Chapter 15
THE LAUNCH PARTY WAS IN FULL swing that Friday when Simone headed to the lobby, pausing to grab two flutes of prosecco along the way.
When the door slid open, Erica was there waiting for her, looking as dazzling as ever in a long velvet dress and with her voluminous waves in a high ponytail.
Her face lit up when she saw Simone. “Oh my goodness, did you bring me a glass of prosecco?”
“How could I not?”
“I love that you remembered my favorite drink.”
“I try.”
She really had been trying. Trying not to cry at the wine bar.
Trying to stay present, grateful, and focused as she and Erica had gotten to know each other.
Eventually, she’d noticed her efforts starting to pay off.
She’d felt butterflies—real ones—when they’d hugged goodbye at the end of the night.
She was pretty sure she felt them again when she hugged Erica now, in the lobby of the Rainbow Museum, and Erica planted a soft kiss on Simone’s cheek. Do not think about Ryan Foley.
At least he was in Barrie this weekend, too busy being a good son to come to the launch party.
Erica’s eyes went wide as Simone led her through the sliding door and into the atrium.
Even Simone, who was here every day, was amazed by how far the Rainbow Museum had come.
When she’d started her job at the beginning of January, the place had still been a construction zone, with tarps and ladders and the scents of sawdust and fresh paint in the air.
Now, it wasn’t just finished—it was dazzling.
Billie Eilish played from the speakers, metallic balloons floated above the ball pit, and servers in sequined tuxes held trays of prosecco and multicolored Jell-O shots.
The place was packed with journalists, influencers, and other VIPs.
Frankie, who’d been bouncing around the party like a ping-pong ball, had a permanent grin on his face.
After showing her date around the first floor, Simone introduced Erica to Seth, Lucy, Nina, and their partners.
Sweet, bubbly Erica hit it off with her colleagues right away, whipping out photos of her dog, Greta, in the Hanukkah sweater she’d knit her by hand.
“She’s half-Chihuahua, half-dachshund,” Erica explained, “also known as a chiweenie.”
“Stop.” Seth was cackling. “I’m obsessed.” Lucy’s wife, Holly, was already pulling up photos of Cheddar, Gouda, and Blue in Santa costumes.
Meanwhile, Lucy sidled over to Simone. “What’s wrong?” she whispered.
“Nothing,” Simone said quickly. “Why?”
“You seem stressed out.”
No shit I’m stressed out! I was on a quest to live my best queer life when I ended up having the hottest sex ever with a straight, IPA-drinking, flannel-wearing carpenter man, and now he’s all I can think about.
Simone had texted Lucy from Whistler when she and Ryan finally started getting along, but she’d intentionally kept their hookup a secret, and she had no plans to change that.
Yes, Lucy had lovingly supported her through tough stuff before, but that was exactly why Simone didn’t want to tell her the truth.
Lucy had put so much time and energy into guiding her through the aftermath of coming out.
Simone feared it would feel like a slap in the face for her to turn around and suddenly admit she was lusting after a straight guy.
Worse, Lucy might start to wonder whether Simone was genuinely queer, or if she’d only claimed the bisexual label to fit in at her new job.
Or to seem edgy. And what if those things were actually true, and Simone wasn’t even bi to begin with?
She looked at Erica. Her date was kind, and outgoing, and beautiful, and yet…
Her pulse pounded as she cast around for something to say to her friend. “It’s just a little warm in here.” Lucy arched an eyebrow, but Simone wasn’t going to crack. “I’m gonna grab some water. Erica, you want me to grab you a water?”
Erica turned to her, smiled, and looped an arm through Simone’s. “I’ll come with.”
“We’ll be back in a minute.”
“All righty then,” Lucy said.
Erica hugged Simone close to her side as they navigated their way around the ball pit to the makeshift bar.
She smelled like rose petals again. Simone reminded herself it was normal not to be totally head over heels for someone right away.
She’d straight-up despised Ryan when she’d first met him, and look where they’d ended up.
Great. Now she was thinking about Ryan again.
She and Erica were waiting for their waters when someone else placed an order from behind Simone.
“Can I get the IPA please? Thanks.”
She knew that deep voice. Knew the way it reverberated in her chest and turned her insides to molten lava.
Simone spun around—and thought she might pass out.
She hadn’t been prepared for the life-altering experience that was seeing Ryan Foley in semiformal attire.
