Chapter 16
Red, am I allowed to text you?
*Two hours later*
I’m feeling like that’s a no…
*One day later.*
Okay I know I’m not supposed to text you but I just wanted to offer my services for the hair thing if you need or want that again.
*One week later.*
Mom keeps asking about you which seems a little weird? Everything alright?
*Two weeks later.*
Red…
I miss you…
I’m here if you ever need anything…
Hope you’re okay
Opening Bardot Brothers Coffee Co. has been more difficult than any of us anticipated.
We open in two days and we still have a to-do list a mile long.
Though Jules would never outwardly show it, I can tell that he’s nervous.
I watch as he fiddles with the espresso machine, inching it over so there’s enough room for stir sticks and cup sleeves to fit next to it.
When he’s adjusted it for the third time, I decide it’s time to step in.
“Placement looks good, Brother.”
He glances up, surprise flitting across his features, as if he forgot Gabe and I were in the room with him.
“Oh. Yeah? I wasn’t sure if we should move it to a different part of the counter,” he replies.
“It’s perfect,” Gabe jumps in. “And everyone is on their way for dinner. Let’s take a break and we can pick back up afterward.”
Our typical Sunday night dinner is being moved to the shop tonight.
The work here is a bit overwhelming and knowing Jules would never outwardly ask for help, Gabe and I intervened.
If we invite everyone here, there’s no way Jules will refuse when Dad inevitably suggests that he does some paint touch ups.
The youngest Bardot—now technically a Bardot-Olsson—will also be in attendance. Bex, Anders, and their two kids are in town from New York for the shop opening. It’s nice when all of us are together—there’s a sense of peace, completeness.
Jules feels it too. Even more so when Thea, Chloe, and Hank Rose arrive. Thea’s baby bump is evident, and I catch Jules staring at it on more than one occasion.
He’s obsessed, and I get it. At least the person he’s obsessed with will actually spend time around him.
When everyone arrives, we sit down for dinner at tables that have been pushed haphazardly together, pizza boxes scattered where everyone can reach. Not our typical, home-cooked family dinner, but perfect all the same.
I’m about to pop the first box open when the front door bangs open and Colette Russell walks in. “Sorry I’m late!” she exclaims, as if it’s perfectly normal and acceptable for her to be here.
The speed at which I burst from my seat has me knocking my knee against the table. “We aren’t open, Colette. What are you doing here?”
In my tone, you can hear my anger. I think about how I haven’t seen her in a month. I think about the string of unread text messages and how her social media has been nothing but crickets.
Over the years, I’ve gone so much longer between seeing Cole. A month shouldn’t bother me. But things have changed. I thought… I thought things were changing.
“I invited her,” my mom—the traitor—responds.
Before I can process that proverbial bomb drop, Chloe jumps up from her seat. “Cole! Come sit by me!”
Et tu, Brute?
“Really, Princess Chloe? I thought we were closer than that.” Chloe and I have been spending time together at the weekly library story time, and whenever Hank needs a break.
Thea is busy now that her dance classes are up and running and, the truth is, I really enjoy Chloe’s company.
Except for right now, while she’s befriending the enemy.
Chloe narrows her eyes at me, scolding in a way that only kids can. “Don’t be mean to Princess Cole and maybe we can be friends again.”
Ouch.
I turn my attention back to the infuriating red head. “Hear that princess? We can’t be mean to each other.”
Instead of responding, Cole stares at me. And stares.
And stares.
Whispered conversations move on around us, but two can play the game that Cole has started, and I’m determined to win this time. After several moments, I can’t hold it any longer, blinking with a muttered fuck.
Cole smirks. “How does it feel always coming in second place?”
“I love coming second.” My reply is instant. “Especially if you’re the one coming first.”
Now it’s her turn to blink. She looks at me, stunned, until Chloe tugs at her hand in an attempt to get Cole to sit down.
Tentatively, she slinks into the open seat. I notice the small shake of her head as she joins in a conversation with Thea.
As hard as I try, I can’t help but sneak glances at her throughout the evening. She mostly sticks to conversation with Chloe and Thea and, after seeing her interact with a new friend, it crosses my mind that I still don’t know what happened with Maya. I want to ask her about it.
I want to know everything about Cole.
My anger is still there, though. Simmering below the surface. Frustration that she’s avoiding me, holding me at arms length.
“Take a breath, mon chou.” Mom’s voice cuts through my thoughts.
