTER 18
OLIVE
P hoebe slides into Lacey’s seat across from me.
“Do you really think she can come up with fifty-one percent of what she needs to buy that place?” I ask. “Even if she does find people to go in on it with her, that’s going to be so much money.”
“She’s a sneaky little genius, that Lacey,” Phoebe says. “She has zero expenses, no overhead, and a ton of social media followers, which has led to some seriously lucrative brand deals. Her YouTube channel is huge. Looking at what she just showed me, yeah. I think she might actually be able to pull this off.” A pause. “I do think she should tell her family though.”
I shrug. “She has something to prove. I suppose she feels like this is the only way to do that.” I agree with Phoebe, but I understand where Lacey’s coming from. It’s especially hard to change the opinion of someone who’s known you your whole life.
“I’m so jealous.” And sad, but I don’t say so. “I really love working out there, and I would love to be a part of saving it.” I meet her eyes. “The job is amazing, Pheebs. I’m still being creative, just in a different way.” I don’t bother explaining that this job has got me rethinking things. Like, my life’s work. Or that Lacey’s business plan, if you can call it that, could’ve worked for me too, instead of trying to have a physical store. I’m not as great at making videos or as spunky on camera as she is, but I probably could’ve started online with no overhead and no risk.
Why didn’t I listen to literally everyone who told me not to be so impatient?
“Yeah,” Phoebe says. “It’s a great fit for you.”
“Too bad it’s only for a month.” I look away.
“Unless Lacey’s plan works. If it does, I’m sure she will offer you a job.”
I hadn’t considered this. It’s enough of a reason to calm my worries about keeping her secret, even though I feel a little bit like a traitor. I have to help her.
Phoebe takes another drink. “You seem happy, Olive. Like your old self.”
“My old self?”
“Your pre-shop self, back before life knocked the wind out of you.”
I absently wonder what it would be like to be as free as Phoebe. I mean, I’m outgoing, but Phoebe is a different kind of extrovert. She does not care what anyone thinks of her. It’s a foreign concept, and for a fleeting moment, I wish it wasn’t.
“It’s good to see you being creative again,” she says. “And I think you should have your own booth at the market.”
I frown. “Oh, no. No, ma’am. I can’t.”
She ignores me. “You could take some of the cards in your garage and see if Jo will sell them in the shop at Pine Creek. There’s that whole Christmas line, remember? The pink and blue one?”
“Oh, I remember. I’m not doing that.”
“Why not?” She’s giving off “Professional Phoebe” vibes now, and I’m bracing myself for it .
But is she onto something?
Something Jo said the other day about people needing people stuck with me. Maybe that was my first mistake with the store—thinking I could do it alone. Phoebe was living in Chicago at the time, but she would’ve helped me if I would’ve asked.
I never asked.
She would’ve happily looked at my books, helped me streamline, been there to support me however she could—if only I’d let her.
She’s earned the right to say whatever she wants. So, when she reaches across the table and covers my hand with hers and says, “You’re really gifted, Olive,” I’m caught off-guard.
“What happened with the shop was a setback ,” she continues, “but it’s not the end. You’ve still got so much to offer.”
It’s not at all the stern talking to that I’d expected. Which is probably why there’s a lump in my throat and tears pooling in my eyes.
“Phoebe! Knock it off! You’re going to make me cry.”
“Look, I know you think everyone has this terrible opinion of you because your shop closed, that you’re this big failure, or whatever, but it’s not true,” she continues. “ None of that is true. You’re the only one who thinks that.” She squeezes my hand and leans back in her chair. “And it’s nice to see some of your spark has returned. Is that because you’re being creative or because Liam’s back?”
I gasp. “What are you talking about?”
She shoots me a look that seems to say Don’t pretend with me . “What’s going on with you two?”
“Nothing.” I hear the defensiveness in my own voice.
There’s that look again.
“Seriously,” I say. “Nothing. Right now, I’m just, you know, giving him space. ”
“Giving yourself space so you can be mad,” she says, in a correcting tone.
“No,” I say.
“No, you’re not mad? Because outside, it sounded like you were mad. In here, it sounded like you were mad. ” She shifts back against her seat, confident she’s right.
And she is. Darn it.
“I’m not . . . mad ,” I say, knowing the second the words leave my lips that there is no good way to justify any of these petty feelings. “I’m just frustrated.”
“With Liam.” I know she’s about to call me out. Because that’s what friends like Phoebe do. They make sure you know they love you so they can tell you when you’re being an idiot. “You said you’re upset Liam didn’t tell you about Travis.”
