15. Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Fifteen
Elowen Briar
A Ladder Piercing? I’ll Make An Exception
The shrill buzz of my phone cuts through my dreams. I must’ve fallen asleep super quick last night after I finished texting Beau.
I flail an arm out from beneath my blanket cocoon, fingers scrambling across the nightstand until they close around it.
Eventually, I get my groggy eyes cracked open.
Oh, shit. Imani. Um. Okay. I just woke up. Be cool.
IMANI ?????? is calling. 4 PREVIOUS MISSED CALLS
“It’s not even eight.” I rub my eyes until they feel raw. She is so persistent.
“Right. Little miss dodging my phone calls all night and morning. You’re lucky I waited this long for you to answer, ma’am,” Imani snaps. “I can just as easily just show up to your house. Explain yourself.”
I flop back against the pillows and stare at the ceiling fan as it makes a soft ticking sound. “What are you even talking about?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the ominous missed call from you at, like, eleven o’clock last night, followed by total radio silence. Are you dead? In a ditch? Attempting to flee the country?”
I blink up at the ceiling and let the silence stretch.
Pale morning light slips around the edges of the curtains.
Somewhere outside, a dog barks twice and then gives up.
Genie is unbothered, laying at the end of the bed.
I forgot to tell Imani what happened. Even worse, that I made it home in the first place.
Probably better that I have time to collect my thoughts anyways.
“You’re doing that thing.” She says.
“What thing?” I dodge her question.
“The thing where you pretend it’s normal behavior to emergency-call your best friend in the middle of the night and then vanish into the abyss.”
“You act like that’s something I do often. Mon-mon, I meant to call you back.” I pause. “Stuff just got… hectic.”
“Hectic. Elowen, you have two moods. Slightly anxious and apocalyptic meltdown. You don’t call me three times after dark and then go full ghost mode.”
“I’m fine, I promise,” I say, hesitantly, knowing she is about to pick my brain until it's nothing but scrambled matter.
“First, that is not an answer. Second, I sure as hell am not accepting it.”
“It was just a weird night, okay?” Imani is a killer at digging for information. If there is something to find, leave it to her to get it word for word.
“Oh, you really think I’m going to let you get away with that. You are sorely mistaken. I’ve spent all night bed-rotting, worried about you!” Imani yells through the phone.
“I didn’t say you should let me,” I say, smirking faintly. “I’m just not— elaborating yet.”
“Yet?” Imani questions.
“Imani.” I say, clearing my throat.
“No, do not Imani me. You’re being suspicious. Like, you got abducted by aliens suspicious. Was this a man thing? What did you do last night? Or, who did you do last night?”
A man thing. Oh, he is a man. Alright, alright, alright.
I rub my temples. “Why would you go straight to it being a man thing?”
“Because you’re deflecting. Also, because the last time you sounded like this, you met that hockey guy who wore a scarf indoors.”
“Gross. Definitely not him. No more scarf guys. Consider those off limits. Unless they come with a ladder piercing. Then, I might consider, but that would have to be in the fine print.”
“So, it is a man.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t not say it,” Imani replies smugly.
“I swear to God, you need a podcast. You’d be a number one top hit yap-fest on every cellular device with a speaker, damn it.”
“So I’ve been told,” she says proudly. “But, back to your mysterious midnight crisis. What happened?” She continues to press.
I slide off the bed and pad toward the window. The wood floor is cool. Outside, the neighbors are already up and moving, someone scraping a windshield, someone else hauling a trash bin that rattles on the curb. Genie hops off the bed and scurries to the front door. Part of our morning ritual.
“Nothing happened,” I lied. “I figured it out. All good. Situation neutralized.” I motion a flatline into the air as if she can see me.
“You are so annoying when you’re vague. Why can’t you just shoot me an audio message with all the juicy details when something exciting happens? Instead, you make me call your phone all night and consider staking out your house like a psychotic stalker from one of your books.”
“And you are so nosy when you’re awake before ten.”
“Rude,” Imani sniffs. “Now, I am about to come over. You'd better have coffee waiting.”
