Chapter Twenty-five #2
We’d been living together then and barely had enough space for an extra table, let alone a whole craft hobby. “I think I told you you’ll be thirty some day with or without a jewelry business.”
“That, yes. But also, you said every piece of jewelry I made didn’t need to be the one.”
“You sure I wasn’t talking about men?”
She sniffed a laugh. “Probably. You always did speak in metaphor.”
“Analogy,” I corrected. “So you’re saying I need to stop trying to write my big breakout novel and just write for me?”
“You don’t need an MFA to write a book, E.” She glanced over my shoulder as a customer entered, then back to me. “I think writing for you is what dreaming is for the rest of us. Therapeutic. You need to be creating with that big brain of yours, or that muscle’s going to atrophy.”
Oh, God. “No pressure then.”
“You could kill off that manager lady.”
“You mean Lauren?” That idea was fire. “Yes, but how.”
“Stiletto through the heart?”
I moved to the side to let the customer place his order, tapping my fingertips together and musing about Lauren’s untimely demise until Chelsea was free again.
“What if the network of cables caught her shoe, and she tripped, her arms windmilling as she stumbled headfirst into the green screen, while camera two was live.”
Chelsea’s eyebrow dipped. “And she died of a head wound?”
“Oh no.” I scoffed. “The video would go viral, and the internet would use that green screen to put her epic fall into increasingly more ridiculous situations. And then she’d die of embarrassment.”
“I see. Kind of a disappointing final destination.”
“Karmic destination.”
“Or you know, you could’ve gotten your revenge by taking her job.”
God forbid. “Actually, the best punishment is to leave her in that role forever.”
“Just so you know you could’ve done it, if you’d wanted to.”
That was why Chelsea was my best friend. Always on my side, even when she had to spin a whopper of a lie. I sighed.
Another customer came in, so I futzed with the cute mugs for a minute, aware of the time.
When she was done taking the order, she said, “I was gonna ask if you’d want to double again Saturday night.”
I read between the lines. She’d agreed to a real date with Bas, and now she had cold feet and needed safety in numbers, but Saturday was the first night Evan and I were both not working, and I kind of hoped we could spend it together without it being under the pretext of keeping our friends together.
Knowing Chelsea, Bas was living on borrowed time anyway. “I don’t think so.”
She shook her head. “I should get out of it, right?” That train was right on time. Poor Bas.
“Is that what you want?”
“The thing is,” Chelsea said, absently rearranging the tea bags in the basket. “My therapist is thrilled I’ve been giving Bas a chance.”
It had to be good she was looking for excuses not to bail, so I added, “Me, too, for the record.”
“And I’m checking off so many things from the list.” She laughed. “I started taking an online Greek class.”
I cackled. “Start a new language: check.”
She pointed at me. “Yes! We’re definitely going to Europe.”
“Speaking of... Can you ask off for the first or second week of January? I’ll be starting the new job spring semester.”
“Oh, my God. That’s less than two months away. I’m getting so excited.”
“I’m just glad I’ll have you all to myself for a full week.”
Normally, she’d lay out her intentions to find a foreign man to distract her, but today, she said, “Yeah. Let’s go somewhere we can really explore.”
I studied her. Who was this stranger? I could only think of one reason she wasn’t looking forward to picking up random men. “And don’t bail on Bas Saturday. At least give him the date you promised.”
She let her head fall back with a groan. “And then what?”
“What do you mean?” I was playing innocent. I knew exactly what she meant because the same question had been banging around in my head. What did the future hold? What did Evan want?
“What I mean is, he’s going to think I like him.” This was as close to honest as Chelsea usually got. She rarely shot totally straight, but she didn’t mean any harm. It was all layers of protection. Except as her best friend, I got the unvarnished Chelsea.
“God forbid.” I rolled my eyes. “Maybe you do like him. Have you considered that?”
“That’s the problem.” She scrunched her face. “I do.”
She was a mess. “Well, he seems great. Thoughtful and funny and—”
“Fucking sexy as hell.”
Oh, she had it bad. I touched her hand. “You’re allowed to have nice things, Chels.”
She blinked, her eyes welling up. “So are you,” she said, predictably changing the subject when it got too real.
And now, I was getting choked up. “I know. Honestly, everything is so perfect right this second. I’m afraid it’s all about to come crashing down.”
She grimaced as a trio of college-aged kids entered, carrying a conversation in with them.
“It’s like you spoke it into existence. Call me later.”
