Chapter 5
Chapter Five
PAIGE
My heart lights up as Skye bounds into the bus the next day. The great thing about living fifteen minutes apart is having the same commute to work. She might hate mornings, but she’s got enough energy to fool anyone.
“Good morning, milady. May I have this seat?”
“Why, yes, you may.”
While I’m the one everyone treats like a kid, Skye’s the one with the cherub face. Her long brown hair glows golden in the sunlight and has always grown with the same ferocity as her opinions. Today, it’s parted down the middle and braided, showing off seven neat studs that curve around one ear.
My ears are always bare. The left hole had to be redone when I was a kid, and I’m always going for the wrong one and hurting myself. So, at least I’m consistent.
“Fabulous,” she says, emphasizing the A and dropping into the seat beside me. “Hmm.” Her eagle eyes scan me from head to toe. “Well rested, makeup all washed off, no sex glow. You held strong! I’m proud of you.”
I’m proud too. “It wasn’t easy. He looked really, really good.”
“So, he’s a good-looking shithead. It doesn’t change what he did.”
Nothing could, but it would help if my heart could stop twirling whenever he walked into a room.
Two years in, and we have opening down to a fine art. I hit the lights while Skye goes into our studio to greet Bernard, our giant stainless steel wax vat, who needs at least an hour to warm up properly. Same, honestly. He’s a real one for that.
California’s July temperatures threaten to melt everything—including your bones—before you make it home, but the shop is always cool. Practically frosty. We use the candles as an excuse—they have to cure!—but honestly, it’s the perfect lure for customers who want to escape the heat.
Skye throws on a playlist at random while I review our online orders, and I hum along as a half-drunk synth starts to pulse through the shop.
Another day of doing what we love.
“All right, Bernie, let’s see what magic we can create today.”
Skye prefers to hide out in the studio, where she can make candles and ignore customers, which sucks because so do I, but one of us has to man the register. When we started, it was an even split of who got to hide and who had to serve, but these days, we’re not above gambling to get our way.
“Batter up,” Skye says, holding up her fist.
Neither of us has sat through a single game of sports in our lives. I bring mine up to match and count us off.
“Three.”
She’s going to pick scissors. She always picks scissors.
“Two.”
Do I go paper or rock?
“One. Go.”
I flatten my palm.
“Aha!” Skye celebrates as she hits my hand with hers.
When Skye smiles, it’s with unrestrained glee, the kind you see on Christmas morning or on a carnivorous animated cat as he lunges for a bird.
She’s whip quick, too, her mind and mouth running a hundred miles a minute.
It’s the times she’s quiet when I know she’s really upset.
It’s not like her to miss a tongue-lashing or a double entendre.
For as long as we’ve lived, Skye’s always been the more interesting, more entertaining, more off-putting one.
“Put on your happy face, princess. You get to serve customers today.”
“Yay,” I deadpan, but in truth, I wouldn’t last two seconds in the back today. I can’t see Benji’s shop from there.
Speaking of Benji …
“I just don’t understand why he was there or why he moved back. Do you think he broke up with his ex?”
Skye groans loud enough for me to hear her from the studio. “Paige, I love you—you know I do—but unless that man comes crawling back to you on his hands and knees and begs for forgiveness, I promise you he isn’t worth a single second of your time or your breath.”
“I guess now is a bad time to mention the bet I made with him?”
Skye lets out a yelp and rushes out like a cartoon character. “Uh, ex-squeeze me? What kind of bet are we talking about? And tell me you won.”
“He apologized—”
“Bare minimum.”
“And wanted to talk—”
“I hope you told him to suck it.”
“And I said that even if I was interested, he’d be fourth on the list.”
“Nice.” Skye raises her hand, and we high-five. “What number is he really?”
One, but we both already know that.
“Anyway, whoever has the most matches from last night plans the date for the loser.”
“Okay, now I really need to know who won.”
“I don’t know yet. I haven’t checked the app.”
Truth is, I barely remembered the bet until just now, and I definitely can’t name any of my dates. As soon as Benji walked in, no one else came close.
I’d really thought I was over him.