“Ye-es,” I say, not liking where this is going. “Maybe I am.”
“Let’s unpack that.” I half expect her to tell me to lay down on the couch at the back of the coffee shop while she pulls out a notebook to write down her assessments.
“We don’t need to unpack,” I say. “Things can stay packed, thank you very much. I’m fine. In a few weeks, he’ll be gone anyway.” I take a drink. “I want a muffin. Do you want a muffin?”
I stand.
“Sit.”
I sit.
“Look, I know you and Liam have a history,” she says. “First crush, first kiss, all the things. And I know it’s easy to think that was just kid stuff, and it doesn’t mean anything.”
“It was kid stuff,” I say. “And it doesn’t mean anything. Liam and I aren’t even friends anymore. He’s just a guy I used to know.”
She cocks her head to the side and glares at me. “That might work when you’re saying it to yourself in the mirror, but this is me you’re talking to. ”
I sigh.
She’s right.
“So, what, you don’t think I have a right to be upset with him?”
She presses her red lips together and thinks for a moment. “How would you have reacted if he’d come to you back then and told you the guy you were so smitten with was a cheating jerk? Would you have been grateful that he was dropping a grenade in the middle of your life? You were so into that guy, you wouldn’t have believed Liam, and honestly, Travis would’ve found a way to spin it to make Liam look jealous or something.”
I scoff. “Why would Liam be jealous?”
She shrugs. “Because he knew you first? Because Travis practically derailed any shot he had with you that night? Because first kiss, first crush? Olive, he was your first everything. ”
I sit with that for a brief second.
He was.
I raise a hand to cut her off, not realizing she’s already stopped talking. “Wait. Back up. What did you say about that night?”
Phoebe widens her eyes. “Come on . Liam was totally into you that night.”
I frown. “We were just catching up.” But her words are confirmation of something I thought only I had noticed. Something I’ve been trying to ignore since I walked away from Liam’s unanswered question yesterday.
“He spent the entire night talking to you,” she says. “As soon as he saw you he stopped mid-conversation with the person he was with and practically ran over. You two have always had a thing.” At my confusion, she adds, “You know, chemistry.”
“When we were twelve years old? In a treehouse?” I roll my eyes, unwilling to believe her. “Or further back, when we rode bikes in our neighborhood at the tender age of eight? ”
“You know what I mean,” she says. “Even I was jealous of you and Liam. You talked about him like he was the best friend you’d ever had—how do I compete with that?”
I laugh, thinking about how ridiculous that is now. “I don’t think you have to worry.”
“Look, Olive, I know you don’t go on a lot of dates?—”
I shoot her a look.
She holds her hands up, as if to say I mean no harm . “—But I do. And I can tell when a guy is into me and when he isn’t. Liam was into you. Just like he was every time he wrapped one of your family’s Christmas trees. Or like that time he came to your play in the eleventh grade. He stood there, looking all dopey and smitten, but you were dating that guy, the drooly kisser . . .?”
“Tim.”
“Yes! Tim Torino!” She shudders.
I laugh. “I think you’re seriously losing it. Liam and I have never been anything but friends.”
“Tell me . . . on the night you met Travis,” she says, “that you didn’t feel something.”
I’m quiet for a long moment. Now that it’s out there, there’s no way for me to pretend, especially not with Phoebe.
I pull a face and sigh.
“Yeah,” she says, putting a period on her point.
“Fine, yes. I did. That night. Something was different, you know? And then I felt so stupid when his friend asked me out. Isn’t there some sort of guy code or something that says if Liam was really into me, his friend would’ve known, and his friend wouldn’t have swooped in and gotten my number?”
“Yeah, Travis seems like just the kind of person to honor ‘guy code.’”
I push my hands through my hair and let out a frustrated groan. “It doesn’t even matter what either of us felt all those years ago because he’s definitely not into me now.”
Phoebe raises her eyebrows again, and takes a drink .
“Phoebe.”
She just looks at me.
“ Phoebe. He’s not.”
He’s not. Right?
In my mind, I see the look on his face as he waited for what my answer would’ve been if he’d asked me out all those years ago. I’d chosen anger over introspection on this subject, but now that Phoebe’s brought it up, I can’t figure out how to keep pretending there wasn’t a spark there.
Or maybe he was just curious.
She levels my gaze. “To answer your previous question, no. I don’t think you should hold it against Liam. He was put in a horrible situation. He thought he was doing the right thing, and you need to quit being mad.”
The words stop me.
And for the eighteenth time in the last five minutes, I realize she’s right.
And I need to make it right with Liam.