“I don’t have coffee. I have matcha. Does that work?”
“Then, I’m bringing it myself. Coffee run, it is. And I expect answers by the second sip.”
I roll my eyes, but I can’t fight the smile tugging at my mouth. “You’re relentless, my girl.”
“It’s part of my charm, beautiful. See you in fifteen minutes, Elowen.” She ends our conversation.
The call ends with a victorious click. I stand still for a second, phone pressed to my chest, the weight of last night humming beneath my skin.
I can almost feel his hand on mine again.
I can picture him sitting on the edge of my bed asking, “What plans do you have today, Ms. Briar”, in that cute formal tone he carries.
Well, I plan to see you, and I should’ve let that call go to voicemail.
By the time Imani shows up, I’ve managed to brush my hair, throw on a hoodie, and pretend I’m not replaying last night on a loop.
She doesn’t knock. When does she ever? When has she ever?
She figured out where the hidden key is, and ever since, haunts my house like a poltergeist. She walks in like she pays the mortgage, balancing a cardboard drink tray, and wearing the expression of someone who knows she’s about to get juicy information.
Imani has always been the prettier of the two of us.
There’s no doubt about that. Her various pattern curls bounce lusciously just above her shoulders.
She usually slides a no-pull headband into the front, but opted out of it today.
She was diagnosed with vitiligo as a young girl, so her skin is a warm brown with a few areas that are pale highlights against her darker skin.
I think it makes her stand out, as if she isn’t already the most perfect girl to walk the planet. Her hazel eyes are bright and curious.
Sometimes, I think she was sent to save me from myself. Not a day goes by that she doesn’t remind me that I’m worth it: every worry, every heartache, every midnight missed phone call. She is the most present person in my life.
After a childhood full of being bullied by the same kid, Giuseppe Russo, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that she’s the strongest girl I know.
She is a big advocate of instilling a sense of worth in everyone she meets.
That only came after breaking Russo’s nose during a brawl in eighth grade though.
David talked about that fight for weeks.
Meanwhile, I’ve spent the majority of my life trying to learn how to be as headstrong as her.
If soulmates exist, she’s mine.
Imani never leaves the house without her purse, which is funny because she always made fun of me for always carrying a tote bag with me. So now her go-to is matching sweats, making her look effortlessly graceful — a true “I woke up like this” look.
“Didn’t want to risk you ignoring the door like you ignored my calls last night,” she says, hip-checking the door shut, her voice thick with sarcasm.
“Good morning to you, too,” I mutter, taking the coffee she holds out. The lid is warm against my palm. Vanilla and oat milk rise in a soft scented curl.
“Don’t get cute with me, chick. I come bearing caffeine and a fucking large amount of concern. Explain.”
I give her my best deadpan. “It’s barely eight. Still. Did you need to be reminded?”
“Ma’am, I’ve been spiraling since last night, so don’t test me.” Imani glares.
I sigh and take a long sip. Sweet, smooth, perfect. That’s really the worst part. She always shows up with the exact right coffee and zero patience. Even when I’m craving a matcha with a sweet cold foam.
“I met someone,” I say finally, sinking into the couch.
That stops her cold.
“Excuse me. Bitch, what?” She shouts at me.
I don’t dare to look at her. “My car wouldn’t start outside this creepy little bookstore in town.
I parked it there earlier in the evening.
I’m never downtown and the signage isn’t exactly obvious.
It’s near the vitality store, if you remember going there with Regina last year.
I just parked there to carpool with the therapists from work. ”
“This sounds like the beginning of one of my true crime documentaries, not the story my best friend should be telling me about a man who has suddenly appeared in her life. Man? Woman? Neither?” Imani drops her purse like it offended her and perches on the armchair, eyes locked on mine.
“And a gentleman came out. He owns the place, apparently. His name is Beau.”
Whoever invented the word beautiful had him on the brain. He is the whole premise of the word beautiful.
“Beau.” She repeats it slowly like she’s tasting the word. “You met a man named Beau at a gothic bookstore and you’re just now telling me. Are we even friends, Elowen Briar?”