Scowling at my mom, I do as she says, inhaling a mix of fresh-baked pizza and lingering bits of Cole’s Irish coffee scent. “This is your fault,” I mumble, the petulant teenager in me rearing its ugly head. “You at least could have warned me.”
Mom’s sigh is heavy. “She was supposed to join us a while ago. I think she’s had a hard few weeks.”
That catches my attention. Why does Mom have this knowledge but I don’t? “Who did you hear that from?” I ask, turning toward her.
She glances over my shoulder to where I know Cole and Thea are conversing. Mom’s lips purse together, contemplatively. I search her eyes, waiting for an answer. Seconds tick by before she returns her gaze to me, hand gently patting my cheek. “You should ask her.”
Huffing, I drop my head into my hands and gently massage my temples. “She doesn’t talk to me. She barely even looks at me.” I pause. “You know this,” I whisper.
“Keep trying, my cabbage.” She rubs soothing circles up and down my back, and I really do feel like I’m back in high school when I first confessed to my… obsession with Colette Russell. “And don’t forget, oral sex is the best sex.”
“No, oh God!” Mom has notoriously told us that oral sex is the best sex since we were all in high school.
Growing up with a sex therapist for a mom was certainly…
interesting. Her initial reasoning for the unconventional lecture was that no one could get pregnant via oral sex, but now I think she just likes to fuck with us.
“Please, no more talking about sex tonight.”
“I cannot guarantee that, mon chou.” Her twinkling laugh is a comfort amidst my swirling emotions. “Talk to her,” she repeats, patting me once more on the back before abandoning me to join the other women.
Talk to her. If only it was that simple.
Turns out, it is fairly simple to get Cole alone later that evening.
Part of me is sure that this is my mother’s doing, but I can’t say that I mind her meddling—this time.
After we scarfed our pizza, the women continued to talk, someone eventually saying something that spooked Thea.
She hightailed it out of here followed by an uncharacteristically angry Jules.
We all get started working on little projects around the shop, and eventually I find Cole alone in the storage closet.
Ironically, it’s the same closet that Ethel and I were in all those months ago when I told her that I wanted to take over The Coffee Shop.
We had stumbled out of this very closet and bumped right into Colette Russell.
At the time I was still firmly in denial about my feelings for Cole, but after coffee that day…
We’ve always been inevitable. Even if she doesn’t realize it.
“So,” I whisper conspiratorially, “were you the one who freaked Thea out? I thought you two were becoming friends.”
Cole bristles, looking toward me out of the corner of her eye, but not turning to fully face me. “It’s not my fault she isn’t comfortable talking about sex.”
“And you are?” I question, my eyebrow quirking.
“You aren’t?” She matches my expression, a batter waiting for the pitcher to throw the next pitch.
“Of course I am. You can’t grow up in the Bardot house and not be comfortable talking about sex.”
She makes a gesture with her hand as if to say, See! “I’m just trying to get her used to it,” Cole replies. “Seems like she’ll be around for a while.”
I hum in agreement. Because Thea will be around for a while. Jules has never shown interest in anyone the way he does with her. And there’s the whole baby thing. But I get the feeling Jules wouldn’t have cared whether she was pregnant or not, he wanted Thea from day one.
That, I can understand.
“Don’t just stand there,” Cole cuts in. “Make yourself useful, Benjamin.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I wink, earning an eyeroll and a swish of her ponytail as she shakes her head.
We unpack supply boxes in companionable silence.
She seems to already have a place for everything to go so I follow her lead.
The entire time though, I keep coming back to Cole’s friendship with Thea and, in turn, her former friendship with Maya.
That and Mom’s insinuation that Cole has had some difficulty in the last few weeks. I’m desperate for her to open up to me.
“Spit it out.”
I stop unloading various paper cups from the box in front of me. “Excuse me?”
“You are thinking very loud over there,” Cole clarifies. “What is it?”
My stomach does an idiotic flip over the fact that she noticed me, the smallest seed of hope that she cares.
I shove it down.
“Well, I was thinking about friendships.”
“We aren’t friends, Benjamin.”
Yup, shoving that hope down deeper.
“I wasn’t talking about us, Red. Don’t get your panties in a twist.” I pause. “Or do—I’m happy to help.” I smirk.
“Fucking hell,” she mutters, head hitting the shelf in front of her. “Fine, what friendships were you thinking about?”
