Chapter 35 I’d Eat Them Too
I’D EAT THEM TOO
SKYLAR
I’m finally ready to drag myself out of the house. I can’t hide any longer. And really, I don’t want to.
Maybe Ford didn’t put me first, but I fully intend to put me first. That includes my business.
I put on the blazer I bought for my first meeting with him, grab the tote I nabbed that day too, and head to the door so I can meet with a new client—one I gained from the gala.
A woman named Carmen Santorini wants me to redo her home office with an upcycled Gilded Age vibe.
I’m just a little excited.
I’ll be early, but that’s okay. I’ll grab a coffee and be ready when she is. Then, I’ll catch a ride with my friends to Ford’s parents’ house for the podcast where we do the “after.” That won’t be easy, but my friends will be there, so I know I can handle it.
As I’m heading to the door, though, my phone buzzes with a text.
A flurry of hope ignites in me. Maybe it’s Ford.
But that’s too much to ask for. He hasn’t reached out since the night he dumped me.
I haven’t seen him either, besides that day when he emerged from a Lyft.
I’ve only texted to confirm I’d be doing the live stream at his mom’s house to show how it looks after its makeover—and that was a group text with him and his mother. He didn’t reply.
I toggle over to my messages as mid-morning sun streaks through the living room window.
Adam: My flight landed early! Literally just slid into a car now. Is the dog bed ready?
Skylar: Yup! I left out a bowl of water next to it and some kibble too.
I check the time again. Well, I guess I’ll wait here.
Thirty minutes later, Adam arrives, and I fly out the door, then race down the porch steps to tackle-hug him the second he emerges from the car.
I didn’t realize how much I needed to see him until right now, and I don’t let go.
Even if things didn’t work out with Ford, I’m so glad I met him and had a brief and beautiful love affair—thanks to my brother, who made it possible by letting me live here.
“Whoa. Everything okay?” Adam asks when I break the hug.
I frown, my eyes welling with tears. “I fell for your neighbor. I’m sorry…but I’m also not sorry.”
With a protective gaze, he glances next door, then cups my elbow and ushers me inside, passing a brown paper bag on the front porch. I didn’t notice that earlier, but I’ll grab it when I leave in a bit.
Inside, his green eyes—a similar shade to mine, and bright behind his glasses—hold mine with concern. “Is it the hockey player?”
“Yes,” I say through tears. But once we sit on the couch, Adam reaches for a tissue from the table and offers it to me. I take it as Simon hurls himself into Adam’s lap. Adam pets the shameless boy, who offers his belly to my brother.
I dab at my eyes. “I started seeing him, even though you said it was a bad idea. But I promise I won’t make things awkward as neighbors. I’ll be civilized. You have my word.”
Adam’s expression is soft, his voice gentle as he says, “Don’t worry about it. All I care about is if you’re okay. Are you? And do I need to beat up this jerk?”
The prospect of Adam taking on the burly, sturdy Ford is amusing but unnecessary.
“No. He was worried he was distracted by…me,” I say, then I blurt out the whole sad story.
But when I’m done, I add, “But it’s fine.
I’m moving on. I have my friends, and my dog, and you and Mom and Dad. Everything is fine.”
“Good,” he says, then cocks his head. “But did you ever tell him how you felt?”
I shoot him a what do you mean look. “Well, no. He ended it.”
“Right, but when you explained how you broke up, it sounds like he started to say ‘take a break’ and you finished the sentence. So you didn’t even tell him how you felt.”
I open my mouth to protest, but…he’s not wrong. “I don’t know that it would have made a difference though,” I say.
But then again, would it have mattered?
“You also don’t not know,” he says. “Sometimes in science, you have to test things.”
I purse my lips and narrow my brow. “Look at you, turning science around and using it against me.”
“Science just works. What can I say?” he says with a smile.
I say goodbye to him and Simon, then leave, shutting the door behind me, wondering if I should have told Ford how I felt. I bound down the steps, then stop.
Right. The paper bag.
I trot back up and grab it.
Oh.
There’s a drawing on one side. A simple line sketch of a dog. And the words:
For Simon—his favorite.
And yours too.
I miss you so much.
My heart nearly bursts in my chest as I flash back on the moment on his porch when we confessed our love for this type of dog biscuit.
Sometimes when I get peanut butter biscuits, I eat them too. Well, I take a bite, he’d said.
I’d replied with an excited me too.
My throat tightens as my fingers curl tighter around the bag. I turn toward Ford’s house, hoping—stubbornly, deeply—that this means something.
When I head down the steps, I look to another house on the street. Jessica’s. And I start wondering about her as well.
But first, I go to the meeting.
I steel myself as I arrive at Ford’s parents’ house in Trevyn’s car. He pulls into the driveway, turns off the engine, and gives me a supportive smile. “You’ve got this, girl,” he says.
“Of course I do,” I reply to my good friend.
I push open the door and step outside, the sea salt air from Richardson Bay drifting under my nose.
I told them about the dog biscuits Ford left on my porch this morning—eager to dissect the meaning, but also wary of reading too much into the words I miss you.
They’re not the same as I want you back.
“What do you think?” I ask again.
“I think you need to get your butt into the house. We have a show to do,” Mabel says, then shoos me toward the front door. She hauls the podcast equipment, but it’s not much. Just our lavalier mics and phones. We’re pretty DIY. The Internet is like science—magical.
“Fine, fine, make me suffer,” I say.
“We can spend the rest of the day after we shoot dissecting what it means. Does that work for you?” Mabel asks as we head to the home’s entrance.
“Yes, thank you very much. You get me.”
“We so do,” Trevyn says.
I punch in the code and open the door.
The place is warm and welcoming, but I knew it would be, since I designed it.
I’ve seen it, too, since it all came together, but it’s still gratifying to take everything in—from the couch to the lamps to the kitchen cabinets.
To—wait. What is this? There’s another bag by the front door.
A big brown one. And am I losing my mind or is that a fluffy, fleecy dog bed that’s longer than it is wide?
It’s wiener-shaped, and I can’t stand how cute it is. I pull it out, stroking the obscenely soft material, then gasp when I read what’s been embroidered on it.
Property of Simon Side-Eye.
“Shut up. He made Simon a personalized dog bed,” I say, my heart swelling in my chest. This man is up to something, and I’m eager to know what, or what’s coming next in this trail of gifts.
Mabel bends to inspect it. “Okay, that’s adorable. But get moving.”
I arch a brow. “You’re awfully eager to get this going.”
“You got us past twenty-eight thousand subscribers. They expect us to show all the design stuff,” she says.
“They were tuning in for the dating drama,” I say with a sigh.
“Yes, but they stayed because we’re good,” she adds.
“Also, I bet you can still be dramatic,” Trevyn throws in.
And fine, fine—I haven’t lost my touch in that area.
A few minutes later, we’re ready to go, streaming live on our YouTube channel as I say to the camera, “Who doesn’t love a before and after?”
Then we show our podcast viewers the house—from the dove gray couch to the pale-yellow kitchen table, the blanket on the back of the couch, the counter in the bathroom, the Eames chair, the rest of the office, and the plants in the living room.
“What do you think?” I ask, turning to my friends and co-hosts. “Do we like the after?”
But before either of them can answer, there’s a loud knock on the front door. I shoot Mabel a quizzical look. “Are you DoorDashing while we’re going live?”
She rolls her eyes. “Yes, Skylar. I’m getting cookies.” She pauses. “It’s probably, oh, I don’t know, your client. I’ll go let Maggie Devon in.”
But seconds later, it’s not Maggie walking in. It’s Ford. And my heart beats faster than it does in a thrift shop.
A million times faster.