Chapter 1 #2
“Yeah. My boss is here to receive some alumni award, actually.” He scanned the room with his eyes as if trying to find her in the crowd.
“We have to catch a flight tonight for an interview in London. She wasn’t going to come originally, but I convinced her it would be good for her to at least stop by and see some old friends.
She works a lot. Too much, really, so I try to help her have a little fun now and then, too. All part of the job, I guess.”
Naomi gave a surreptitious glance in Abby’s direction.
She expected Abby to have some retort about Freya at the ready, but instead, she only had a placid, unreadable smile on her face, like a store mannequin on display in the window.
Or maybe she got interrupted before she could say anything because at that moment someone—was that Dana?
Daniella?—a person possibly with a D name Naomi vaguely recognized walked up to Abby.
“Abigail Channing, my yearbook compatriot. How are you?”
“Devan Landry!” Abby said without hesitation. “You were the only one who appreciated my layouts.”
Right, Devan! Naomi hadn’t been on the yearbook committee, but she’d heard all the stories from Abby.
With all the pranks the two had pulled together, they would have a bit of reminiscing and catching up to do.
Naomi had known Devan well enough to join in on their conversation, but in her peripheral vision, she could see that Will’s gaze had moved from Devan back to her.
And she didn’t mind enjoying those eyes on her for a few more minutes.
“I did Mathletes when Abby was in yearbook,” she said, facing him again.
“Mathletes!” Will let out a laugh. “That’s …”
“It’s okay, you can say it. That’s extra nerdy. I also went to math summer camps.”
“That’s a thing?”
“Yep! And I went every summer, for all four years of high school.”
“So let me guess, you became a … math teacher?”
“I thought about it. But I don’t like people enough. I prefer quiet, sensible, and drama-free numbers. Which is why I became an accountant.”
“I can’t say I’ve ever heard numbers described as ‘drama-free’ before.”
“Exactly my point. Numbers mind their own business—you don’t hear about them. They do their job, and life goes on.”
Will seemed to consider this. “Unless you start cooking the books. Then numbers become a problem.”
“Sure, but then you’re dealing with people again. The numbers aren’t lying, the people are.”
Will smiled at her, a wide grin that made distracting dimples appear. “You’re making me seriously consider a career change.”
Naomi wasn’t a giggler. She wasn’t a hair twirler either, but somehow her mouth let out a titter, and her finger found its way into her dark hair, which she was definitely looping in circles.
The line moved and they took another step forward, placing Will at the front. “Can I buy you a drink in exchange for some more accounting talk?” He flashed his two drink tickets like a magician revealing his cards.
More flutters in her stomach. She hadn’t been sure if he had been politely passing the time while they were in line, but now it seemed like this was more than small talk. Like maybe he was feeling something too?
A part of her brain reminded her that the whole thing—having a stranger, who was crashing her high school reunion with his boss / her best friend’s high school nemesis, spend a drink ticket on her at a folding table bar —was kind of preposterous.
A part of her wanted to thank him politely and send him on his way.
But another part of her wasn’t ready to end this conversation quite yet.
It had been so long since she had felt anything even slightly akin to a flutter that she had started to doubt that she could feel it again.
But it turned out she could. And now she wanted to feel it a little bit more.
What the hell.
“Okay,” she said.
The pleased look on Will’s face brought a smile to her lips.
“What can I get you?” the bartender asked as they approached.
“I’ll have …” Will bent down slightly to read the list of drinks. “The Naughty Narwhal. I take it the Narwhal is your mascot?” he said, turning to Naomi.
“Go Narwhals!” she replied, giving a less-than-enthusiastic fist pump. Then, “A white wine for me, thanks.”
Abby was still talking to Devan when the bartender set down her drink. Naomi picked it up and gave Abby a little wave. “I’m going to go right over here.” She indicated a general direction with her glass.
Abby paused her conversation long enough to nod.
Her eyes flicked ever so briefly to Will, then back to Naomi, seeming to piece the scene together.
If Abby had any opinions about her drinking with someone connected to Freya, she wasn’t letting on.
She had said Freya’s presence here didn’t matter, so maybe she didn’t harbor any feelings about Will working with her.