“You and Maya.” It’s as if I dropped a bomb inside this storage closet. Cole pauses for a heartbeat, and I can see the look of pain that crosses her face. And then just as quickly she rebuilds her mask of indifference.
“We aren’t friends, either.”
“But you were.” I let that linger. My tone softens before asking, “What happened?”
She’s quiet for a long time, so long that I think she’s not going to answer my question. I wait, my pinky finger finding hers. To my complete and utter shock, she doesn’t withdraw when I tangle my finger with hers.
When I’m just about to change the subject, she starts talking.
“Maya and I… struggled when we left for college.” Cole’s opposite hand comes up to fiddle with the bulk box of napkins, twisting it so it’s lined up perfectly with the front of the shelf.
“I’m not a good friend—” She holds her hand up when she sees that I’m about to protest. “Let me rephrase. I’m not good at being a friend.
“Maya and I were more so friends out of convenience than anything else. I didn’t know anyone when I moved here in middle school.
Maya knew everyone, as you probably remember.
She was my opposite in so many ways, but”—she shrugs—“it was easy because I didn’t have to put in a lot of effort.
She was an extrovert so she did most of the talking, planning, socializing, and so on. ”
I listen, slowly weaving more of our fingers together. She doesn’t stop me.
“When I went to California and she went to Chicago, it became even more work for her. I didn’t initiate calls because I just didn’t think about it.
I missed Maya, sure. And it was never a matter of whether I loved her or not, because I did.
I really did value our friendship. But I think Maya grew tired of being the only one who was keeping us together.
Which is fair. I couldn’t figure out how to navigate things when she wasn’t right in front of me. ”
With a squeeze of her hand, I encourage her to continue. I’m too nervous to say anything, worried that I’ll accidentally fuck this up. Colette Russell is not an outwardly vulnerable person, and it is not lost on me that she’s chosen me to share this with.
“One day we had a really big fight and she said something along the lines of ‘Why can’t you be like a normal person and pick up the phone?’” She sighs heavily at this, and my heart aches for the version of Cole that had to hear her best friend—her only friend—insinuate that she wasn’t normal.
“It got me thinking… maybe I’m not normal. Maybe something is wrong with me.”
“Nothing is wrong with you.” My voice is firm, because fuck that.
She gives me a sad smile. “I know that now. But that fight was the catalyst for finally getting my autism diagnosis. I scheduled an appointment with a therapist the next day. To Maya maybe I wasn’t ‘normal,’ but she did help me get a better understanding of myself.
Ultimately, I am grateful for that. I love who I am now.
I know having autism doesn’t make me abnormal. ”
Cole glances down with a shrug. Then, she does a double take as if she’s just realized that our hands are intertwined. She yanks her hand out of my grasp, effectively bursting our intimate bubble.
“It’s okay to be vulnerable, Colette.”
“I know that.” She turns her back to me, adjusting something else on the shelf. “By the way, do you guys need any additional help around the shop? I’m looking for a job.”
That’s one way to derail me. “Looking for a job? What are you talking about? You’re in school. That should be your focus.”
“Thank you, Captain Obvious.” She glares at me. “It’s just that I—” She starts obnoxiously crinkling a roll of packing paper, lowering her voice so I can’t hear the end of her sentence.
My hands firmly grasp both of hers. “Try again.”
With a slump of her shoulders, she admits, “I lost my scholarship.”
“Lost your… did you fail the semester?”
She looks irate. “Fuck no, asshole. They thought it would be a multiyear scholarship but the donor pulled out. I haven’t been working because I had enough saved up but now… I will have to figure something else out.”
Not if I have anything to say about it.
“We can find some shifts for you,” I say instead. “But I will not allow it to interfere with your classes.”
She gives me a mischievous grin, and I realize I’ve stepped closer to her, forcing her head back so she can meet my gaze. “Oh, you won’t allow it? You under the impression that you’re in charge here?”
“I can be.”
My breathing is heavy as Cole lifts onto her toes, her breasts brushing against my chest. She leans in, her breath sending a shiver down my spine as it coasts across my ear. “Fuck. You,” she whispers, before deftly sliding around me and walking out of the closet.
I don’t allow her to get too far before I catch her wrist. The sudden movement sends her careening back into me, her entire body pressed against mine. I tuck a piece of hair behind her ear before leaning down to whisper my own parting blow.
“Thirty-four days, Colette.”