Chapter 26
TWENTY-SIX
Half a day and several hundred dollars later, Hanna stood outside the loft, spray-tanned, blown-out, micro-dermed, and acrylic-nailed to the high heavens.
She’d caught a glimpse of her reflection in Logan’s car window and she thought that maybe she’d get lucky and Milo wouldn’t even recognize her.
“Whoa, look at you!” Logan exclaimed when she slid into the passenger seat of the same car he’d been driving for years. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think someone was trying to make a man see what he’s missing.”
She rolled her eyes, “Will you ever move on?”
Logan laughed, rolling into the San Francisco traffic.
“Milo has been a wreck all day, if it helps take the edge off. Snapped at Brendon—”
“Brandon,” Hanna corrected.
“Brandon. Anyway. Told him to get fucked just for breathing too loudly. Man is on the edge of a breakdown for some reason.”
She hated the rush it gave her.
“You should pull your hair back a little. You have a really sexy neck.”
Hanna balked. “I didn’t know we were at the wing-man stage of our breakup.”
“I’ve literally seen him inside of you, Hanna.” He winced, the memory weighing on him.
“Okay, okay,” she hissed. He wasn’t helping her nerves. “I need you to have my back tonight. Do not let me get drunk, do not let me smoke anything anyone hands me, and do not say anything else about my neck.”
Logan saluted as he rounded a corner.
“Thank you. Now, tell me everything about the rest of your trip. You haven’t updated me since somewhere in Nebraska.”
“Oh god, corn. Corn for hours. It was brutal, but at least Matty drove half of it.”
Logan wound through the city streets, regaling her with stories from his big move. He’d been living just a few blocks over from Sara and Matty for a month while settling into his new job.
They found parking a block down from the bar, and she must have sat for a moment too long because Logan turned and rested a hand on her knee.
“Whatever happens, I need you to remember that you deserve good things, Hanna.”
“Thanks,” she whispered. She knew it was true. And not just when he, or the florist, or Sara said it.
She pulled her dress down as she stood, smoothing the emerald-green silk over her knees. Logan stood behind her and reached for her hair as she brushed it over her shoulder. She swatted his hand, but she knew he was right.
She did have a nice neck.
The bar door was propped open with a sign framed in bright orange, red, and yellow florals, dripping in sunflowers and roses. Maricela had won Sara over in Vegas, it seemed.
Logan trailed her up the stairs at the back of the empty lounge, the party in full swing on the rooftop. It was good he was behind her, pushing her forward so she couldn’t linger at the downstairs bar, thinking about the last time she'd been there.
He rested his hand on the small of her back as she stepped gingerly over the threshold of the stairs. The amber sunset washed the city in a soft glow, the overhead string lights catching the final dregs of the sun.
Frankie poured glasses of Prosecco behind a makeshift bar in the corner, his eyes lighting up when he recognized her face.
“Arizona! How are ya?”
She flinched at the moniker. For a second, she wondered if he knew she’d ruined his brother’s life over the summer, but as he flipped a rocks glass over and flicked his eyes toward hers, she could see it.
He was well aware.
She forced an apologetic smile. “I’m okay, Frankie. How have things been?”
“Great. I think this is the first time the bar’s ever been used for anything other than a bunch of fat old bastards arguing over their tabs.”
Hanna laughed, even if the sound didn’t fully translate. Logan hovered beside her, trying to look busy with his phone.
“Your dad would probably hate all the flowers, huh?”
Frankie shook his head. “Nah. Dad had a thing for flowers. What are you drinking?”
“I got her,” Milo said, appearing over his brother’s shoulder with three more bottles of wine.
Hanna swallowed, her mouth suddenly filled with sand.
She’d neglected a crucial factor in all of the rehearsals she’d run through in her head—she’d been on a tolerance break. Seeing Milo after three months of not seeing Milo hit so much harder than she’d anticipated.
Frankie scooted behind him to mix drinks for Taylor and Maricela who were desperately pretending they weren’t listening to every word.
Hanna stared at the tattoos peeking out from under Milo’s button-down, a pathetic voice in her head screaming, “Say something, you stupid bitch!”
Logan slipped toward the end of the bar, giving her space when, for once, she didn’t want it.
Milo pulled a bottle off the back of the bar and dropped some ice into a glass, inches from her as she rocked on her heels. He held up the bottle, flashing a burgundy label with two small rabbits on the side.
