30. Second Breakfast #2
He gives me a small, soft smile that melts my insides. “Good. You shouldn’t.” But he follows it with a sigh, scrubbing a hand across his jaw. “I thought it was all going to work out with her. And then…it all fell apart.”
I wish I could take the pain away. “I’m sorry, Sawyer. I wish it didn’t still hurt.”
He snaps his gaze to me. “It doesn’t. Still hurt, that is. Truly,” he says, holding my gaze, like it’s vital for me to know this. And something in the way he says it makes me soften even more for him.
“I’m glad it doesn’t,” I say quietly.
“But it’s still there, even if it doesn’t hurt. Know what I mean?”
Oh hell do I. “It’s that way with me and August. It’s in the past, but the memory of the mistake doesn’t disappear even when you get over them.”
“Exactly,” he says, then runs his palm down my thigh. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
I hesitate, then add, “I don’t know why I asked if you were into my dog.”
“You do know. Because we both don’t want to make mistakes again,” he says, remarkably vulnerable, opening up as we talk about how hard it is to open up.
“I do. I don’t trust…myself,” I admit. “I’ve been working so hard to become someone. To pay my bills. To have a business. To not struggle with money. I don’t want to mess that all up.”
“I hear you. I don’t want you to either. I want to see you thrive,” he says, and dammit. My heart goes squishy all over again. He lifts his hand and cups my cheek, running his thumb down my jawline. His touch is warm, and I lean into it, closing my eyes for a few seconds to just enjoy the moment.
When I open them again, he says, “But coming to see me tonight? That’s a good idea. I promise.”
“I have no doubt,” I say, then I kiss him, feeling connected to him in a whole new way.
But also knowing nothing will likely come of it.
* * *
Later that day, after I finish sending out training reports for clients, I slip out to meet my friends.
Bridget invited Ripley and me to come by her inn today—she’s been wanting to show us something. That’s all she’s said. Something.
I pop out of Dog Tails, telling myself not to wave goodbye to Sawyer on the way out.
I don’t want to be too obvious at work. I head down a few blocks to The BookHouse, where I find Ripley locking up her purple bike outside the inn, the basket filled with bouquets of lavender she’s dropping around town as part of her regular deliveries.
“A farmer’s work is never done,” I say.
“Truth,” she says, then nods to me. “Or a dog trainer’s. How was the shoot? How’s everything? I feel like it’s been forever since I saw you.”
“I know. I’m not okay with that!” I throw my arms around her, and I’m about to blurt out that I’m seeing Sawyer tonight, but I’d better save that for both my besties.
But there’s hardly any time for gabbing since Bridget pops out of the hotel’s entryway seconds later and waves to us, then beckons us inside.
Anyway, I want to focus on her and the secret she said she wants to unveil. Her something.
“You know those renovations we’ve been working on for the last few months?” she asks, speaking even faster than usual.
“Yes,” we say in unison.
“I can finally give you a sneak peek.” She sounds like she’s about to burst from excitement.
“Show us,” I say.
“It’s a secret though. We’re going to do a big marketing campaign for the new wing,” she adds, trying and failing to suppress a smile.
Her manager’s at the front desk, so she ushers us down the hall, past the cocktail bar, then around the corner to a closed door that looks imposingly locked.
But she’s got a key of course, so she opens it, but then pauses.
“This door was only closed because this wing has been under construction. We’re redoing this area to better suit the name of the inn,” she says, gesturing to a vintage sign hanging in the hallway: Stay a while and read a book.
I hum happily. “I’m intrigued.”
With her chestnut hair swept into a sleek ponytail and wearing a cranberry summer pantsuit, Bridget’s the image of polished and poised as she reaches into her pocket for a key card and swipes it over a door labeled: The Nook.
“Anything with nook in it has to be good,” Ripley says.
Bridget swings open the door. “And it is very good. It used to be an arcade room once upon a time. And now…just look!”
I stop in the doorway and my jaw drops as I take it in, from the light spilling through the window to the inviting scent of linen and well-worn pages. “Holy shit.”
“It’s a book lover’s wet dream,” Ripley says.
