Chapter Four #2
“Any idea what you want for dinner?” I chewed my lip, aching for something more than the head shake she offered. “That new Thai place opened, if you wanna try it.”
“Sure.”
“It’s supposed to be really good.”
“Just get me whatever,” she muttered without looking up.
I shoved down the muddle of anxiety and disappointment dancing in my chest and eased her bedroom door shut.
Sun streamed through the windows, warming the living room.
This time last year, I would’ve basked in the light.
Now, I drew the curtains shut and plunked down on the couch to pull up the restaurant menu on my phone.
A text from Arden pinged: How are Things?
Miserable, I replied. But we’re getting Thai food so. Silver linings.
She reacted to my text with a heart and proceeded to type for a solid two minutes, finally sending, Phoebe will inevitably catch on to the shower of gifts and treats and when she does, she will weasel a puppy out of you. Do NOT fall for it!!! You’ll be the one who has to house-train it!!!
I would’ve done anything to put a smile on Phoebe’s face; I’d find an entire litter of puppies if it would make her happy.
But she wasn’t asking for things. Anything material was shrugged off or ignored, and I couldn’t blame her since the last thing that brought me immeasurable joy in the last nine months was a really good burrito.
Phoebe’s tunnel vision cured her and broke her just as quickly.
The only thing she cared about—one thing—was that letter.
Fuck it.
I sent another text to Arden: Can I borrow the red dress that makes my boobs look great?
She replied immediately: YES??? WHO ARE YOU TRYING TO IMPRESS????????
She wouldn’t believe me if I told her, so I slipped my phone in my pocket and rifled through boxes in my room until I found my makeup bag buried under the Sherpa throws I got custody of in the breakup.
Makeup didn’t register as important when my dad was dead and my sister was depressed.
On the bright side, nine months without foundation and my skin had never looked better.
As I brushed blush over the apples of my cheeks, it occurred to me that years separated me from the last time I dolled myself up to impress someone.
First dates were never my forte, but Shawn had made it easy.
My nerves gave way to molten excitement and I didn’t excuse myself from the table to check my makeup once.
And then we were together. Three years of stability, comfort, and safety undone in two weeks, and now I would have to suffer through dating apps and painful first dates, only it would be a million times more awkward because Phoebe would be at home waiting.
The idea of dipping my toe into the dating pool again made my stomach turn.
I hadn’t felt remotely inclined over the last eight months, and even now, gazing at my reflection in the mirror—auburn hair loose over my shoulders, gold eye shadow to enhance the green of my eyes, skin clear and freckled; someone pretty and fun and optimistic, not me at all—I couldn’t picture it.
This was for Phoebe. And then I’d shove the makeup back to the bottom of the box it came from.
I rapped on her bedroom door to tell her I was heading out to pick up the food. She didn’t respond. I threw on my favorite pair of black mules and slipped out the door, making the quickest pit stop at Arden’s for the last piece of this shameless puzzle.
The red dress. Short and flippy with an open back and a low neckline, it looked amazing on both Arden and me, but her boobs were smaller, so it fit her better. I filled it out.
I parked in front of Sequest, knowing damn well this was an embarrassing, futile idea, and yet I stepped onto the sidewalk without giving myself the opportunity to second-guess it. I would do anything for Phoebe, including this.
The same woman sat behind the desk when I walked in, only this time she wasn’t alone; Benji Dexter stood at her side, bent to inspect the computer screen, one hand braced on the desk.
I froze in the doorway. I hadn’t expected him to be front and center and was immediately thrown off what little game I had.
“—just don’t see how it could work,” the receptionist was saying. She glanced over, her polite smile flattening in a blink. Benji, either oblivious to my presence or ignoring it, rubbed his scruffy chin thoughtfully.
“I’ll cover the surplus.”
The receptionist sighed and murmured something I couldn’t hear. He straightened, folding his arms over his chest, eyes flashing to me.
“Hi,” I said. Stupidly, I pointed to myself and added, “Violet. I was here last week. You remember me. I can tell by the withering look.”
Withering might’ve been an understatement. He looked about ready to throw flaming darts at my face.
“Oh,” the receptionist said, jumping to her feet. “Did you hear that? The phone.”
With that, she bolted out of the room.
