15. CHAPTER 15
Livia
Juno texted at noon. Crosby’s out. Birdie’s making pad Thai. Bring Molly, wine and yourself. Seven o’clock.
That was the entire invitation and it was enough. After the day I’ve had—which included Locke’s searing kiss in my office—I’m ready to drink wine and forget about the ludicrousness of that hockey player.
Molly and I share an Uber and on the way over we chitchat about our respective lives from the past week, since we haven’t had time to get together, especially with the holiday.
“Tell me all I need to know about Juno and Birdie,” Molly says, so I do. By the time our driver turns into Crosby’s neighborhood, she has a working understanding of Juno’s documentary background, Birdie’s saturation diving career, and the general shape of how I know them both.
“I love them already,” she announces.
“You haven’t met them.”
“Doesn’t matter. Anyone who dives to two hundred feet for a living and anyone who dates a man who plays professional hockey both qualify as my kind of people.” She looks out the window as the house comes into view and goes quiet. “Livia.”
“I know.”
“This is insane.”
“I know.”
Molly pays the driver through the app and we get out, both of us taking in Crosby’s house—the way it sits back from the road behind established landscaping, the gas lanterns lining the front walk, the warm glow of uplighting washing over stucco and tile.
It looks like it’s out of a magazine and somehow also like somewhere people actually live.
“Okay,” Molly says. “I need a house like this.”
“You date an orthopedic surgeon,” I point out.
“Who’s still paying for medical school,” she laments, falling into step beside me up the front walk. I’ve got a bottle of Arvendale Pinot and she’s carrying a bottle of champagne.
We reach the front porch and she pauses, tipping her head back to look at the exterior lanterns. “These are gorgeous. Okay. I’m ready. Let’s go meet your new friends.”
I ring the bell.
The door opens almost immediately and Birdie is there in leggings and an oversized pullover with her dark hair piled on top of her head, a glass of wine already in hand. Her eyes move between the two of us with immediate warmth.
“You brought reinforcements,” she says approvingly.
“Birdie, this is my best friend Molly. Molly, Birdie Hale.”
Molly extends her hand and Birdie takes it, but what she actually does is look at the champagne bottle in Molly’s other hand. “I already like you. Come in.”
“That’s all it takes?” Molly asks, stepping through.
“Bubbly on a girls’ night? Absolutely.”
Inside, the house opens immediately with a wide entry, artwork on the walls, and the smell of lemongrass, garlic and chili spice assaulting my nose in the best way possible. Tall windows overlook the backyard veranda and the trees beyond, the pool’s blue light rippling softly through the glass.
“Juno’s in the kitchen massacring a lime,” Birdie announces, already heading that way.
“I heard that,” Juno calls out.
We follow Birdie into the kitchen and find Juno at the granite island with a cutting board, a knife, and four limes that have been cut with more enthusiasm than precision. She’s in a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up and looks completely at home in Crosby’s kitchen.
“She’s not wrong,” I tell her, setting the wine on the counter. “Those limes have been traumatized.”
“They’re juiced, aren’t they?” Juno says. “That’s the goal.” She looks past me to Molly with an open, easy smile. “Hi, I’m Juno.”
“Molly Baldwin.” Molly sets the champagne down and takes in the kitchen, appreciating a good space. “This house is insane, by the way. Not in a crazy, serial killer way though.”
“Right?” Juno says. “I keep waiting to get used to it.”
Birdie opens the bottle of wine I brought, pouring two glasses before passing them over.
Molly accepts it and takes a sip, humming with appreciation. Her eyes go to the label. “Is that Arvendale?”
“Yeah… I picked up a few bottles.”
Molly looks at me. “When did you go there, you snake? And you didn’t invite me?”
I flush because that’s sort of me and Molly’s thing, and she has no clue I was there with Locke. She doesn’t know anything about Locke for that matter, and I still have to figure out how to handle that, as in what I can and can’t tell her—and there are definitely things to tell her.
“I went last week and Sena loaded me up,” I say vaguely.
“Well, you’re forgiven for going without me since you’re sharing now,” she drawls.
“Thanks, bestie,” I throw back at her.
“So Molly,” Birdie says, settling back against the opposite counter. “How do you know Livia?”
“We grew up together.”
“Both Portland girls,” Juno says with a bright smile. “And what do you do, Molly?”
“I’m an ER nurse at Portland General.” She picks up her wine. “Twelve-hour shifts, rotating schedule, the most interesting and terrible things you’ve ever seen in your life on any given Tuesday.”
Juno wrinkles her nose. “I can only imagine.”