With a salute, I exited the coffee shop and allowed myself to breathe deep. Was this what future potential felt like?
* * *
In the corner, a three-piece band played music I could barely hear over the chatty crowd. Chilly nights like this lured people inside to drink. And with the holiday approaching, everyone was in a festive mood, ready to unwind.
Kyan shot seltzer into a glass as I cracked open a beer. “Didn’t you just start a new job?”
“Didn’t work out.” I didn’t really want to talk about it.
I slid the Corona to waiting frat boy and snatched up the crumpled dollar he left behind.
I watched as he returned to his gang, trying to imagine what kinds of problems he had.
Maybe an upcoming finance exam or a paper on Walt Whitman.
Oh, to only have to worry about the pressures of school.
“Lucky for me,” Kyan said.
“Huh?” I’d learned to purposely mishear Kyan to avoid his flirtation. Thankfully, we were slammed.
A shorter woman waved a twenty at me impatiently, saying, “Finally,” when I leaned in to get her order.
Lucy, the other barkeep, made a space for me, and the three of us worked side by side for about an hour until we hit a lull.
Kyan began gathering up dirty glasses. “It was like Shaun of the Dead in here for a bit. If you weren’t here, we would’ve been overrun. I’d be a zombie now.”
I cut a couple of lemons to get ahead of the orders. “You would’ve broken out the Fireball and started lining up shots on the bar.”
“Exactly.”
Lucy said, “You should take a break now, Elizabeth. We can hold down the fort.”
That wasn’t as altruistic as it sounded since fewer bartenders meant more tips for her, but I wasn’t going to argue. I needed a minute away from the nonstop din of the bar. As exhausting as the newsroom had been, at least it hadn’t been this loud.
“I’ll be back in ten,” I promised, then edged through the crowd to the front door, breathing in the cool fresh air. Nature’s air conditioning. It felt amazing on my skin.
A group of women gathered outside the door, whooping and laughing, probably barhopping, ending up here because we were one of only two places still open at midnight on a Thursday.
I leaned against the side of the building, starting to shiver as I scrolled through my phone.
Chelsea had texted a link to sign-up for a yoga class on Saturday morning—one of the remaining items on her list. That would be a great way to catch up with her since we’d let a couple of guys usurp our free time.
I shot back a thumb’s up and was in the middle of a reply when I heard my name.
I glanced up, expecting Kyan to be calling me back, but instead Evan approached, his eyebrows drawn together. I raised my hand in a wave. “What are you doing out here so late?”
“We just wrapped up, and I wanted to unwind. I was going to text you, but”—he glanced at the restaurant sign overhead—“I thought you said you were working.”
“I was. I mean, I am. I’m on a break.” I crossed my arms over my chest again, regretting my decision to come outside without a jacket.
“You’re working…here?”
I’d never mentioned it, not after he’d passed judgment on Kyan for tending bar, like it was something to be ashamed of. “Time is money,” I said, defensively, a little annoyed at his dismissive tone.
“But how can you work in a bar? It must be so noisy.”
Noisy? Something clicked. “Did you think I was editing tonight?”
“Well, yeah, I assumed—”
“Elizabeth, could you—” Kyan leaned out the door, suddenly grinning when he noticed who I was with. “Oh, hey, Evan.”
“Kyan,” Evan said, with an edge to his voice.
“I was going to call you,” Kyan said, oblivious to Evan’s frosty tone. “You free this weekend?”
“I’ve got a few things planned,” he shot me a look, a reminder I was one of those things. “Why what’s up?”
Kyan dragged the rag off his shoulder, twisting in his hands. “Thought you might wanna come hang out with some of the old gang. Just casual.”
“Maybe.”
Kyan looked at me and said, “Sorry, but it’s getting busy again,” before dipping back inside.
Evan scowled. “What’s going on? Are you here with Kyan?”
“What do you mean? Kyan’s working.”
He closed his eyes. “You’re not waiting for him out here?”
I snorted. “You think I’m waiting around for Kyan?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m just asking.”
I took a step toward the door, then turned back as his meaning hit me. “Wait. Are you jealous?”
“Should I be?”
Oh, my God. He totally was. I couldn’t help smile. I could never tell Chelsea about this or she’d give me hell for entertaining a huge red flag. She often said that every accusation was a confession. So if he worried I was two-timing him, did that mean he had a history of cheating?
Our conversation at his house on Tuesday came flooding back. After dating a married woman, it was more likely that he had a history of being cheated on, unless he’d downplayed his own innocence in that affair. But then why would he tell me about it?