Chapter 5 #2
“I’m running the bakery,” I say softly, picking at the edge of a napkin.
“Fourteen, sometimes sixteen hours a day. I come home exhausted… and still, somehow, feel empty.” I glance up, then down again.
“I mean, he’s here.” I gesture to my body.
“Physically. Always. But he’s not with me.
Not really.” I tap my temple, the ache behind my eyes tightening. “Not up here. Not where it matters.”
I reach for my phone, needing the distraction. But the second I light up the screen, my stomach twists. A message from Taylor flashes across the top. Third one this week. I set it down face-down and say nothing. I haven’t answered any of them yet. I won’t start now.
Neve already knows about Taylor and Vick trying to contact me again. She’s the only one I’ve told. But I’ve never said out loud how much it still hurts. “She’s still texting me,” I say quietly. “Taylor. I don’t know why I’m surprised. They always come back when they need something.”
Neve grimaces. “I’m sorry that you’re dealing with all of this. I hate this for you.”
“I don’t know how I’m ever supposed to forgive her. Or Vick. After everything they did. Everything they let happen.” I finish the rest of my drink in one swallow. “And now I think Damian’s lying to me too. I don’t even know why I keep trying with people who only show up to hurt me.”
Neve lifts a hand and flags down the bartender. She orders a pitcher of sangria.
When the first round is cleared and fresh glasses are set down, she lifts hers, clinks it against mine, and says, “Fuck the spa. Fuck the Cross brothers.”
I can’t help but smile.
She tips her glass back. “Let’s get drunk.”
So we do.
We drink, and we talk. We talk about how hard it is to want more than you’re being given. About how exhausting it is to love someone who doesn’t know how to be loved. About the hollow ache that lingers after the sex fades and the silence comes back. And the more we speak, the less alone I feel.
Somewhere between the second pitcher and the third, it hits me.
I’ve been trying to be patient with a man who’s never promised me anything.
And I don’t know how long I can keep waiting for him to become the person I need him to be.
He might never be able to. He did warn me he wasn’t good for me, and I’m the idiot who rode that red flag until I couldn’t walk.
I tip my glass back and finish what’s left. The liquor burns, but I welcome the sting. My head’s already swimming, warm at the edges, thoughts folding into each other too fast to separate.
Neve laughs at something I just said, maybe about Damian, maybe about us both being idiots. I can’t remember the words, only the sound of her laughter and the weight that’s slowly starting to lift.
This feels good. Getting things off my chest. Putting actual words to my fears.
Neve sets her glass down and squints past me, blinking like she’s trying to be sure of what she’s seeing. “Uh-oh. There are men approaching,” she mutters, then leans in slightly. “Okay, wait. One of them is looking at you like he already knows where this night ends.”
I turn, half-laughing, and then I see him.
Nathan. My ex. He’s got that stupid smile I used to fall for.
Easy, smug, and just the right amount of practiced charm.
There’s a tall guy behind him, a friend or maybe coworker, polished and handsome, but background noise compared to the familiar ache standing in front of me.
Nathan sticks his hands in his pockets, eyes locked on me. “Hey, Lo. I’ve been texting. Calling. Did I piss you off bad enough to get blocked?”
My brain stalls. This isn’t what I imagined for myself if I saw him again. In my fantasies, I was never drunk and I’d have a witty comeback. Something cutting. Cold. Instead, I turn wide-eyed to Neve and drunk-whisper, way too loud, “Oh, no is right. It’s my ex. Nathan.”
Neve’s face lights up like it’s Christmas. “This is Nathan? Shit. He’s hot. You didn’t say he was hot.”
“I don’t have bad taste.” I giggle. “I just make bad choices.”
Nathan shifts, watching the two of us, amused. His friend gives a small wave, clearly entertained as well.
I look at him, and for whatever reason, maybe those aforementioned bad decisions or just too much sangria, I say, “You guys want to have a drink with us?”
Nathan grins like he’s already won something. “Yeah, okay. One drink.”
He and his friend pull up chairs. Neve leans back with a drunkenly wicked smile, eyes raking over Nathan.
“Sure, come join the table where you get to sit and stare at the best thing you ever messed up. Now,” she bops him on the nose with her index finger, “be a good boy and tell me what your kink is. I bet it isn’t disappointing at all. ”
I shoot her a look, but she just wiggles her eyebrows and signals the bartender for another pitcher.
And just like that, we’re in it.
I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know why I invited him to sit down. Maybe it’s the sangria. Maybe it’s the ache not knowing where Damian is or what he’s doing with Reese. Either way, the words are out, the chairs are pulled up, and the line’s already been crossed.
One drink with Nathan can’t hurt.
Unless it does.
And right now, I’m not sure I’d stop it even if it did.