Chapter 16 #4
She bursts out laughing, and despite everything, I’m grinning too.
“I’m glad my pain amuses you.”
“It really does.” She’s still chuckling. “Okay, so let me get this straight. You slept with her, it was apparently good, and now she pretends you don’t exist?”
“Basically.”
“And instead of moving on, you just… keep trying?”
“As I said. Pathetic.”
She studies me. “Or maybe you’re going about it all wrong.”
“Oh, here we go.”
“I’m serious!” She leans against the counter next to me. “What if the problem isn’t you? What if she’s scared?”
I snort. “Sydney is not scared of anything.”
“Everyone’s scared of something,” Lennon says softly. “Maybe she’s scared it actually was as good as you remember. Maybe that’s why she’s keeping you at arm’s length.”
I want to believe that. God, I want to believe that.
But I also know better.
For years, I’ve simply been functioning. Taking care of Jasper and Mom, fixing things at the inn, logging runs, and sleeping when I can, rinse and repeat. I wasn’t exactly unhappy. I just wasn’t anything. Numb. Going through the motions. Surviving.
And then that one night with Sydney, I felt good. Not drunk-good or relief-good, but actually, genuinely good, as if I were a person instead of a collection of responsibilities. For a few hours, I wasn’t the guy holding everything together. I was me. And someone wanted me.
Then I woke up and went right back to gray. Back to functioning, back to numb.
Except now I know what it feels like not to be numb, and I can’t stop chasing it. Can’t stop chasing her, even though she’s made it crystal clear she’s not interested in a repeat.
I don’t think I’m really in love with Sydney.
I’m in love with how I felt that night, and I don’t know how to let that go.
That feels worse somehow. More pathetic. Less fixable.
I almost say that out loud. The whole thing, all of it, which is something I’ve never said to anyone, not even Jasper.
It lives in the category of things I think but don’t look at too closely, the way sleepwalking lives there and the words on the walls.
Things that are true, but that become more real the more you say them, and some things are easier to manage if you keep them quiet.
Lennon chews on her bottom lip, watching me with a focused patience of someone who is listening to what I’m not saying.
I’ve only known her for a couple of days. That should feel strange.
It doesn’t, which might be the strangest part of all.
She feels easy in places that usually aren’t.
“You know,” she says slowly. “If you keep doing the exact same thing, you’re going to keep getting the exact same result.”
I snort. “Wow. Groundbreaking. Did you get that from a fortune cookie?”
“I’m serious!” She turns toward me fully. “I can see what you’re doing. It’s sweet. Painfully sweet. But also painfully obvious.”
“I am not obvious.”
“Nevan.” She gives me a look. “You hover around her like a nervous golden retriever waiting for someone to throw a ball.”
I open my mouth. Close it. “Rude.”
“Accurate,” she corrects, fighting a smile.
“Fine. What’s your brilliant plan then? Walk up and what… talk to her like a normal person?”
“Yes, actually.”
I laugh. “Absolutely not.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’ll die.”
She rolls her eyes. “You’re so dramatic.”
“I’m realistic.” I cross my arms. “Besides, what would I even say? ‘Hey, Sydney, remember that time we had sex, and then you pretended I didn’t exist? Want to grab coffee?’ ”
“Maybe not that exactly.”
“See? No plan. We’re doomed.”
“Okay, fine. What if I help you?” She tilts her head. “Like… I could give you advice. Tell you what’s working, what’s making it worse. Insider perspective.”
“That…” I clear my throat, “… actually doesn’t sound terrible.”
Her whole face lights up. “Yeah?”
“I mean, my current advisor is my teenage brother who thinks the moon is energetically significant and keeps putting crystals in my pockets.” I shrug. “So the bar is extremely low.”
She laughs. “Fair enough.”
“And,” I add, because apparently we’re doing this.
“If you want help with Paul, I could… I don’t know.
Return the favor? Give you the male perspective?
Though I should warn you, I’ve never actually had a real relationship, only hookups.
And one of those went so badly that I’ve been pining for a year, so… yeah. Grain of salt.”
“A whole grain?” she teases.
“An entire salt lick.”
She’s grinning now. “So wait. Are we being each other’s wingman?”
“God, no. That sounds terrible.”
Her face falls slightly. “Oh.”
“I’m suggesting we be friends,” I say. “Friends who happen to be bad at romance and could maybe help each other not die alone surrounded by cats.”
“I like dogs better.”
“Even better. Die alone, surrounded by dogs.”
“I’d like that. The friends part, not the dying alone part.” She lifts her good hand between us, pinky extended. “Friends?”
I look at her pinky, then at her face, at the way she’s smiling at me as though I’m not a complete disaster, like maybe I’m someone worth keeping around, and hook my finger around hers.
“Friends.”