After all, Abby wasn’t one to mince words—if she had feelings about something, she would usually let someone know pretty quickly.
And on the rare occasions that she didn’t, Naomi had known her long enough to be able to decipher her expressions.
She stepped away from the bar and motioned to a small, empty spot along the wall next to a blue and white balloon arch.
“How’s your Narwhal?” she asked as Will sipped the blue concoction.
His face puckered, and he nodded with tightly pursed lips.
“That good, huh?”
“It’s very sweet,” he said, inspecting the contents of his plastic cup. “But then, I’m pretty basic when it comes to my drinks. A simple IPA is all I need.”
She decided to give him a little test. Again, not that she was remotely in the market to date anyone, but it couldn’t hurt to do a little test … for fun. “My introduction to drinking was Manischewitz wine during the holidays, so my tolerance for sweet drinks is pretty high. You ever had it?”
“My good buddy from college invited me to his house for Passover. That was my first time drinking Manischewitz. This little Midwestern goyim was not prepared for four very full glasses.”
Okay, he wasn’t Jewish. But he was the kind of goyim who was able to casually throw around the Yiddish term for someone who wasn’t Jewish. Not that it mattered. Because she wasn’t looking for a relationship. Or a fling. “It’s fair to say it’s an acquired taste.”
There was a sudden flicker of playfulness in his eyes. “It’s a taste I’d be open to acquiring.”
The flutter in her stomach plunged lower. She hadn’t had that kind of flutter in even longer.
Naomi had never really had to flirt. She’d married her high school sweetheart and after a tumultuous marriage and an even worse divorce, she hadn’t had much interest in seeing what else might be out there for her.
Trying to flirt with Will now wasn’t like getting on a bicycle again.
It was like trying to ride a unicycle for the first time.
Through a ring of fire. While juggling kittens.
The wine helped a little. But as it turned out, she didn’t need much help. She kept waiting to feel awkward, for uncomfortable silences, but they never came. Instead, the conversation flowed and the distance between them continued to shrink.
“Yeah! If you like the Green Mill, you should definitely check out the Jazz Showcase,” Will said, a sheepish look overtaking his face. “Maybe I can take you, sometime?”
He had put a hand in his pocket and when he pulled it out, he held a business card between his fingertips.
The first awkward silence passed between them as she looked at the card, unsure what to do.
She wanted to say yes and she wanted to say no.
She wanted more of what was happening between them, but she didn’t want all the things that came with it.
No, she thought. She wasn’t ready for anything beyond the safety of flirting under harsh, unforgiving, fluorescent gym lights.
Was she?
A distinct laugh cut through the chatter in the gym, breaking the spell of her indecision.
“I have to admit this isn’t far off from how I imagined you’d end up. The sad, lonely drunk at a bar.” That voice. It was unmistakable.
Freya Jonsson.
Something else was unmistakable too—the tone of her voice. Naomi had heard it before, many, many times during her high school career. There was only one person she could be talking to.
She turned to face the bar, and there was Abby, her back to Naomi, squaring off with Freya as if it were Freshman year.
“I’m not—” Abby said.
“Let me guess. You live alone. With your cat.” It seemed that fifteen years hadn’t softened Freya one bit.
Her personality wasn’t the only thing that hadn’t changed.
She looked like a Barbie who had simply switched outfits.
She had the same platinum blonde hair, pearly white smile, and perfect milky skin that Naomi remembered from high school.
Only now, she was Journalist Barbie in a tailored pinstripe suit with Christian Louboutin heels instead of Cheerleader Barbie in a blue and white uniform with pom poms.
“Yes, but—”
“I knew it!” Freya laughed.
This couldn’t have gone worse.
Somehow, those two had not only found each other but had found themselves right back in their teenage feud.
Back in the day, the only thing that would break up their arguments was the period bell.
Or Naomi. Unlike Freya’s friends, who attended these clashes like ringside seats, Naomi would never get involved but would, gently, guide Abby away.
Since no one would be late for any classes, Naomi was probably their only hope for disrupting this age-old dance before it turned into something embarrassing like a school talent show performance gone wrong.