He’d swapped his usual flannel and denim for a wool sports coat and slacks; under the jacket, he wore a white shirt with no tie and the top two buttons undone.
As if she’d needed a reminder that she’d seen and touched his spectacular bare chest.
“Simone—hey.” She caught the way his eyes flitted down her body and back up again.
“Ryan. Oh my God.” Suddenly, she really was too hot. “I thought you were in Barrie this weekend.”
“My moms both woke up with sore throats today, so we had to postpone.”
“Oh! I’m sorry to hear that.” Was she, though? No, she was not—that is, until she snapped back to reality and remembered she was here with a date.
Erica turned around with their water glasses in hand.
She handed one to Simone, then looked at Ryan, then looked back at Simone, like she was waiting for an introduction.
Simone suddenly wished her water glass was full of vodka.
Or bleach. “Erica, this is Ryan, the Rainbow Museum’s head carpenter.
He and his team built pretty much everything you see here…
and he was with me on that Whistler Pride trip I was telling you about.
” Simone turned to Ryan, dying on the inside. “Ryan, this is Erica, my…”
Her words got stuck in her throat, but Erica swooped in. “It’s our second date,” she said brightly.
Simone saw it: the exact millisecond when Erica’s words hit Ryan. He quickly regained his composure, but she hadn’t missed the way his jaw had tensed, as though the news had physically stung. “Oh,” he said. “Nice.”
Erica plowed onward, evidently oblivious to the charge crackling in the air. “How did you like Whistler?” she asked Ryan. “Simone said the trip was absolutely amazing.”
“It was,” Ryan replied, but not to Erica.
His eyes were locked on Simone’s. Simone stared back, convinced she saw a longing there that matched hers.
A longing with a heavy dose of hurt. She wondered if he’d been thinking of her the way she’d been thinking of him.
If he’d come with her face in his mind, her name on his lips.
“I’m from LA, so I didn’t grow up skiing,” Erica went on. “I’d love to learn at some point. Simone, maybe you could teach me.”
“Sure,” Simone said, but a second too late and an octave too high. Erica shot a curious glance at Simone, then at Ryan, then at Simone again.
Ryan cleared his throat. “Well, I see a few other people I know, so I’m gonna go and say hi. Erica, it was nice to meet you, and Simone… it was great to see you.”
She knew what Ryan’s real smile looked like.
She’d seen it in Whistler a handful of times, like when they’d both fallen into the tree well.
This was not Ryan’s real smile: an expression so pinched it was almost a grimace.
She couldn’t bear to look at him any longer, so she spoke to her water glass instead.
“It was great to see you, too!” Simone was so tightly wound that her voice came out as a squeak.
She looked up and watched him go, waiting for a wave of relief that never came.
Her eyes glued to Ryan’s back, she wasn’t aware of the chasm of awkward silence stretching between her and Erica until her date attempted to fill it.
“This water was much needed.”
“Mm-hmm.” Simone drained the rest of her glass.
“Um… do you want to keep hanging out here? Or should we go back to your friends?”
Simone wanted option C: Chase after Ryan. But she would never—not with Erica here as her date. Instead, she chose option D: space. “Actually, would you mind hanging with Lucy and Seth for a few minutes while I run to the washroom? I won’t be long.”
“Are you okay?” Erica was looking at her curiously again.
“Yeah, totally. Just—water!” She held up her empty glass. “Sometimes my bladder is teeny-tiny.” Who was she and where were these words coming from?
Erica arched an eyebrow. “Okay.”
Simone stormed past the mirror with its positive affirmations and locked herself in a stall.
She sat on the crinkly seat cover, staring at the door, hating her life.
The point of sleeping with him in Whistler had been to get him out of her system, not to wind up aching for him every second of every day since.
How had a single hookup made her this obsessed with Ryan Foley, to the point where she didn’t want to open herself up to anyone else?
And then the reality dawned on her—or maybe, like the fact of her queerness, it already had, and she was just now admitting it to herself. The truth was, there was so much more she wanted to explore with Ryan Foley. More than a single night of sex could possibly satisfy.
She was just starting to register the depth of her desire when the washroom door swung open and shut. “Simone?” It was Lucy. Better than Erica, but still not someone she was ready to talk to about everything she was feeling.
“Hey,” she called back. “What’s up?”
“I came to check on you.”
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t sound fine. Will you come out and talk to me? I’m worried about you.”