“Come on. What are you waiting for?”
At the sound of the door opening, my heart stops, but it’s not Benji.
“I brought my own coffee, but you owe me tea,” Rhys says as he enters. He’s already in his apron, meaning that he came as soon as he clocked in and Marcie is holding down the fort next door. “So,” he presses, “how did last night go?”
There’s no point in pretending. “It was a disaster.”
“Benji showed up,” Skye adds.
“No!” Rhys doesn’t hold back his shock, and you know what? It feels better, knowing I’m not the only one rocked by last night. He sets his elbows on the counter, mirroring Skye, their metaphorical tails wagging.
I sigh. “Yes.”
“And?”
This time, when the door opens, my heart does stop. We all turn in unison as Benji walks in, and it’s immediately obvious we were talking about him. Not that he cares.
“Mornin’, all. Did I miss the broadcast, or were you just about to tell them about last night?”
“They know,” I admit.
Gone are the linen shirt and slacks from last night, replaced with dark jeans and a gray T-shirt that I know is ridiculously soft. I clench my fists on the counter.
“Great,” he says, hooking his sunglasses on his shirt. “So, there’s only one thing left to settle.”
“Your great big apology to my cousin?” Skye asks.
“Make that two things left to settle,” he corrects, not taking his eyes off me. “But I’m talking about our bet. What number did you get?”
I’m pinned by his gaze, nervous and pleased and frustrated that he still has this effect on me. “I haven’t checked yet.”
“I made it in time then.” He leans against the counter, resting his elbow beside my hand.
Why the hell does he always have to smell so good?
“So, what are you waiting for? I have everything planned out. You’ll love it.”
“You’re confident.”
“I’m hopeful.” There’s something extra there, layered under the swagger, peeking out through the blatant interest in his eyes. Like he’s seconds away from kissing me.
I forget what we were talking about.
“I’ll check,” Skye says, but I grab my phone before she can and open the app.
My heart is pounding, and I can’t tell if it’s because I’m worried I’ll lose or if it’s the sudden realization that if I win, I’ll be in charge of planning Benji’s date with someone else. Crap, why did I agree to this?
I click the little red notification, and the number surprises me. “It says there are four matches. Is that right?”
Four matches, and none of them are the man I went to sleep thinking about.
Skye checks and confirms. “How many dates did you have in total?”
I don’t remember. “Um …”
“Ten,” Benji states.
Oh. I didn’t realize.
“Really?” I ask.
A muscle tics in his jaw. “Yes.”
Well, that answers it. There’s no chance he got less than four matches last night. I saw the way the redhead was looking at him, along with Carla. Who could blame them? Look at him.
“Might as well tell me the bad news now,” I say. “What are you going to make me do, skydiving? Go-kart in a Luigi costume?”
He tips his head. “Both of those ideas sound amazing, but the only bad news I have is that I lost.”
I couldn’t have heard that right.
“What?”
I don’t believe it.
There’s no way in hell that Benji—tall, handsome, suave Benji—got less than four matches.
“I don’t believe you.”
“Neither do I,” Rhys says, but before I can ask him why, Marcie raps on the store window, wearing a matching apron and a harried expression. “Shit,” he says. “Luther must have come in. Marcie will kill me if she has to serve him again.”
Skye calls out as he retreats, “I’ll text you later.”
“You’d better.”
The door closes behind him, leaving the rest of us in silence. I get the feeling both Benji and Skye are vying for the other to leave.
He goes to speak, then stops, a pinch in his brow. “Still no incense?”
Oh, right. It’s been so long that I forgot.
“I, uh …”
Skye saves me. “Oh, yeah, we stopped with all that. Turns out, it was giving me headaches.”
Benji looks at me for a long second and then cuts his gaze over to Skye. “Now you know how the rest of us feel around you,” he teases.
“And I imagine so do all the women who had the unfortunate pleasure of your company last night,” she sneers. The sharp arch of her brow makes it known how little she likes him.
“The arm looks good. That a new tattoo?” he asks, nodding at her half sleeve that, of course, he’s never seen before because she started it after he left.
