Chapter 13
JULIETTE
I’ve been thinking about that stupid note all morning, tucked into my makeup bag where I’d definitely see it.
You only fake-smiled twice last night. New record. -R
He was counting. During dinner last night with my entire family, while talking to my dad about hockey and charming my mom and pretending to be my boyfriend, he was counting how many times I faked a smile.
I should throw it away. It’s just Rodriguez being Rodriguez, observant in that way that makes me slightly uncomfortable because I’m not used to being seen like that. Not really.
“You almost ready to go?” Rodriguez calls through the bathroom door. “Bus leaves in like fifteen.”
“Almost.”
The blue scarf is still sitting on the counter where I left it this morning. I told myself I wasn’t going to wear it. That accepting gifts from him is crossing some invisible line I’d drawn to keep this whole thing manageable.
But it’s February in Toronto and the scarf goes with my coat and I’m being practical.
Which is the excuse I give myself as I wrap it around my neck.
Rodriguez is waiting by the door in one of the shirts he bought this morning. His eyes go straight to the scarf and he grins down at me.
“Looks great,” he says.
“It’s cold.”
“Yep. Cold.” He’s smiling like he knows exactly why I’m wearing it and it has nothing to do with the temperature. “Very practical choice.”
“I can take it off if you want to keep making a big deal about it. Is that what you want?”
“Absolutely not.”
The bus is a medium sized charter with seats that face each other in some rows. My parents are already sitting in the front. Olivia and Owen are right behind them, and three rows back, Garrett and Melissa.
She’s in a white puffer coat that probably has a designer label hidden somewhere, blonde hair perfect even though I’m completely windblown. She looks up when we board and gives me a tight smile before immediately leaning toward Garrett and whispering something in his ear.
Rodriguez’s hand settles on my lower back as we move down the aisle. The kind of casual touch that a boyfriend would do without even thinking about it.
We slide into seats near the middle. Rodriguez takes the window, pulling me in next to him. His arm goes across the back of my seat immediately, his fingers finding the ends of my hair where it falls over my shoulder.
“Cozy bus,” he says, loud enough for nearby rows to hear.
Then quieter, just to me, “Garrett’s been watching since we got on.”
“I know.”
“Want me to turn it up?”
I should say no. Should tell him to keep it subtle, keep it believable. Instead I hear myself say, “Do what you need to do.”
He leans in and presses a kiss to my temple. Brief but deliberate, and when he pulls back slightly, he doesn’t move far. His nose stays pressed into my hair and I can feel his breath there.
The spot where he kissed stays warm even after his lips leave. That weird pleasant sensation that makes me want to tilt my head closer even though I absolutely should not.
“Too much?” he murmurs against my hair.
“No. That’s fine.” Goosebumps rise along my arms even though I’m bundled in a sweater, scarf, and winter coat.
His arm settles heavier around my shoulders, and his fingers go back to playing with the ends of my hair. Just small movements, twirling strands between his fingers, barely noticeable to anyone watching. But I can feel every single one.
“Good. Because he’s still watching and I want to make sure he knows you’re very taken.”
The bus lurches forward and conversations overlap around us. My dad’s voice carries from the front, something about the Leafs’ defense. My mom is showing photos to Owen’s mom. Olivia keeps turning around to check on everyone, making sure we’re all entertained.
And behind us, I can feel Garrett’s stare while Rodriguez shifts slightly closer, keeping me pressed to his side.
Our tour guide at the brewery is maybe twenty-five and extremely enthusiastic about yeast strains in a way I’ve never heard anyone be excited about anything before.
Everyone dutifully follows along, nodding at appropriate moments, sipping tiny samples of beers that all taste pretty much the same to me.
Rodriguez gets absorbed into a conversation with my dad and Owen’s dad within five minutes. I watch him from across the group, animated and laughing. He’s not acting right now. This is just who he is. Someone people actually want to talk to.
“He’s really great,” Olivia says, appearing next to me with a beer sample. “Like, suspiciously great. What’s the catch?”
“There’s no catch.”
“Come on. Guys who look like that and are also nice don’t just exist.” She’s studying me with that skeptical younger sister look. “You really like him.”
It’s not a question. And I don’t know how to answer it without either lying or admitting how much I actually do like him, both of which feel dangerous right now.
“He’s been good about all this,” I say instead. “Meeting everyone, dealing with the wedding chaos.”
“Jules. He looks at you like you’re a snack.” She nudges my shoulder. “I haven’t seen you like this in ever, actually. Not even with Garrett.”