“Dareringer from Rabbit Hole. Takes four years just to make the barrels. They finish them with sherry before casking, super interesting flavor notes. You’ll like it.”
His hand tipped the bottle forward.
“Just a single,” she said.
Tilting the glass upward, she sipped it slowly so she could really taste the notes, and goddamn if it wasn’t one of the most unique whiskeys she’d ever had.
“Wow,” was all she could manage. The scent of his cologne mingled with the top note of the whiskey, sending her head swirling.
“We just got our hands on a few of their bottles last week. I’m heading out to Kentucky next month to tour their distillery, and a few dozen more if I have it my way,” Milo smirked. They both knew he always had it his way.
She took another sip and tried once again to think of something that wasn’t kiss him, kiss him, kiss him.
“Hey, Milo, I just—“
“Hanna!”
Her head whipped around as Chloe’s arms wrapped around her shoulders, squeezing tightly and undoing three months of healing.
“Oh my god, it’s so good to see you!” Chloe chirped.
Hanna couldn’t decide which was worse—the tightening in her chest, or the rage that followed the realization that it was, indeed, good to see Chloe.
“Uhhhh yeah! You too!”
Chloe spun Hanna in a twirl, admiring her silk dress that fluttered in the evening air.
“You look so gorgeous in that dress. Milo, doesn’t she look incredible?”
Milo looked about as dead inside as Hanna felt.
“Yep,” he mumbled as she grew redder by the second. Sara and Logan clocked the pixie at the same time, but Sara beat him to her.
“Hey, all the girls are going to take a photo together!”
“Oh, I can take the photo,” Chloe chimed. Sara glanced at Hanna, defeated by Chloe’s inability to stop being the perfect girl’s girl. She lined up the bridesmaids at the far side of the roof, gracefully recommending poses as she snapped away.
There was not enough slow breathing—or whiskey for that matter—that could get Hanna back into her body, but she did a fine job of avoiding Milo for the rest of the evening.
Not that he sought her out.
* * *
“I am so fucking sorry,” Sara whispered as they tumbled back into her apartment, the door sealing off Milo and Chloe as he fumbled for his keys.
“Milo asked if he could bring a date, like, a year ago and at the time, it was no problem! I just assumed he would have uninvited her.”
“It’s fine,” Hanna said, flicking her hands as she pulled her heels off.
“It’s honestly my fault for assuming he’d just wait for me to get my shit together, you know?
” She dropped the shoes in the hallway, pacing in the kitchen as Sara watched.
“Safe to bet she’ll be in attendance the rest of the weekend? ”
Sara’s lips fell into a crooked frown. “I’m not sure. She’s still in the seating chart. I can move her to the shitty table!”
“No, no.” Hanna pulled her hair into a ponytail, sweating. “Chloe is not the enemy. You know, she sent me flowers while I was back in Phoenix.”
She'd called Hanna a few times too, never mentioning Milo, and Hanna was far too stubborn to ask, but appreciated the gesture all the same.
“Fucking Milo,” Sara growled. “You spend all this time breaking your own heart open for him, but he’s too afraid, so he calls in Cockblock Chloe—”
“She’s not the enemy,” Hanna repeated.
“I know,” Sara hissed. “I know. Ugh. What can I do to make this suck less?”
“You,” Hanna said, pulling Sara into her arms and stroking her perfectly smooth hair.
“Can stop worrying about me. I’m a grown woman, Sara.
This weekend is not about me, or Milo, or Cockblock Chloe—solid, by the way—it is about two of my favorite people in the world getting married. I promise you that I can handle this.”
Sara grabbed Hanna’s face between her palms, squeezing her cheeks together.
“I am just so proud of you, and also a teensy bit nervous!”
Hanna laughed, a genuine thing, not one of the forced responses she’d honed.
“Thank you for your candor, but I swear, Sara. I’m fine.”
“Okay, okay. I believe you.”
Milo wouldn’t have.
Sara pressed a kiss into Hanna’s cheek. “We should get our beauty sleep!”
“You’re going to have to cut me out of these Spanx,” Hanna muttered.
They giggled, embracing for one more moment before Hanna headed upstairs and shimmied out of her dress, kicking it off as she began the torturous endeavor of peeling her shapewear away from her body.
She had just flopped back onto the bed and was scrolling through photos from the party when a text came through, sending a lightning bolt straight between her ribs.
ALWAYS ANSWER
Hey
HANNA
Hi
ALWAYS ANSWER
You at Matty’s?
