Chapter 12
12
I migrate to the café midafternoon for a change of scenery. I’ve made good progress today, knocked out another entire chapter—a fluffy one about Sebastian’s time on the reality dating show—but I’m in desperate need of a break.
Makenna’s just clocking out when I get there.
“Honey nut latte,” she tells the other barista before I’ve even had a chance to order it. “Unless you want to try something else this time?”
“No, that sounds great. Done for the day?”
“Done here ,” she says. “I picked up a bartending shift over at the lounge tonight, but I’ve got a couple of hours to kill. You?”
“Taking a minute before getting back to my project.”
She straightens a few syrup bottles on the counter, then glances up at me.
“I saw you together last night,” she says, eyes sparkling. “Skating.”
My cheeks burn. Did she see us skating —or did she catch that moment when time stood still, when we kissed, the fact that we were on skates a mere technicality?
“It was a really fun time,” I say evenly, unable to conceal my smile.
“I bet it was. I’ve never seen Tyler out there with anyone,” she says.
“Yeah, I get the impression he doesn’t get out much.”
Makenna snorts. “An understatement! And such a waste. You don’t see a lot of guys who are that hot and that kind. Not in my experience, anyway.”
Not in my experience, either, but I keep that to myself—if I say anything at all, I risk revealing just how hot I find him, just how kind.
“Honey nut latte!” the other barista calls out, sliding my drink across the bar. It’s beautiful, but so, so full—one wrong move and it’ll be everywhere.
Makenna wishes me good luck with my work before heading out, and I ease my way over to my favorite spot by the window.
My phone buzzes violently on the table as soon as I sit down. Chloe’s face lights up the screen, a black-and-white photo from when we grabbed ice cream one day last summer: in it, she’s mid–brain freeze, caught in a moment of joy that lives on every time she calls.
“Tell me everything ,” Chloe greets me. “Everything!”
“You waited long enough to call,” I tease. “Did someone steal your phone this morning?” It’s nearly four in the afternoon, the longest she’s ever taken to touch base.
“Lots of work drama today.” Her tone drips with resentment. “But I didn’t want to call too early and interrupt anything, if you know what I mean.”
“I know exactly what you mean, and I’m sorry to inform you that there was nothing to interrupt.”
“Nooooo!” she says. “The date wasn’t good?”
“Oh, it was good.”
I can still feel hands on me, his fingertips, his kiss like fire—
“But it didn’t go anywhere?” she asks.
“Not all of us spend the night on a first date, Chlo.”
So many times throughout our friendship, I’ve wished I were the sort of person who didn’t take everything so seriously—the sort of person who could let go and have fun, who doesn’t need every hookup to mean something. Chloe has perfected the art of having fun and then moving on before anyone has a chance to get hurt.
I’m not sure I’m capable of that kind of no-strings fun.
“But you wanted to?”
She would kick me in the shin if she could see the smile creeping onto my face right now.
“The only thing that kept me from inviting him in was that I’d left my project all over the kitchen island, all the True North books and everything,” I admit. “At best, I’d look like a boy band stalker.”
Chloe howls. “If he only knew! You are the least starstruck human I’ve ever met in my life.”
“They’re just people,” I say. “Sometimes they’re awful people.”
“But they’re loaded most of the time, and they all have ten beach houses and cars that cost more than I make in three years. And they’re gorgeous and can take you to gorgeous places. I bet they have the best stories.”
I snort. “Yeah, you say that now, but ninety percent of what they talk about is themselves.”
“You’re just saying that because you’ve spent too much time listening to Sebastian for your book—that’s different! Your job is literally to listen to his life story and write it down.”
She does have a point.
“I’d totally let Sebastian Green take me to one of his beach houses,” Chloe says, and I laugh. “So tell me about last night? Where did Tyler take you on your date?”
“Dinner, then ice-skating under the stars—it honestly felt like something you’d see in a movie.”
