Chapter 5 #2
Simone loved this song, too. The next thing she knew, she and Kenzie were scream-singing the words and acting out the lyrics by way of dancing.
When they got to the final chorus—to the part about Romeo proposing to Juliet—Kenzie knelt down on what had to be a very sticky floor and mimed pulling out a ring.
Simone grabbed her by the hands and pulled her up so they could belt out the rest of the song together, but Kenzie stumbled in her high-heeled boots, stumbled closer to Simone, so close that Simone could smell the traces of tequila on her breath…
… and then they were making out.
Kenzie’s kiss was the sexual equivalent of how she’d burst from the stall in the washroom. It was vigorous and kind of chaotic, her jaw and tongue both moving faster than Simone was expecting. She couldn’t find the rhythm—that is, if there was even a rhythm to find.
And still, despite the fact that she was at risk of developing TMJ from excessive jaw strain, Simone felt light as air.
She was making out with a cute woman in the middle of a bar, and she didn’t have to worry about what it meant, or figure out how she’d sweep it under the rug tomorrow.
It was arguably one of the worst kisses of her life—on par with that from the guy in high school who’d licked the whole area around her lips—and she would definitely not be following up with Kenzie after tonight, but Simone still had a feeling she’d cherish this moment forever.
SIMONE WOKE UP THE NEXT MORNING with a sore jaw and a full heart.
She felt like nothing could bring her down as she swung by her usual coffee shop across from the Rainbow Museum.
Today, she would not require an Olympic swimming pool’s worth of cold brew.
She would treat herself to something fun and festive, like a maple spice latte.
She got in line behind a tall person in an olive-green toque and a brown Carhartt jacket. Everyone and their mother wore Carhartt these days, so she didn’t think twice about the customer in front of her until she picked up on a familiar evergreen scent.
Oh no.
Her traitorous nose inhaled the clean aroma, her chest expanding to make space for it in her lungs.
Will you stop? she silently hissed at her own respiratory system. We are not supposed to like anything about Mr. Actual Hard Work.
Simone’s first instinct was to turn on her heel and get the hell out of there to preserve the peace of her morning, but she stopped herself.
For one thing, Joe the barista, with whom she was now on a friendly basis, had already spotted her and waved hello; for another thing, she really liked the coffee from this place, and her brain would shut down without it.
Also: Why should she care about preserving the peace anymore?
She’d apologized to Ryan Foley about a billion times, and he still insisted on being a moody asshole in her presence.
She’d generally been trying to avoid him, but today she felt the urge to do something different: to stand up for herself.
To be so kind that it killed him. Last night had emboldened her.
And besides, she couldn’t keep avoiding him this week, anyway; they’d have to communicate about his designs for Whistler Pride.
Ryan was at the register now, placing his order.
He still didn’t know she was there. When Barista Joe rotated the credit card machine so Ryan could pay, Simone 2.
0 darted forward, leaping into action. “Hey, Joe!” she said cheerfully.
“I’m gonna get this guy’s coffee today.” She clapped a hand onto Ryan’s shoulder for good measure, and—jeez, was he ever solid under there. The man was sturdy as an oak tree.
Ryan peered down at her like she was a dog who’d decided to piss on said oak tree.
His eyes looked even more exhausted than last week.
She remembered him saying he’d be in the shop all weekend—and then he’d had to make the designs for Frankie, on top of whatever else he still had to get done ahead of the Rainbow Museum’s grand opening.
But whatever compassion she might have felt was squashed by the way Ryan proceeded to snap at her. “I don’t need anyone paying for me.”
“I know you don’t, but I insist, seeing as I’m the one with the fancy desk job.
” She’d stunned him into silence with that one.
With a triumphant smile, Simone turned to Joe.
“I’ll do a small maple spice latte with oat milk and a morning glory muffin, please.
Ryan, did you want anything to eat, or…? ”
“No.” His voice was dangerously low, and if she thought he’d glowered at her before, well, he looked even angrier now.
Good, she thought as she whipped out her Apple Pay. Never in her life had she reveled in someone being this upset with her. Never in her life had she reveled in someone being upset with her, period. Ryan was bringing out a whole new side to her, and she liked it.
