Chapter 8
“You did what?” Vincent asks, stirring another Stevia packet into his latte.
“I ran out while he was sleeping.” I cradle my chai in my hands, unable to look my best friend in the face.
It’s a week later, and I’ve been in a funk since I snuck out of Smith’s apartment. I didn’t know what I expected. Smith chasing me down after chasing me down once? I made it clear there was no future for us.
It’s like it never happened.
It’s better this way. I have my friends. I have my YouTube channel.
Still, I’m sad, sitting in this hipster coffee shop with Vincent, one of the loves of my life. Even when we talked about the wedding, how he and his husband had the best time, I cannot force a smile. I feel even more like shit when Vincent looks at me with a knowing look.
He knows as well as I do that I fucked up.
“You are cold,” Vincent says. “Was the sex bad? I mean, he’s too good-looking. There has to be something wrong with him.”
I shake my head. I’ve never used the term “making love” because ew, gross—but my night with Smith felt like that. And saying he made love to me doesn’t make me want to heave.
I’m even thinking about our chat in the elevator and how everything was so easy once my dumb ass realized he wasn’t a jerk.
When he admitted to being attracted to me. How it made me feel the most excited I’ve felt in a while.
I take a sip of my drink. “It’s better this way.”
Vincent shakes his head. “That’s quitter talk,” Vincent says, taking a sip of his latte, then making a face. “This fake sugar is slowly crumbling my spirit.”
“You look great, though.”
Vincent kisses my hand. “We have our honeymoon booked for two months out. Q has an eight-pack, and I do not want anyone looking at me like he settled,” Vincent says. He takes another sip and winces.
“I just don’t know. I’m not looking to date anyone, and while the sex was amazing…”
“Marry him,” Vincent says.
“I can’t. First off, he needs to ask.”
“Technicality.”
“Second, I’m not the type of woman people marry. I’m destined to be single the rest of my life.”
“Honey, your worldview is so warped.” Vincent settles his hands on the table. “Q and I went to couples’ therapy so I feel like I’m qualified to deconstruct this.”
“Okay.” I squirm in my seat.
“Who hurt you?”
I glare at him and tilt my head. “Really? You know about all of it.”
“Still,” he says with a bob of the head. “Talking it out will help.”
I shrug one shoulder. “I moved here with Wade and then he cheated on me. I chased my college boyfriend Nate relentlessly and he called me crazy in front of everyone. I’ve had so many men really excited about me after dates just to ghost me or get back with their ex. Or, claim to not be ready. I’ve dated carbon copies of Smith and it’s never gone well.”
I breathe in and out. “Dating and relationships made me miserable and turned me into someone I didn’t want to be.”
“It’s been three years,” Vincent says, covering my hand with his. “I think you’re cured. You got dicked down better than you have ever been and left in the middle of the night like a boss. You’re my hero.”
Shaking my head, I say, “I don’t know. I thought I was happy being single. But…”
Smith. He ruined it for me.
“You know, I’m not supposed to say anything but Smith asked me about you. Again.”
My heart flutters at his name, his interest in me. “He did?”
“You’re welcome, by the way. Do you know how hard it was to sleuth out that booze cruise you were on? I had to DM Raegan on Instagram. She’s lovely, good job for finding her.”
“She is,” I say, but all I can think about is Smith. “What did he say?”
“He texted me yesterday. Wondered if I had heard from you.”
A slight smile creeps on my face, and Vincent points and says, “A-ha! I knew you weren’t an unfeeling bitch.”
Vincent is literally the only man who I would ever let call me a bitch.
He takes a sip of his coffee and winces. “I know men suck sometimes. When Q and I first started to date, I had been burned so many times that I pushed him away. After our fifth, magical date, he had roses delivered. I finally looked myself in the mirror and said, ‘Vincent, let that man love you.’ And then I did. I’ve never been happier. I mean, look at this rock.”
He flashes his wedding ring, an audacious thick band with diamonds all around. I’m surprised he can hold his hand up.
I pause and look off to the corner of the coffee shop. There was something there with Smith. It was more than amazing sex and I know it, but I’m so scared of what it means.
There might be too much risk for me to stomach.
“What about Daniela?” I bring up. “He was with her for years. and she cheated on him. I’m not sure if he’s ready for a relationship.”
“Cassie, dear,” Vincent says, waving off. “You wonder where we got the couples’ therapist referral from? That marriage was long over before she fell on a dick.”
“How long?”
“Years,” Vincent says. “They had nothing in common. Daniela liked to be out and around people and Smith is more introverted. If you haven’t noticed, the son of a bitch doesn’t talk much.”
He talks with me.
It makes sense, the difference between Smith and Daniela. I do remember her talking to everyone when she came in, Smith silent with his hand on her back. I can talk to anyone, but I would much rather snuggle on a couch binging something on Netflix than go out any day of the week.
I wonder what Smith is binging right now.
“Are you starting to realize you’re self-sabotaging?” Vincent asks, spiral-pointing to my forehead.
I take a sip of my chai. “I am not.”
I’m lying. I’m terrified. How maybe I’ve been lying to myself about men and relationships because it was safer than putting myself out there. How my whole life might turn out differently than I thought with Smith in the picture. But what if it turns out like I thought, but I’ll have a huge broken heart to go with it if Smith doesn’t stay in the picture?
“Cassie, I love you, but you are lying through those beautiful teeth of yours.”