I cleared my throat, reminding myself that I looked awesome, that this was for Phoebe, and if I ended up cannibalized by humanitarians, at the very least she might find it funny.
“Hi,” I said again. I was 90 percent sure he wasn’t blinking as he stared me down.
“Um, it was nice meeting you the other day. I was in the neighborhood. You know that. You know where I live.” I coughed out an uncomfortable laugh.
Benji remained statuesque. “Um, I actually—I work at the elementary school. I’m a teacher. Third grade.”
Why was I telling him where I worked? Why was I making it easier for this guy to make it look like an accident?
“So, I, uh, I walk by pretty much every day,” I pressed on, my voice heightening an octave. “Weird that this whole time, you were in here. And we, you know. Have lived in the same apartment. Some might call it fate or… something.”
The withering look gave way to confusion. You and me both, dude.
“Are you…” He furrowed his brow and I wished with all my might for a freak tornado to touch down on top of us and take me away from this unbearable situation. “Are you trying to flirt with me?” he asked incredulously. My face flamed, the mortification pooling in my chest like molten lava.
“What? No. Obviously—No.”
His gaze slipped down, taking in the dress and the way it accentuated my curves in what was suddenly the worst way. The lava erupted, spreading to my gut, down my limbs.
“You’re all dressed up,” he said. “You going somewhere?”
“I… I’m picking up takeout. From that new Thai place down the road.”
“That’s a hell of a dress for cheap pad Thai.”
“I like to look nice,” I replied, a breathless note in my voice. His throat worked tightly and damn, this might’ve worked if I was even marginally smoother. “It makes me feel good.”
“The last time you were here,” he said, “you were in leggings and a big flannel shirt.”
I shrank back. “Okay. That’s pretty uncalled for. Those are my normal clothes.”
His expression hardened and I winced, realizing too late I’d played right into his hand.
“Fine!” I huffed. “You win. Yes, I’m trying to flirt with you.”
“Why?”
I inhaled deeply through my nose, brain searching for the right combination of words to unlock the vault surrounding this guy. “Do you have siblings?”
His expression slipped—horror, or something close to it blooming and rotting in the span of half a second. “What does that have to do with anything?”
A frustrated sound tore from me. “I don’t know how to respond to your responses. You’re not following proper conversation protocol.”
“What is happening right now?” Whether he was asking himself or the universe, I had no idea.
All I knew was that I’d made an ass of myself and we were so offtrack, the chances of salvaging this interaction shriveled to nothing.
I should’ve just come out with it—he might’ve respected the blunt honesty.
“I’m sorry,” I said, rubbing the bridge of my nose. “This turned into something so weird. I just… I need to know if you sent the letter.”
He straightened, his mouth actually falling open. Clearly, he expected another Return to Sender–stamped envelope from the USPS, or for me to plead my case about not pressing charges. Nope. I was a girl with audacity up to her eyeballs and very little self-preservation left.
“It’s none of my business,” I continued, talking fast. “I know that. But my sister, Phoebe—she was here with me last week—I love her more than anything in the world and she is so far gone right now. I don’t know what to do.
I’ve been in over my head for months, and then suddenly she finds your letter and she was smiling again.
She needs to know how it ends,” I pleaded.
Benji studied me, arms crossed, jaw set.
But he was listening. “This is the first thing that has brought her a semblance of joy since our dad died, and now I’m spouting off my business to a complete stranger, so maybe we’re a little bit even.
She needs this. So, please tell me if you sent the letter or if you’re going to, and you will never see me again. ”
He tilted his head, studying me with those dark eyes. A last bit of self-preservation kicked up and told me to run, fast and far.
“So, your plan was to seduce me into revealing this information?”
I crossed my arms. “Well, it sounds silly when you say it like that.”
He quirked an eyebrow, as if to say, Sure, it was me doing the heavy lifting.
“Okay, look,” I said, letting my arms fall to my sides. Opening up, allowing myself to be semivulnerable. “It was a really beautiful letter. It deserves to be read by the person it was meant for.”
“You read it,” he pointed out flatly. “And your sister, apparently.”
“That’s irrelevant.”
“It’s a felony.”
“My intentions were honorable.”
“That argument won’t hold up in court.”