Chapter 15
FIFTEEN
Leilani
I tap at the keys on my laptop, hitting save on the final touches of the Chamber of Commerce project.
Let's hope we win. That ten grand would be a nice chunk of change.
As it turns out, a million dollars doesn't go that far when opening a bar.
I'm trying hard not to spend a ton of cash, but it's a lost cause.
Even though the bar will survive without the money, winning the contest would be a personal triumph of sorts, something that would prove that I'm professional, that I'm an organized business owner, that I'm not just a cute girl who swims underwater.
Remy keeps reassuring me that we've got this, that my bar is that unique, and that our project is so well-done that we're a shoo-in to win the contest.
I'm skeptical, because our competition is stiff.
There's a new brewery, an acupuncturist, and a place that sells tiny succulents in cute, little pots.
They all seem to have their act together, marketing-wise.
The brewer has an MBA. The succulent woman has a background in marketing. Any one of them could win the prize.
I even bought a growler of the beer — it was delicious — and a tiny succulent in a unicorn planter at the Cypress Grove Farmer's Market recently. I'm not sold on the acupuncture, even if Ginger Hastings said it can work miracles with stiff joints.
I look at the little succulent plant, which is sitting in my kitchen window, soaking up the final rays of the day. Actually, Remy had been the one to buy it for me two weeks ago; we'd gone to the market together because he loves the key lime donuts made by this one bakery.
While he'd inhaled three donuts, I'd cooed over the unicorn. And after giving me that grin of his, he'd whipped out a fifty and bought the pretty plant nestled in a plastic, blue, sparkly planter shaped like a unicorn.
"I want my unicorn to have a unicorn," he'd said.
The memory makes my stomach tighten, and not in a good way. I'm his unicorn because I'd agreed to our stupid arrangement. It seemed like a good idea at the time, two months ago.
I navigate over to my email and type Remy's address into the box.
Subject: Chamber Contest
Hey. Here's the final report we need. Talk soon.
Too cold. I erase the message and try again.
Remy-
I'm attaching the final report for the Chamber of Commerce Contest. Please give me your feedback.
-L.
Too formal. Erase. Erase. Erase. I jab the delete key several times.
Remy-
I miss you. Please come over right NOW.
Ugh. No. I can't send that. Anything but that. I'm specifically trying to distance myself from that.
Sighing, I close my laptop and rest my head on my forearms for ten long breaths. Why am I in such a rotten mood?
I sit up and take a sip of my coffee, looking around my kitchen table. It's strewn with notebooks, blueprints of the bar, pens of all colors, and printed spreadsheets. I've been working all day on the project, and have made several lists for the bar, too.
Remy was supposed to help me with this part of our project, but ever since that dinner at his parents' house three days ago, I'd told him that I could handle things on my own. That I'd prefer to write the final report myself.
It was my bar, after all. And I was too busy to hang out, I'd said firmly when he called on Monday.
With a heavy heart, I've buried myself in my work and haven't seen him once.
And I miss him. Maybe this little separation of my own making was unnecessary. I keep thinking of things that I want to talk to him about. Jokes. Stories. Questions about the town.
I miss the way he laughs into my hair when we fall asleep. I miss how we both like movies about aliens. I miss him making slightly burned nachos in my oven.
Grabbing my phone, I swipe to open a text message. Should I ask him over? He'd messaged earlier, asking if I wanted to get together, but I'd demurred, saying that I had too much to do.
Okay, girl. You're killing me with all your hard work. Talk later, he'd written.
I chew on my cheek and set the phone down. Let's not act out of desperation. Or loneliness. Let's not act like Mom, who gets lonely and needy, and that's why she turns to male companionship.
But I am lonely. That's the problem.
I'd been sailing along in our bubble, confident that I could separate lust from my feelings toward him.
Then Sunday happened, and it was like a hurricane swept in and changed the landscape.
Something about being with Remy at his parents' house, around his entire family, made me yearn for something… more.
But every time the wedding talk came up at the dinner table, Remy got this look on his face like he'd eaten some bad shellfish.
And his repeated, barbed remarks about being a confirmed bachelor got under my skin.
His words weren't just annoying — they were outright hurtful.
Ever since then, I've been questioning my sanity for wanting to continue our friends-with-benefits relationship.