Bridget smacks her affectionately. “Be more crass.”
“This is giving me a lady boner,” I say.
Bridget rolls her eyes but then twists her hands together. “Seriously, you like it?”
“Like it? It’s orgasmic,” I say as I walk in and gape at the onetime game room that’s been redone into a library. Tall sage-green shelves line one wall and are stuffed with books—hardbacks and paperbacks, from romance to thrillers to sci-fi to memoirs. It’s a book lover’s paradise.
“We also want to add some little touches in each room to fit the name. Like a cute little shelf in the corner of a room with a few books—a mix. A mystery, a thriller, a romance. So the bookstore will help curate the titles and then have a little QR code that lists other books like these that they can get at the store. And because the bookstore is going to host some bigger book shows in town, we thought maybe we could have themed weekends in partnership with them.”
“It’s amazing,” I say, genuinely proud of my friend and what she’s done with this small-town inn.
“And the best part? Those,” she adds, gesturing to a trio of huge chairs. Each one is an oversized lounge you can sink into. They look like they’re made of pillows, and one’s cream, and the other two are dusty rose.
“Gah. It’s heaven for book lovers,” I say, flopping down into one of the inviting chairs. It’s big enough for three.
Bridget breathes a sigh of relief. “I’m so glad you like it. I can’t wait to roll out the renovations. We’re going to relaunch the cocktail bar with bookish-themed cocktails, and we’ll also have space here for author events when the bookstore needs more room.”
We all flop down in the big chair together and stare out the window at the small town that’s our home. Main Street below is hustling and bustling. “This town is really becoming something, isn’t it?” I say wistfully.
“It sure is,” Ripley says, then adds proudly, “and so are you.”
“Yeah, how is everything going with the hot boss you’re banging again?” Bridget asks.
I saw my friends last week, but not since Sawyer and I started dance lessons. “We seem to keep falling into bed,” I say, shrugging, like Sawyer and I really can’t help it. Then I smile. “Last night…I spent the night.”
Ripley arches a tell me more brow. “Did you now?”
“And he made me breakfast. With mangoes and omelets. And he stopped by my house first to get my dog. He took him for a run this morning. And I’m going to—”
I stop myself before I say see him perform karaoke tonight.
That’s sacred to Sawyer, and I feel like I’m part of the inner circle of…two. I fight off a smile.
“What are you smiling for?” Bridget says, nudging me.
“Because I’m so happy for you, Bridge,” I say—and that’s true.
She rolls her eyes. “You’re such a liar.”
Ripley elbows me. “She is. She does that thing when she lies.”
“What thing?”
“An over-the-top smile,” she says.
“I do not. I smile a lot,” I say defensively.
“Yes, Miss Sunshine,” Bridget says with a smirk. “But it’s a fifty-mile-wide smile when you’re lying.”
I cover my mouth, then mutter, “Lies, sweet little lies.”
Bridget turns to Ripley with a knowing look in her eyes. “We have no choice, right?”
“None,” Ripley says.
I tense, bracing for what’s coming.
Bridget tickles me. Ripley gets in on it too. “What are you lying about?” They demand as I fight off a torrent of tickles until I finally blurt out, “Fine! I’m seeing him, and I like him. Happy now?”
They relent, with Bridget flashing a satisfied grin my way. “So it’s more than DNA-rearranging?”
My heart sputters in my chest, and I give a tentative, hopeful nod. “I think so.”
Ripley cheers. Bridget shouts an enthusiastic yes.
“But he’s still rearranging your DNA?”
“So well,” I say with a salacious hum. “And I also really like him.”
Bridget’s eyes are wise and thoughtful as she asks, “What are you going to do about that?”
That is the big question. “I don’t know. But tickling won’t give me any answers,” I say with a pout.
“Still, we have to try,” Ripley says.
I let out a forlorn sigh.
Bridget wraps an arm around me. Ripley does the same on the other side, and they hug me tight.
“Ugh, feelings,” Ripley says.
“I know,” I whine.
Feelings can suck it, even though I’m secretly hoping they stick around this time.