“My girlfriends think I should give him a chance,” I say.
“Do it,” Vincent says. “It’s better to give it a shot than spend your entire life wondering.”
“I knew you would have the right thing to say.”
“I wouldn’t suggest you go after him unless he was worthy of you. And Cassie, you are a goddess.”
“Thanks Vincent,” I say.
“I got to go, but give me a hug,” he says, standing up. He takes me in a bear hug and as he rubs my back, he whispers, “Call him.”
“I’ll think about it.”
As I leave with my purse on my shoulder, he says, “You know, the Octavo is close to here.”
I narrow my eyes. “Is this why you suggested this place?”
“Maybe,” he says, leaving the coffee shop and disappearing into a sea of people.
I weave in and out of tourists on the Embarcadero, as I end up in front of where it all began.
The Octavo.
It looks different in the daytime, but a warmth goes through me, although the wind chills my skin. People walk right past me, pretending like I’m not there.
I remember the laughs, the kiss in the elevator. How I was so wrong about him. How he made me feel like he was worth trusting. How he felt different than the other men I’ve dated.
My hands shake as I unlock my phone, thinking about my two potential futures and what they would look like. There’s a good chance that Smith and I might not work out if we tried, but the what-if would kill me. I would spend the rest of my life wondering.
I dial his office number by heart. When I worked for him, Smith’s calls were routed to a voicemail box he checked frequently, even on weekends.
I’m shocked when he picks up.
“Hello?”
“Hi, um, it’s Cassie,” I say.
“Where are you?” Smith asks.
“Funny enough, I’m in front of the Octavo actually.”
“Don’t move, I’ll be right there,” he says.
“Okay,” I say as the line goes dead.
Fifteen minutes later, he’s here and in front of me.
Smith is sweaty, wearing a button-down shirt, stained with perspiration. His hair is damp, and he’s breathing heavy. Reminds me of our time in his apartment.
“I didn’t think you would be working today.”
He coughs against his fist. “Well, I’ve been monitoring my office line, just in case. Since I don’t have your new number.”
“Oh,” I say.
“I ran here,” Smith says.
I look down at him and nod. “I see.”
We move to the side so we can talk.
He points to the building. “I’ve been running by it every day too. In athletic clothes, not this. I’ve been commenting your videos too.”
“What have you been saying?”
Smith looks to the sky. “Some version of ‘talk to me.’”
“Oh. I ignore comments like that.”
We stand there, quiet.
“I, um…” we both say at the same time. I then laugh and he motions for me to speak.
“I’m sorry I ran out in the middle of the night,” I say.
“Was it bad or…?”
“No, no, it was great,” I reassure him.
I look down, collecting my words. Be brave.
Looking up at him, I say, “I honestly thought I’d be alone forever. However, being with you, being around you…”
“I know,” he says. “I didn’t think I was ready either. After Daniela.”
My heart seizes. “Are you?”
“Yes.” No hesitation. No wavering. He peers at me, waiting for a reaction. “I’m absolutely crazy about you. I want to see where this goes.”
“Me too. But I’m scared,” I say. He’s silent, deep in thought. My breath catches in my throat as I wait for his response.
“I am too. But it’s worth a shot. With you. How about dinner?” he asks suddenly.
I grin like a fool. “Sounds great.”
“Are you available tonight?” he asks. “I know a place that does a mean crab cake.”
I wonder who told him of my affinity for crab cakes.
There’s no need to play hard-to-get. I nod.
“Great,” he says.
Smith leans in tentatively, like he’s waiting for me to stop him. He kisses me sweetly, like a first kiss at a middle-school dance.
We both look up at the Octavo together. He slides a tentative arm around my shoulders, and I lean into him.
“You know, I’m grateful that the elevator broke down,” Smith says.
“Why?”
“I doubt I would’ve had the guts to declare my feelings otherwise,” Smith says. “I feel like you’re out of my league.”
I almost drop to my knees on the sidewalk. Me, out of his league?
“Stop,” I say with a play-slap to his chest. “Were you nervous?”
He nods with a grin. “I’ve been crushing on you for years, and I was finally single? Oh yeah.”
“How much did you like me?”
“So much,” he says. “I had to make myself scarce the days you wore your black skirt.”
“The pencil skirt?”
“Is that what it was called? It made your ass look amazing.”
I nod once. “It was the pencil skirt.”
He turns toward me, wrapping his arms around my shoulders. I smell his masculine scent, and I press my cheek into his hard chest. I look up, and he brushes my hair away, framing my face with his hands.
“The elevator breaking down was fate.”
“I don’t believe in that stuff. Although,” I say, looking up into his eyes, “my friend’s boyfriend said the same thing, and then he was seated next to her on an airplane.”
He brushes hair out of my face. “You might be the Buffy to my Angel.”
“Please don’t leave me and move to Los Angeles.”
“I won’t. San Rafael sounds nice, though. But only if you come with me.”
“Oh, already talking about the future.”
“Not now. But maybe soon.”
He leans in again, kissing me, and I wrap my arms around his neck. When I pull away, Smith nods to the hotel.
“Do you want to see if the elevator is free?”
I shake my head violently. “I’ll need at least a year before I even go anywhere near that elevator.”
“Noted,” Smith says.
He kisses me again, and I fall under his spell.
God bless weddings, broken elevators, and pushy friends.