Chapter 14
“This is a baby shower?” I whisper when we walk into the party.
Nate shrugs as we follow the hostess, a friend of Logan and Livvie’s named Kyla, through the crowd. The wooden sign in the foyer proudly proclaims Here Comes the Son in hand-painted white lettering, so I’m pretty sure it’s that or Bible study, but it doesn’t look like either one.
Kyla’s home is a big, modern new build in a neighborhood of big, modern new builds, with an open living space that stretches to the back of the house.
Sitting on the kitchen island are four gorgeous charcuterie platters, half-eaten, each shaped like a letter spelling out the word BABY.
Next to them, somebody has set out greasy paper bags overflowing with McDonald’s cheeseburgers.
A balloon arch in various earth tones covers the wall behind the dining table, which has been shifted against the staircase to make room for a dance floor. There, a radiant woman in a floral maxi dress is getting lower than Newton would’ve thought possible for a woman in her third trimester.
There’s both a make-your-own-wildflower-bouquet bar and an actual bar, and not the tame kind that only serves mimosas.
It’s stacked with handles of Tito’s and bottles of—gag—Patrón, plus Laguna Boys Cerezita Rum, a gross-looking liquor I only recognize from some of the Beach House people’s social media.
As we pass by, a guy whose ripped, waxed chest is on display above his deep V-neck plunks down a bunch of freshly rinsed shot glasses.
A woman in a sleek red dress with cutouts at the waist immediately fills them up.
Nate hazards a guess: “It’s a baby…rager?”
Kyla flags down Livvie, who seems sincerely happy to meet us. She has an endearing honk of a laugh and the kind of long, gleaming red hair that must sell an unfathomable quantity of gummy vitamins on Instagram.
Nate doesn’t check her out. Doesn’t matter, I remind myself. He’s leaving.
“Who is this party for?” I ask Livvie.
“Oh! It’s a baby shower for Amber and Omar. Well, it was. This is the after-party.”
The guy with the pecs pokes his head in.
“Baby shower after dark,” he says with a grin.
“Drink, anyone?” He introduces himself as Michael Embry, and Livvie and Kyla refer to him solely as Michael Embry.
Like a reverse Cher, but equally powerful, a person who could never be contained by a name as nonspecific as Michael.
He points out his girlfriend, who’s sitting on the floor next to the gifts, taking inventory to help Amber with her thank-you notes.
The normal me would love a weird party like this. Attending it, or planning it for a friend. And while Nate and I blend in like mineral sunscreen in our casual clothes, everyone is welcoming. But I need to focus on why we’re here, so I decline the drink.
Nate shakes his head too. “I haven’t seen Logan yet.”
Livvie taps her chin. “He was here earlier. He gave Amber the most beautiful baby carrier. Artipoppe, gold velvet. A couple of the guys went to pick our friend Hayden up from the airport, so maybe he went with them?”
“Was he okay?” Nate asks. “He left Tahoe pretty suddenly after someone posted a picture of him with Quinn. We thought he might’ve been upset about the nasty comments.”
“Seemed fine to me. He said he spent this afternoon at a paint-your-own-pottery place making a mug with dicks all over it.” She tilts her head until recognition sparks in her eyes. “Oh! The picture. You’re the single-girl spin instructor.”
In my periphery, Nate swivels toward me. I catch the confusion on his face, which means he hasn’t done any Googling. “Um,” I say. “Yes, I think.”
“Your ex was so mean,” Livvie continues. “Lining up someone new, and then what he said about you? Downright cruel.”
My face is in flames. “People say a lot of things they don’t mean when they’re venting.” It’s the most charitable explanation, for Caleb and for me. Because the real explanation is that he was right about me, just in the wrong place, at the wrong time.
“Still. I get why you said what you did. That would’ve been enough to make anyone swear off dating.”
I try to swallow my embarrassment. “I think I need a seltzer or something.”
“I’ll get it,” Nate says, and leaves me with Livvie.
She studies me. “Sorry if I said too much about your business. I tend to treat people like we’re best friends within five minutes of meeting them.”
“It’s fine,” I say. “It’s just new to me. I thought I was used to being in the spotlight before, but this is another level. My boss wants me to take advantage of it, but I have no idea how.”
“I’m sure I can help with that.” She furrows her brow in thought.
That’s how, by the time Nate comes back with two pretty cocktail glasses filled with raspberry-lime sparkling water, I find myself posing for a photo with Kyla, who recently went through a very public breakup with her Beach House costar.