I shrug, “It wasn’t that serious. You act like I eloped without inviting you or something.”
She narrows her eyes. “What does not that serious mean? Is he cute? Are you downplaying the interaction because you are wildly attracted to him? Tell me. Tell me. Tell me.”
I take another drink. “He is… very symmetrical.”
“Elowen!”
“Fine. Yes. He is objectively attractive in a tall, probably broods in moonlight, kind of way.”
Imani’s face beams like a walk-through light show in the South during Christmas. “Oh, I like him already. What happened next?” She questions me, one of her most redeeming qualities, being able to figure out the difference between the truth versus not.
I keep my tone neutral. “He took it upon himself to hire a private charter service to drive me home. I also have a lingering suspicion that he also owns said charter service.”
There is a long beat of silence. Even the refrigerator hum seems to hush to listen. “He—what? Stop making me ask. Just tell me. Now!” Imani snaps at me.
“He said it was the least he could do. So, yes. A very nice black car pulled up and drove me home like I was some bullshit VIP.”
Imani stares like I have confessed to dating royalty. “That is not just a ride, babe. That is a grand romantic gesture. And don’t call it bullshit. That was insanely sweet of him.”
“He was simply being polite. Don’t start putting ideas in my head, Imani.” I stare at the reflection in the hardwood floors. The house still smells like clean linen and lemon Pinesol from my deep clean yesterday.
“That’s not just polite! That is rom-com-level considerate. Did he open the car door for you, too?”
I try to bite back the smile. “He watched from the door. The chauffeur opened and shut my door.”
“Elowen. What the fuck? He basically was your saving grace. Did you tell him how perfect he is? How did you thank him? On your knees. Please, say yes.”
“Easy, girl. Now, you’re being a little extra. There was no grand gesture from my side. I just put my contact information in his phone and he sent me on my way.”
She flops onto the other end of the couch, still beaming. “You realize this is the beginning of a Hallmark movie. A spooky one. Like if the Sanderson sisters were contemporary, or if the girl from Halloweentown actually ended up with the love interest.”
“I’m pretty sure she did end up with him at the end of the movie. Maybe the second one?” I don’t know how to steer this conversation. I stare into my coffee like it might grow a mouth and jump in to save me. Oh, please, coffee god, if you can hear me.
“And then,” she presses. “Did he text you?”
I hesitate. “He did and I texted him back to ask how much I owed him for the car.”
Imani leans in. “And?”
“He wouldn’t let me pay him back. Refused actually. Said, it's his pleasure, whatever the hell that means.”
Her eyes go wide. “So he is either incredibly generous, or deeply in love already. I think I know which, baby. Bow-chicka-wow-wow.” She winks at me.
I roll my eyes. “You have known about him for four minutes, total.”
“I know enough to form an educated guess.”
I stand, partly to escape her giddy face and partly because the back of my neck is getting warm. The morning light has crept farther across the rug, catching dust motes that drift like tiny planets. How did I miss so much yesterday? Life of a dog mom.
“Anyways,” I say, “I was going to ask if you could give me a ride? The tow truck he ordered will pick up my car at ten. Outside of Beau’s bookstore…”
Imani blinks, tugged back into reality. “Wait a damn minute. You mean that’s why I’m here?”
“Well, partly. Also, for your delightful company and aggressive prying. I was really looking forward to being chewed to the bone for information.” I sarcastically reply.
“Unbelievable,” she mutters, grabbing her keys from the counter. “You drop a mysterious hot man named Beau on me like it's nothing and then use me for transportation. Who even are you?”
“I didn’t use you. You insisted on coming over.” I groan.
“I did. You’re right. But I’m meeting him today. We can all come full-circle then, finally. Since I was so rudely left out of last night’s party.”
I smirk, “We will see.”
We head outside. The air is cool yet bright. A neighbor’s wind chime tinkles across the yard. Somewhere a kettle whistles and someone laughs through an open window. My stomach does that fluttery thing again just thinking about last night.
No big deal. Totally manageable. Just a guy. A bookstore. A ride in a chartered car. Nothing strange about that. Right?