“Nah, it’s a birthmark,” she says, deadpan.
“Okay,” I cut in because they’ll be at this all day otherwise. “There are about thirty charcoal coconut candles that aren’t going to make themselves today, so … Skye?”
“Yeah, yeah, I hear ya.” She walks backward out of the room, staring Benji down as she goes.
It’s quiet. I’m caught between wanting a customer to break it up and not wanting anyone to interrupt us.
He’s watching me. I didn’t know the sound of Benji breathing was something I’d been missing until this moment.
“I see the pothole hasn’t been fixed yet. Did you ever hear back from the council?”
I nod. “They keep saying they’re going to schedule a community review.”
“What’s to review? It’s impossible to miss.”
It’s worse on his side of the street. Every time it rains, cars spray water up onto his shop windows and across the sidewalk. It’s a pain in the ass to clean.
“It wouldn’t be so bad if people didn’t speed through here, trying to cut past the lights.”
“It wouldn’t be an issue at all if they’d fixed it a year ago, like you’d asked.”
That’s true. “I wanted a lot of things last year that didn’t work out.”
That shuts him up.
In case you’re thinking, Why didn’t you fight harder for him? What was I meant to say? No? Stay, and we’ll both be miserable, knowing you want to be with someone else? He made his choice. Just because it’d felt like magic to me doesn’t mean he felt the same way.
So, I cried and kept going and tried to put him out of my mind.
A year later, I’m still trying.
I expect him to leave. It’s what he does.
Instead, he rounds the counter until he has me caged against it. “I hope you aren’t thinking of backing out of this bet.”
The butterflies rise up, their wings playing my ribs like a xylophone, lighting up every nerve.
My voice cracks as I speak. “Why would I? I won.”
“Good. I’m looking forward to our date.”
His eyes drop to my lips, and a hundred memories tear through me.
Sex with Benji was incredible. Maybe if I hadn’t loved him as much as I had, I could forget the last year and throw caution to the floor of his bedroom, along with his jeans, and remember exactly how good it was.
But sex will only make the hole in my heart worse.
“Your date,” I correct. “I hope you’re ready to embarrass yourself.”
“Baby, I’ll take anything you want to give me.”
* * *
Skye appears by my side as he’s out the door. “Okay, but we have to make him suffer, agreed?”
My heart is still racing. “Obviously. But how?”
“You should pick his outfit as part of it.” The door chimes, and we both wave hello to the customers, who are happy to ignore us. “What about signing them up for an open mic night?”
I shake my head. That would border on cruel. “The punishment is for him, not her.”
“Karaoke?”
I recoil. “For a first date?”
Skye shrugs. “If the goal is to completely put her off him—”
“It’s not.”
“It isn’t? You want them getting along perfectly and falling in love?”
Hell no. I’d rather poke my own eyes out.
“Bowling?” I suggest an hour later, after I’ve given in and searched online.
It turns out, bad date ideas are hard to come by.
Every result is about planning the perfect date, but that’s easy.
My perfect date is an afternoon at the Color Wheel.
It’s an interactive art exhibit downtown that focuses on exploring your senses.
I’ve always wanted to go, but Skye would rather watch paint dry, and the idea of going by myself makes my skin itch.
Skye pops her head out of the studio. “Not niche enough.”
“An escape room.”
Her eyes light up. “Now, that’s an idea. But … do you really want them locked in a small room together?”
Shit. “Okay, no escape rooms.” I slump against the register. “Skye, what am I going to do? I can’t find anything bad enough.”
The problem is that anything can be fun with the right person, and a five-course meal would be torture with the wrong one. Not that I’d like that for a first date. I prefer an evening with far less pressure.
“What about the old theatre downtown?” Skye asks. “That would be fitting.”
More like torturous. The last thing I can stomach is going back to where Benji and I had our first date, let alone setting him up there with anyone else.
“Or,” she adds, and I can already tell I’m not going to like where this is going, “maybe it’s too hard to think of something because you don’t want him going out with anyone who isn’t you.”
I don’t answer her, but she doesn’t need an answer. We both know she’s right.