Chloe squeals on the other end. “Alix! Stop it. That sounds like the most romantic date ever!”
I can’t help it, I smile. “It really was.”
“ And ?” she prompts, like she can sense my smile even over the phone.
“And he kissed me,” I say in a rush.
“Ahhhh, I knew it! I knew it. When are you seeing him again?”
“I have another ski lesson at five, but we’re also meeting up later tonight—he told me to wear something warm.”
“To do what?”
“I have no idea—it’s a surprise. But last night was, too, and he was just… really thoughtful.”
She sighs dreamily. “He sounds amazing, Alix, really. I can’t wait to meet him when I come visit!”
My stomach flips. Not that he isn’t introduction-worthy—he totally is.
But that’s what’s scary.
Right now, it feels like Tyler and I exist in a beautiful, sparkly snow globe. If our world were to tip upside down, it would only make things more beautiful, because that’s part of the design. I can’t bring my real life inside its safe glass wall without breaking it, though—and that could get messy, even painful.
“I promise I won’t say anything embarrassing!” Chloe goes on, misreading my silence.
“You’d better not,” I say, going along with it so I don’t have to admit the truth about how much it scares me to think about my worlds colliding.
She tells me a little more about the drama she’s having at work and about how she’s interviewing for a promotion tomorrow. Her work rival is also up for the promotion, but Chloe feels confident she has it in the bag—her boss specifically encouraged her to apply for the new position, which seems promising.
When we’re finally off the phone, I crack open my laptop to read over the chapters I wrote after talking to Sebastian.
In the process, my arm knocks into my honey nut latte, and not gently.
It’s a slow-motion disaster: what’s left of my latte sloshes right out of its mug, all over me—all down the front of my favorite long-sleeved fuchsia running shirt, even up into my hair—and all over my laptop’s keyboard. I didn’t think there was much honey nut latte left, but apparently I was wrong. It’s everywhere .
“No,” I say urgently, under my breath. “No, no, no, noooo .”
As if telling it to stop will magically keep it from seeping into every crevice.
I can’t afford a new laptop right now.
And I can’t afford not to have one.
Frantically, I rush to back up my work in case it—I don’t know—short-circuits on me? My old boss ruined a computer like this once. His shut off immediately and wasn’t salvageable, but hopefully there’ve been some technological advancements in the last ten years.
I’m trying to minimize the damage with half a tree’s worth of napkins when something sizzles and the screen goes black. It’s a hopeless, sticky mess. I’m not getting any more work done today. I’ll be lucky if I get any more work done this week .
And I’m supposed to meet Tyler at the ski school in an hour—there’s no way. There’s just no way. Even if I were somehow able to forget about this long enough to relax, there’s still the inconvenient matter of my soaked, stained outfit. I love the smell of honey nut latte and all, but it’s not exactly my go-to scent—and it’s dripping from the tips of my hair.
I need a shower. I need a lot of things.
So, so sorry , I type out, but I’m going to have to cancel my lesson today. Work emergency.
Tyler doesn’t reply immediately—he’s probably on the mountain with his elderly client who has all the dachshunds, making sure she doesn’t break a hip or tear any important tendons.
Sure enough, when I’ve just gotten back to my penthouse, smelling of sickly sweet old coffee and more than ready to wash this day off my skin, he writes back: Oh, no… sorry to hear that. We’ll make it up another day. :) Still on for tonight at 10 or better to cancel that, too?
His reply brings tears to my eyes. No guilt trip, no pressure to rehash what happened, no indication that I’ve offended him by canceling at the last second.
It’s refreshing, and so different from how Blake would have reacted. Blake would have asked a million questions until I ultimately gave in and went along with the original plan.
What does it say about the men in my life—specifically my ex and my brother—that such a simple message makes me feel so seen?
Puffin rubs up against my ankle, purring. I kneel down to pet him, but he backs away when he smells my coffee-soaked sleeve.
Wouldn’t miss it , I finally write back. See you then :)