Chapter 21 #2
I cough. I put my mouth into my napkin and cough so hard that I see a couple of restaurant goers look at me, probably wondering if they’ll need to jump up and give me the Heimlich. After swiping my mouth off with the napkin, I toss it on the table. “You have got to be kidding me.”
My words are harsh, but not my tone. I can appreciate how hard this must be for Josie, to put herself out like this.
I’m struggling with doing this same thing with Quinn, because I’m too scared.
But it took me so long to find myself after Josie, and darn it, I really like myself.
I like who I am as an independent, as a friend, as a business owner.
“Sorry, I know I just sprung that on you,” Josie says, pink now spreading from her cheeks to her neck. “And of course, we can take it as slow as you need it, and rebuild our friendship, and whatever you need to trust me again.”
I set the fork on the side of my plate with a clank and look at Josie.
Lovely large brown eyes face me. There’s an openness to her that I don’t remember, but also a sadness.
I want to hug her, pull her close, and tell her she hasn’t finished finding herself.
If she had, she’d know this is a terrible idea.
“Josie.” I pause and try to think of my words before I speak. The very last thing I want to do is hurt someone, but I have to be the voice of reason. “I’m flattered, really. It took a lot of courage for you to tell me this. But, um, I don’t want to get back together.”
Josie pulls her mouth into her lips. “I know this is sudden. Well, I mean I’ve been sending you letters for almost a year, so maybe not that sudden. But, Zoey, what we had is for the record books, you know? It was so special, and I don’t think that we’ll ever have that with anyone else.”
And right there, I know she is wrong. Because it will exist again. I’m cusping on having this with someone else. I just need to be brave. And I suspect that Josie will get there, too.
The paused silence continues to stretch, becoming uncomfortable.
Josie pushes the salad around on her plate but isn’t putting any in her mouth.
Finally, she sets the fork on the edge of the plate and takes a breath.
“What’s her name?” She’s not angry or accusatory.
With her shoulders dropping, she’s more deflated.
My heart hurts for her, for the one I used to love, for the one I still care about. But I’m not going to pretend.
“Quinn.” This is the first time I’m admitting this out loud to anyone, and I’m saying it to my ex-girlfriend who once broke my heart. The universe has an interesting way of bringing things full circle. “Her name is Quinn.”
The waiter sets down the second course. I use the back of my fork to cut into the pork patty, but I can’t eat. My stomach tightens with excitement and nerves, with the urge to flee from this place and rush to the one I want.
Quinn.
It’s been Quinn since the moment that fiery redhead stepped into my shop.
Quinn, who helped me save my bakery items, let me use her place for a month for prep, who chatted like a pro with my overbearing mother for hours.
Quinn, who makes me laugh and knows so much pop culture but not any of the good stuff, who likes fish on pizza and warm hugs and will dance in a crowd of zero with me, even though she doesn’t want to, because I need to let go.
It’s Quinn.
“Does she know how lucky she is?” Josie asks.
I huff out a breath. “She doesn’t know anything… I haven’t told her how I feel.”
Josie nods. So many expressions pass through her, and I still know Josie. I know her thoughts. There are tears in her eyes, a sad, soft smile, a knowingness that she and I will never get back together. “Why?”
Because I’ve been too worried about opening myself up again, afraid of becoming a shell of myself again if it doesn’t work. “Because I’m scared. When we broke up, it killed me. I wasn’t sure I could go through that again.”
“But she’s worth it?”
I nod. “She really is.”
Josie dabs her pinkie in her eye. After a moment, she sits back and folds her hands in her lap. “Thank you for being so refreshingly honest.”
I pick up my fork, but I’m not hungry. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to waste another single second.
“Go,” Josie says, her smile shifting into the crescent-moon shape of sadness. “You don’t want to be here with me, and that’s okay.”
Oh, wow. She really can still read my face. “No, I don’t have to leave. We can stay and finish dinner and—”
“Zoey, go.” She nods. “It’s okay. Do not do what I did. Do not waste even a single second more on the what-ifs. Go be brave and tell her how you feel.”
My stomach flutters, joining in my racing pulse. I’m going to tell her how I feel. I’ll make her feel safe, I’ll see if she will take a chance on something she’s never taken a chance on before, I’ll tell her we will still be friends if she isn’t reciprocating my feelings.
I dig out cash, stand from the table, and pull Josie into a hug. “Thank you,” I whisper. “Thank you for being you, and being so wonderful, and giving me the final push I needed.”
And then I dash out of the restaurant. The air turned chillier in the time I’ve been in the restaurant, and a few fat snowflakes start floating from the clouds. I dig out my phone, tug my mitten off with my teeth, and dial Quinn. I’m not wasting another second. I’m telling her everything. Tonight.
No answer. I stop under the streetlight to send a quick text.
I need to talk to you. Are you around?
My pace picks up and I pray I don’t trip on a crack in the sidewalk and break my foot again, because nothing is keeping me away this time. My heartbeat thuds against my chest, and now, I’m sprinting. I need to get in the car and drive to her place, or drive to the barn, I need to see her.
When I round the corner, I freeze in my tracks. Everything is in slow motion.
Is this what I think it is? I squint, trying to make out the image. No… it can’t be.
It is.