Before I can decide how to respond without giving too much away, Garrett materializes on my other side.
“Hey Jules. Can we talk?”
Every muscle in my body tenses. Olivia glances between us, then takes the coward’s way out.
“I’m gonna go find Owen. Text me later?” She squeezes my arm and disappears into the crowd.
Garrett moves closer, lowering his voice. “I know this is kind of awkward.”
“It’s fine.”
“Is it? Because last night you could barely look at me.”
“I looked at you plenty.”
“You looked through me.” He shifts his weight. “Look, I just want to make sure we’re okay. That you’re okay with all this.”
“Okay with all what?”
“Me and Melissa. The engagement. Being here for the wedding.” He pauses. “You showing up with someone new.”
“You’re engaged, Garrett. I’m dating someone. Last I checked that’s how moving on works.”
“That’s the thing though. You moved on really fast.”
The audacity. The absolute audacity of him standing here, engaged to the woman he cheated on me with, questioning my timeline.
“You got engaged a month after we broke up.”
“Six weeks almost, but that’s different.”
“How?”
“Melissa and I have history. We didn’t just—” He stops and recalibrates. “When did you and Rodriguez even start? Because I’ve never heard you mention him before.”
“Maybe you weren’t paying attention.”
“I paid attention, Jules. I know you. And this, him, it seems really sudden.”
“What do you want me to say, Garrett? That I’m miserable? That I’m still hung up on you?”
“No. I just—” He runs a hand through his hair. “He seems intense. The way he is with you. Very interested.”
Interested. Like that’s a bad thing. Like paying attention to your girlfriend is somehow suspicious or wrong.
“That’s called caring about someone. You should try it sometime.”
Before Garrett can respond, Rodriguez appears. He doesn’t say anything at first, just reaches for my hand and laces our fingers together.
Then he lifts our joined hands and presses his lips to my knuckles.
It’s not a quick gesture. He takes his time with it, slow enough that I can feel the exact shape of his lips. My fingers curl involuntarily, like my hand is trying to hold onto the feeling.
He lowers our hands but doesn’t let go, keeping them linked between us.
“Hey,” he says to Garrett, like he’s just noticing him. “You’re Garrett? Owen’s friend?”
“Yeah.”
“Cool, cool.” Rodriguez’s thumb starts tracing small circles on the back of my hand. “You were sitting with Melissa last night? The blonde?”
“My fiancée, yeah.”
“Oh right, congrats on that.” Rodriguez takes a sip of his beer with his free hand. “Although, maybe pick a date soon. Don’t want to let her get away, too. Right?”
Garrett raises his eyebrows and blinks, momentarily stunned. “Uh, no, I guess not.”
“Anyway, we should probably rejoin the group.” Rodriguez looks down at me, and the way he’s looking at me makes my throat go tight. “Ready?”
I nod because I can’t trust my voice yet. We walk away and I realize that he hasn’t let go of my hand.
“Was that too much?” Rodriguez asks when we’re out of earshot.
“Peeing on me to mark your territory would have been less obvious.”
“I did not, okay, maybe a little. But did you see his face?”
“Rodriguez.”
“What? He was trying to make you feel bad about moving on. Like you’re supposed to wait some appropriate mourning period before dating again. Fuck that. And fuck him.”
He steers me closer to the front of the group, near where the guide is droning on about some particular type of fermentation, and I let him because my brain is still catching up to what just happened.
The casual way he touched me. The deliberate kiss to my hand.
The slight edge in his voice when he spoke to Garrett.
He’s not just playing the part. He’s invested in making Garrett believe it.
Or maybe making Garrett hurt.
I should probably care about the difference, but right now I’m just trying to process the feeling of his mouth against my skin and what it means that I didn’t want him to stop.
An hour later we’re in the tasting room. Someone ordered appetizers, wings and loaded fries and things that soak up alcohol. The conversations have gotten louder, everyone pleasantly buzzed from too many samples.
Rodriguez is in the middle of a story about a road trip gone wrong, doing voices and gestures, and has everyone laughing. Owen’s friends, my cousins, even my dad is grinning at something he said.
My dad catches my eye from across the room and gives me a nod. Approval. Great. Rodriguez has won over my father in less than twenty-four hours.
“He’s good people,” my dad says, walking over to stand next to me. “Knows his hockey, doesn’t BS about what he doesn’t know. You could do worse.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“I’m just saying.” He takes a sip. “After Garrett...” He doesn’t finish the sentence. “This one seems more solid. More present.”