And yet, he'd warned me all along. Told me explicitly that he didn't want a relationship. Said he was only in this “for the fun.” I'd happily agreed, because, well.
I'd thought I wanted the same thing.
Thought being the operative word. Turns out that I actually like the big goof. A lot. It's not that I want to marry the guy, but I'd like something a little more formal. Which will never happen, as far as I can tell — the bracelet and the plant gifts aside.
I suspect he's going to break my heart if I continue down this path with him. He's too easy to be around, and I know that I'm developing feelings for him. Deep, intense feelings. Warm, fuzzy feelings.
Feelings are not part of the arrangement.
It's not just about the chemistry, though that's real. I can't get enough of his laughter, his observations about the world, his laid-back attitude.
And the way he treats his mother? Priceless. Watching the two of them joke and banter at dinner was so sweet that it almost made my teeth hurt.
He checks all the boxes on my perfect man list. Except one.
· Isn't commitment shy.
Kind of an important one, now that I think about it. And Remy is about the most commitment shy guy I've ever met. Ugh.
"Looks like I'm another victim of the Playboy of Paradise Springs," I mutter aloud.
I push my chair back and move toward the coffee maker. It's six at night, and I really could use something stronger than coffee, but I'm not the drinking-alone type, even when I'm down.
What am I doing here, holed up in my house?
As far as I can tell, I have two options. I can just tell Remy how I feel and soldier on with the arrangement, feelings tucked away. If he can do this without feelings, so can I, right?
Um. Wrong.
Or I can let him go. Allow the friendship to fade to nothing. Timing favors this option, because the final Chamber of Commerce contest meeting is this Saturday. It'll be the last time we have to see each other. Maybe we'll share a last night together.
And then I'll drown myself in a vat of ice cream for a few days before picking myself up off the sofa, and that will be the end of Remy and Leilani's Arrangement. I will be fully single once again, and not get attached, like my mother, the serial monogamist.
Yep. This is what I need to do.
In the meantime, I ponder, why am I sitting around my house, moping? If there's one thing that Remy, his sister, and the rest of his family showed me, it's that I need friends. Cypress Grove is a friendly place. Getting over Remy will be easier with new friends.
I didn't leave home and break up with Brent to come here and sit in my house, alone. And now that the bar is almost a reality, I really need to expand my social network.
I'm going out. Alone.
First, I tie my hair in a ponytail, then swipe on some pink lip gloss. I shove my feet into my flip-flops and grab my purse. Since I don't live far from downtown, I figure I'll take my bike to Main Street and find a place to spend the afternoon.
I pause at the door. Should I do this alone? Will it feel awkward?
You know what? It doesn't matter if I'm alone or not. I'll have a beer at a bar or some iced tea and make some new friends. There are so many witches and covens and psychics in town that surely I'll find a place that feels women-friendly.
My ponytail flies in the wind as I pedal my aqua blue beach cruiser out of my driveway and down the sidewalk toward Main Street.
I pass a popsicle store, which shares space with a yoga studio. Both are new, and I smile. I adore the quirkiness of my new home. See? I'm already feeling better, now that I'm not holed up in my place alone.
Forget Remy. If he can't see that I'd be an amazing girlfriend, pfft. His loss.
I careen into the parking lot of Ice Ice Baby, then brake and slow when I spot a palm tree. Coffee sounds better than a beer right now. Guess I could lock my bike here, since I don't see any racks. It's on the far end of a parking lot, but it seems like the safest place for my wheels.
As I'm taking the lock out of the basket at the front of the bike, I hear male laughter wafting through the air. I look up to the cafe's small deck. There's a woman with red hair at a table, sipping a coffee.
And across from her is Remy. I let out a little gasp. He's angled so that his back is to me, so he can't see me. But he's tipping his head back and laughing uproariously in that deep, rich tone of his. As if the woman has just told the funniest joke in the world.
I know this tone, because he's laughed at my jokes like that.
Oh. Ohhh. I'd turned him down earlier today. And he...
My heart leaps into my throat.
His snarky comments from the other day about his brothers' weddings run through my mind.
He's here with another woman. Maybe on a date. Looks like a date. She's incredibly cute. I'm frozen to the ground as I stare at them.
The Playboy of Paradise Springs has already moved on.
I throw the bike lock back in the basket and hop on, pedaling furiously away from the cafe. The breeze sends my tears streaking across my face.