“He wanted me to invest my life savings in his astrology-based IV vitamin infusion concierge business,” she says.
“When I said no, he told me I was unsupportive.” My horrified face must say it all, because Livvie lets out another unruly laugh and Kyla breaks into a smile. “I’m well aware that I’m better off.”
Her fingers fly across her phone screen as she applies a filter to our photo, then adds a caption. @quinnraycycles and I had lots to talk about , she types. “Maybe we should’ve taken the photo on the roof deck.”
“It looks good to me,” I say, and she taps the little arrow, posting it for her nine hundred thousand followers to see.
Tracy is going to love this. I quickly share it, conscious of Nate standing behind me, holding our drinks and my sweatshirt.
He’s been there for more than a few minutes, but to my relief, he’s not watching me closely.
Instead, he’s chatting with a guy who I suspect is Omar, based on the neon-yellow sweatband on his head that’s monogrammed with the word DADDY.
“Wait,” I say, my mind catching on something Kyla said. “Roof deck? Are people up there?”
She nods. “It’s quieter. But no bar.”
“Logan?”
“I’m not sure,” she says. “I haven’t been up there in a while.”
“The ice cream truck is here!” someone hollers, and half the party heads for the front door. I grab Nate’s arm and pull him in the other direction.
“There’s a roof deck,” I explain. “We should check to see if Logan is up there.”
“Sounds good. You’re done taking pictures with all the single girls?” His voice is teasing, so I elbow him in the side.
The music and voices fade as we climb the steel-and-wood floating staircase to the second floor. I can feel the questions radiating off him, but he holds them in. There’s no point in hiding anything from him, though. He’s leaving.
“Go on,” I say. “Ask what you want to ask.”
He pauses on the landing. “I’m trying to give you privacy, but I’ll be honest. I’m curious. I know you said there was some controversy with Caleb and a video, but it seems like I missed some details.”
“Why didn’t you just Google it in secret like a normal person?”
“Because I was trying to actually give you privacy, not just pretend to?”
The roof deck is up one more flight of stairs.
Outside, there’s a seating area to the right.
String lights crisscross the space overhead, and brass lanterns flank each sofa.
Potted trees and shrubs dot the space in between the patio furniture and, on the other side of the deck, a counter-height table against the railing, overlooking the neighborhood.
A few people are sitting there, chatting quietly.
“No Logan,” Nate says.
“Shit. Sorry. If he went to the airport, I’m sure he’ll be back soon.”
I reach for the door, but Nate shakes his head. “Let’s stay here for a bit. It’s…a lot down there. I haven’t fully recovered from Vegas yet.”
The empty sectional does look appealing. I plop down and pull my phone out of my pocket, finding a text from Tracy: Brilliant. Your travel video had depth, and this maintained the fun vibe. The balance is key. More. My stomach twists into a knot.
Nate sits next to me. “Will you tell me what happened?” His face glows under the lights like warm honey.
I lick my lips, my mouth suddenly dry. “Has anyone ever told you something about yourself, and it’s something you’ve never noticed, but as soon as they say it you know it’s true?”
He gives me an uncertain nod.
“No, really. Do you know what I mean?”
“I work with children,” he says. “All they do is roast me with complete accuracy. This summer they told me that when I get excited, I look like Sven from Frozen. ”
“Is it actually roasting if someone tells you that you look like a Disney prince?”
He snorts. “Sven is the reindeer.”
“Ouch.”
“So who told you something you never noticed about yourself?”
“Caleb.” My voice is scratchy. I clear my throat.
“The breakup was bad enough. It made me feel so clueless. And then a few weeks later, somebody posted the video. I had to come to terms with what he said knowing that all these people—CycleLove fans, people who just love gossip—were wondering if it was true too.”
“It wasn’t just the public embarrassment,” he says. “He made you feel like there was something wrong with you.”
I hug my knees to my chest. “I thought I could handle it, but I was wrong. I exploded one day on the bike and kind of yelled at everyone taking my class about relationships. Tracy put me in time-out, which is why I’m taking this trip.”
The furrow between his brows gets deeper the more I talk, as I tell him about my rant going viral and Tracy encouraging me to shed my Quinn Ray of Sunshine skin and slip into this shiny new Single Girl Quinn persona.
“Wait, can we back up? What did Caleb say in the video?” he finally asks.
I swallow. “I’m afraid it’s always been obvious to everyone else, just not to me.”
“If it helps, I’d be happy to enumerate Caleb’s flaws for an audience. Number one, at your CycleLove welcome party, he referred to a cup of plain blueberries as a treat. ”