Chapter 23
NOW I HATE THE WORD NICE.
BILLIE
Kennedy is nice. That’s the worst part about this dumb situation—she’s exactly as Neve said she would be. Funny, interested in my work, asks good questions, none of which are condescending. And she laughs at my jokes.
On paper, she’s perfect.
In reality, I couldn’t want her any less.
We’re on our second game of cornhole—me and Kennedy versus Amanda and Matt—and I’m trying so hard to focus. To be present. To give this perfectly nice woman a fair shot instead of tracking Darcy’s every movement across the yard like some desperate teenager.
I fail. Obviously.
“Nice shot,” Kennedy says when I manage to land a bag on the board. Her enthusiasm is sweet. Genuine. And I hate myself a little for not being able to return it.
“Thanks.” I grab another bag, line up my throw. Miss completely. “Wow. Okay. Maybe that first one was a fluke.”
“You're doing great.” She touches my shoulder briefly—friendly, not pushy—and I have to resist the urge to look over and see if Darcy noticed.
Spoiler alert: I look anyway.
He’s talking to Cole by the grill, beer in hand, nodding at something Cole is saying. But his eyes flick our way for a second before he turns back to his conversation. His jaw is tight.
Good.
Wait, no. Not good. I don't want him to be bothered. That's not—fuck.
“Billie?” Amanda's voice pulls me back. “Your throw?”
“Right. Sorry.” I toss the bag. It goes wide. “I’m off my game today.”
“You sure it’s the game you're off?” Amanda asks with a knowing look I choose to ignore.
We finish the round, losing spectacularly, and Kennedy goes to grab us fresh drinks while I help Amanda collect the bags.
“So,” she starts, voice low. “She seems interested.”
“Yeah. Maybe.”
“But?”
“But nothing. She’s great. Neve was right to introduce us.” The words sound hollow even to me.
Amanda snorts. “Billie. Come on. It’s me. You can't bullshit a bullshitter.”
I sigh, looking down at the cornhole bags in my hands. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Mands.”
“How about the truth? Which is that you’ve had eyes on Darcy all evening like a woman dying of thirst watching someone else drink water.”
“I have not—”
“You absolutely have. And he’s been doing the same thing. It’s honestly painful to watch.” She lowers her voice even more. “Why are you doing this to yourself? To both of you?”
“Because it’s complicated.”
“Life is complicated. So what?”
Before I can respond, Kennedy returns with our drinks. She hands me a fresh Caesar—extra spicy, because I mentioned earlier that’s how I like them—and I feel like the worst person in the world.
“Thanks.” I accept it with a smile that feels fake and probably looks worse.
More people have arrived now. The yard is full, music playing from the speakers Neve set up, laughter and conversations creating a comfortable buzz. Leo looks happy. That’s what matters. This is Leo’s day.
I can suffer through a few more hours.
Kennedy and I end up sitting on the deck steps, slightly removed from the main party. She’s telling me about a custom outdoor kitchen she’s building, hands moving animatedly as she describes the wood grain and joinery, and I’m trying—really trying—to pay attention.
“The client wants live edge, which I love, but finding the right slab has been a nightmare,” she explains. “I’ve been to every mill within a hundred kilometers.”
“Have you tried Morrison’s up in Mahone Bay?” I offer. “They sometimes have interesting stuff.”
Her face lights up. “I haven’t. That's a great idea. Thanks.”
“Sure.” I take a sip of my drink and glance over her shoulder. Darcy’s talking to some guys I don’t recognize, but even from here I can see the tension in his shoulders. He's gripping his beer bottle a little too tightly.
“So, Neve mentioned you're working on some big marina development project?” Kennedy asks.
My attention snaps back to her. “Oh. Yeah. It’s still in the planning stages, but we’re hoping to present to the town council soon.”
“Exciting. What’s the scope?”
We’re talking shop again. It’s good. Safe. Professional. She asks good questions, even offers some insights about sustainable materials that I file away for later.
It’s nice. She’s nice. We get along well.
I still feel nothing. And nice isn’t how I’d describe anything I’ve ever wanted to pursue in my entire life. I don’t want nice. Nice feels like… settling. Now I hate the word nice.
“Hey, you two,” Amanda calls out from across the yard. “We’re starting another round. You in?”
“I’m good,” I say, probably too quickly. “But you should play, Kennedy. Amanda's wildly competitive—it’s fun to watch.”
“You sure?” She looks genuinely disappointed. “I don’t want to abandon you.”
“I’m fine. Promise. Go. Win one for Team Carpenter.” I flash her what I hope is an encouraging smile.
She studies me for a moment, trying to figure out what's going on, but then nods. “Okay. But I’m coming back.”
“I’ll be here.”
She heads off toward the cornhole boards, and I let out a long breath.
Alone. Finally.
“So, Kennedy hasn’t left your side.” Neve appears in front of me with a plate of pita chips and Georgia’s crab dip. “You two look good together.”
The creamy, cheesy dip tastes like sand. “We look like nothing. We are nothing.”
Neve blinks. “But you've been talking all night. She's into you. You guys have so much in common—”
“We have building things in common. That’s it.” I set the chip down, suddenly not in the mood for food. “I’m sorry, Neve. I know you meant well, and Kennedy is great. Really. But I'm not interested.”
Her face falls. “Oh. I thought… You were talking and laughing.”
“I was being polite.” The words come out harsher than intended. “I’m sorry. I—Setting me up without asking first? I didn't want this.”
“I’m sorry. I should have asked.” She sits next to me. “I thought maybe you were ready to start dating again. You always say you’re too busy, and then I see you turning down every person who shows interest. I worry it’s because—”
“Don’t. I’m fine,” I cut her off before she can bring up my past. The three failed relationships I thought could have been forever, but ended with me being dumped because the cycle of depression and anxiety was too difficult to deal with.
My decision—my choice—to keep things casual, always being the one to end things first so I don’t get hurt.
The damage my parents did with their ugly divorce and putting me in the middle of it. I don’t want to discuss any of that.
She gives me a sharp look. “Are you, though? Because from where I'm sitting, you look absolutely miserable.”
“It’s—” I stop, because what can I say? I’m miserable because the man I want is twenty feet away, pretending I don’t exist? I told him to pretend he doesn’t know me, and now I’m drowning in the consequences of my own stupid rules?
“Billie.” Neve's voice is soft now. Concerned. “Talk to me.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Is this about Darcy?”
My head snaps toward her. “What? No. Why would—”
“Please. I’ve seen how you two look at each other when you think no one’s watching.” She bumps my shoulder gently. “What happened between you two? Before you met in the mudroom, I mean. Something big, right? More than just sex.”
I could lie. Should lie. But I hate lying, and I’m bad at it. “We met in Halifax in May, like I told you. We didn’t exchange last names or numbers. It was supposed to be a one-night thing, then it turned into a weekend thing. And then…”
“And then he turned out to be our client and Leo’s best friend.”
“Yeah.”
Neve is quiet for a moment. “Do you have feelings for him?”
The question echoes in my brain. I could deny it. Could brush it off. Could keep pretending.
“It doesn’t matter what I feel. It’s complicated. He lives in Toronto. He has a whole life there. And I’m—I don’t do relationships, Neve. You know that.”
“But what if you did? What if you wanted to try again?”
“I don’t.” The automatic response. The safe response. The one that has always been easy and true, but right now, it weighs me down like the ugly farce it is.
Neve doesn’t push. Just squeezes my hand once and stands. “Okay. But, for what it’s worth, I think you’re both idiots.”
She walks away, and I’m alone with my thoughts and the sound of Kennedy laughing at something Amanda said.