Molly looks around the kitchen with appreciation. “Whose herbs are those?” Molly asks, tilting her chin toward the windowsill.
“That’s Juno bringing much needed girl energy to the place,” Birdie says with a knowing smile.
“They needed to be there,” Juno says with the slight defensiveness of someone who has already had this conversation with herself. “Crosby only has salt and pepper.”
“I don’t know how he ever survived without you,” Birdie says with a wave of her wineglass. “But let’s not talk about boring stuff like that. I want to know all the most interesting cases you’ve seen in the ER, Molly. Or I’d settle for scandal.”
We eat at the island because nobody suggests moving to the dining room. Juno’s pad Thai is excellent and the wine flows freely. Since we took an Uber, we don’t need to worry about who’s driving.
Molly tells a story about a patient who came into the ER convinced his arm was broken when he’d actually just slept on it wrong, which leads to a broader discussion of the things ER nurses see that they can never unsee, which leads to Birdie describing the particular claustrophobia of living in a pressurized saturation chamber for thirty days at a stretch and the creative ways the divers keep their sanity.
“Thirty days,” Molly says. “Continuously.”
“Continuously,” Birdie confirms, twirling noodles around her fork. “You eat there, sleep there, decompress there. You go down to work and come back up to the chamber. You don’t see natural light for the duration.”
“How do you not lose your mind?”
“Some people do,” Birdie says pleasantly.
“Those people wash out of the program. The rest of us learn that we’re more comfortable in small spaces than we thought.
” She takes a sip of wine. “I actually sleep better at depth than I do anywhere else. The pressure is—I don’t know. It feels like being held.”
“That’s what they make men for,” Molly quips.
Birdie snorts. “No thank you.”
Molly’s eyes flare wide. “Oh, wait… are you a lesbian? I didn’t mean—”
Birdie doubles over laughing. “No, I like men just fine. Just don’t need one to hold me at night.”
“Birdie has a distinct aversion to monogamy and commitment,” Juno announces.
“Why?” I can’t help but ask. Because as much as I hate how my relationship with Grant turned out, I love being part of a team.
Birdie shrugs. “I don’t know. I just… like my freedom, I guess.”
Juno kicks her gently under the table. “That’s what all the non-monogamists say until they fall helplessly, head over heels in love with someone.”
“Nope.” She shakes her head adamantly. “That won’t ever happen to me if I can help it.”
“Famous last words,” I say, pointing a noodle-wrapped fork at her.
Molly refills everyone’s glasses and leans back on her stool.
“Okay. I need the inside scoop. You all work around or are adjacent to professional hockey players.” She looks between the three of us.
“Who’s the hottest?” Then stares pointedly at Birdie.
“Understanding you’d only be interested in banging one and not marrying him. ”
Juno rolls her eyes. “That’s easy. Crosby, of course, and I’ll fight anyone who disagrees.”
“You don’t count because you’re involved with him,” Molly says with a laugh. “You’re compromised.” She looks at Birdie. “You.”
Birdie considers it with genuine seriousness, which is somehow funnier than if she’d answered immediately.
“Objectively? I’d have to go with Locke Donovan.
” I jolt in surprise, not that he’s not gorgeous.
In fact, he’d be my answer, but… well, I don’t know why that surprises me she zeroed in on him.
I know they had a connection at Thanksgiving, so maybe she’s interested in testing those waters.
That doesn’t settle well within me, and I try to call myself out on it. I have no right to be upset by that at all.
And yet… he kissed me. It’s me he’s interested in, right?
“But he’s terrifying, so it almost cancels out,” Birdie adds, and I blink to focus on her.
“Almost?” I say before I can stop myself.
Birdie lifts a shoulder. “I’m all about the risks, baby. So yeah, almost.”
I look at my wine, hoping the answer to why I’m feeling slightly jealous is in there.
It is not.
“What about you?” Molly asks me.
“I’m not playing this game,” I say.
“You literally just played it by commenting on Birdie’s answer,” Molly points out.
“I made a general observation.”
“Livia.”
“I work with these men professionally. It would be completely inappropriate for me to—”
“You can say Locke Donovan too,” Birdie suggests. “I won’t be jealous.”
My mouth sags slightly open. Does she know that I have… what… feelings for him?
Everyone turns to look back at me but I play it off. “I’m not confirming that,” I say.
“You’re not denying it,” Molly says.
“I work with him, ladies. I can’t be making comments about it at all.”
“Oh, bullshit,” Birdie says with a snort. “Juno is doing a documentary and banging the star. Lines are crossed all the time.”
Juno chokes on her wine and elbows Birdie. “That was crass—”