Without saying thank you—not that she’d expected him to—he stalked over to the window to wait for whatever he’d ordered. Simone bounced to his side, grinning like a ray of sunshine. Ryan crossed his arms. “What are you doing?”
“What do you mean?” Simone asked sweetly. “I’m treating my esteemed colleague to coffee.”
“I mean, what are you doing?”
“I just told you—”
“Why are you like this?” he asked, waving a hand in exasperation.
Simone cocked her head politely. “So friendly and generous?”
“So irritatingly chipper.”
Uncomfortable as she was, she would not let him pierce her cool exterior. “Why does my positivity annoy you so much, Ryan?”
He spoke slowly, like he was saying the words as he etched them into stone. “Because it borders on obliviousness.”
Old Simone would have been well into her apology tour by now—anything to make the altercation end—but Simone 2.
0 would stand her ground. She took a step closer and locked eyes with Ryan.
His olive-green toque made the matching bursts of color at the center of his irises that much more remarkable, but Simone refused to be flustered.
Certainly not by his handsomeness. “You know what?” she fired back. “I think you kind of like it.”
“Like what?”
“When I ruin your day with my oh-so-irritating chipperness.”
“Why would I enjoy that?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you’re one of those people who secretly love to suffer.”
He grabbed her shoulder. For a split second, she thought he was going to shove her aside. But then he said, “Watch out,” and guided her out of the way of a delivery person carrying a crate full of almond milk. “Guy almost walked straight into you,” he muttered as he dropped his hand to his side.
Simone was still processing Ryan’s surprise burst of courteousness when Barista Joe called out from behind the counter: “I have two maple spice lattes for Simone, one with whole milk and one with oat!”
Simone’s lips quirked into a satisfied smirk.
Mr. Actual Hard Work—Mr. I-Primarily-Communicate-in-Grunts-and-Frowns—had ordered the same fun and festive winter beverage as she had.
Her plan to kill him with kindness was going even better than she could have imagined.
“See?” she said with her brightest, most upbeat voice. “We were destined to be friends.”
Ryan let out a sarcastic, disbelieving laugh. Then he sidestepped Simone, swiped his coffee off the counter, and made for the door.
“Can’t wait to see those designs today!” she trilled after him.
Ryan didn’t turn before barreling out of the shop. Simone watched him go, the satisfied smirk still playing on her lips. She hadn’t shied away from conflict like she usually did. She’d sprinted at it, full tilt. She felt powerful.
When she went to collect her own latte, she saw that Joe was still watching Ryan through the window as he charged across the street. “He’s in quite the mood, eh?”
“I think that’s just his personality,” she replied.
“Really? He’s usually pretty chill.”
Simone frowned. Lucy had said more or less the same thing when she’d mentioned her squabbles with Ryan the other day.
“Seems like it’s just been a recent thing,” Joe added.
Or it’s just a me thing, Simone thought bitterly as the barista waved goodbye and went to take the next order.
Ryan’s designs landed in Simone’s and Frankie’s inboxes later that day. With everything else he was working on, Ryan had somehow found time to make three-dimensional renderings of five different sets, each one fun, bright, and inviting. The opposite of Ryan’s personality.
“LOVE,” Frankie wrote back in all caps. “Now, let’s make it happen.”
“Will do,” Simone wrote back on the thread.
“Ryan, you and I can message separately about contractors.” Before she sent it off, she added one more line.
She couldn’t help herself. “By the way, these designs are delightfully chipper!” She pressed send and took a satisfied sip of her licorice tea as she imagined Ryan glowering at the message.
She’d just started drafting an email to Whistler Pride when a new message whooshed into her inbox.
It was a reply on the other thread—from Ryan.
“Glad to hear you both like them. Simone, see below for the names of three potential contractors. If they want to talk to me directly, let me know. Happy to suffer through as many calls as need be.”
Simone stared at his message. Happy to suffer. Heat bloomed in parts of her body that didn’t typically get hot from reading work emails, and she toggled back to her draft before Ryan could distract her any further.
She spent the next hour shooting off messages to the contractors Ryan had named, asking if they were available at the end of the month to build a handful of selfie station sets.
By the following afternoon, they’d all regretfully declined the offer, citing larger-scale projects they had to prioritize. When Frankie Slacked her asking for an update, she nervously told him the truth.