HANNA
Yeah
Milo typed for a minute before stopping, the bubble slipping into the ether. She waited for another minute, desperate for any piece of him he’d offer.
No offering came.
* * *
She regretted passing out in her makeup, but not nearly as much as she regretted not hydrating before bed.
Tolerating a three-hour drive with Matty and Logan was hard on a good day, but hungover? No. No way.
She pulled on the flannel that didn’t belong to her and twisted her hair back into a bun to be dealt with later before skipping across the street and ducking into the diner.
She’d missed the acidic smell of lemon scones and burnt Folger’s. If she’d been paying less attention to her reflection in the window and more to the man sitting in their favorite booth, she would have had a chance to catch her breath before locking eyes with Milo.
“Fuck me,” she muttered.
The night before, she’d been perfectly coiffed. In the cold light of morning, she looked like she’d lost a fight with her mascara wand.
Milo held up his hand in a sheepish wave, and she considered bolting, but New Hanna was better than that.
Or so she told herself as she slid into the booth across from him.
“I was wondering where that shirt went.”
A coffee mug hit the table beside her as one of their favorite servers smiled. She poured Hanna’s mug to the top before refilling his.
Hanna watched the steam curl into ghosts between them.
“I don’t think you were even this hungover in Vegas,” he finally said.
“Yeah well, I built up a tolerance when I was hanging out with you. I haven’t had much to drink in the last three months and clearly, I’m out of shape.”
Milo nodded. “You went clean on me?”
“Most of the time,” she said. “I was on an anxiety med that didn’t play well with alcohol.” She was nervous, the thoughts spilling over themselves. “Still doesn’t, obviously.”
“Is it helping?” he asked.
“A lot, yeah. That and a million dollars in therapy. I almost feel human again some days.”
“Still just the one therapist then?” He smirked, pulling in a long sip of coffee over the edge of his mug.
She grinned, flashing two fingers up. “You’ll be thrilled to know I’ve added a somatic healing coach.”
“Not quite the same—”
“She charges two hundred dollars an hour and makes me feel good. It’s the same.”
Milo leaned forward, but before he could say whatever it was that bubbled against his lips, she held up a hand.
“I heard it.” She inhaled slowly, her ribs shaking around her swirling thoughts. “I’ve been trying to think about how to apologize to you every day for three months.”
Milo set his mug down.
“You could have called.”
“I could have,” she offered.
His eyes softened.
“Why didn’t you?”
“I was afraid to jump the gun,” she murmured. “I had a lot to process and I just… I didn’t want to rush the you of it all. You didn’t deserve another round of that.”
“True,” he said.
“Well, at any rate, I am sorry. For all of it.”
“All of it?” he asked.
“I can provide an itemized list if you want,” she joked, her lips twisting.
“Not necessary,” he sighed. “Thanks for apologizing.”
The tone threw her off—she’d never heard his voice that tight. She started to speak again, but his eyes swept from hers to the blonde beside her.
Logan leaned over the back of the booth, speaking in a hurried tone.
“Hi, so, so sorry to interrupt, but you have my keys.”
Hanna turned, her vision blurring at the edges as her head throbbed.
“I do?”
Logan pointed to her purse.
“If you don’t, we’re in trouble.”
Hanna sighed, fishing through her bag.
“Is this yours, too?” She yanked his keys and a leather wallet out of her purse.
“Yeah, thanks, okay, sorry, bye!” Logan snatched the keys and wallet, tucking them into his pocket as he bolted from the diner.
“It’s good you two patched things up,” Milo said, his voice so low she hardly heard him.
“What? Oh, yeah. Yeah, we finally figured things out.”
His jaw clenched.
“Was that all?”
Hanna flinched, the chill in his tone so foreign. Her hand came to her chest, pushing on the tattoo shuddering beneath.
“I’ll see you guys in Sonoma,” he muttered, throwing a twenty down on the table.
“Milo,” she huffed, but he was already gone.
She got her coffee to go, her shoulders collapsing under the tension as she crossed the street.
“The fuck was that?” Logan asked as he slid her suitcase into the trunk. Sara leaned against the hood.
“Why’s he so mad?” she asked.
Hanna shrugged, pulling his shirt tighter around her. She tossed her purse in the back of Logan’s car and flopped into the back with Sara as Matty rounded the front and dropped into the driver’s side.
“It’s his dad’s birthday,” he said. “Give him a pass.”
Sara leaned over, resting her head on Hanna’s shoulder, and rubbed her arm.
“He’ll come around, babe.”