Iris Kelly Doesn't Date (Bright Falls, #3)(79)

Stevie waved a hand, trying to get I’m fine out of her mouth, but the tears kept flowing.

Okay, so now she couldn’t be more pathetic.





CLAIRE SET A mug of peppermint tea in front of Stevie, who was now sitting in the shop’s café area, hiccupping while she clung to the book she pulled off the Pride table like it was a lovey.

“I’m so sorry,” Stevie said, sipping at the warm drink.

Claire waved a hand as she slid into the chair across from Stevie with her own mug. “I cry over a book at least once a week.”

Stevie nodded, tapped the book’s cover. “I’ll buy this one. I’m pretty sure I cried on it.”

Claire laughed. “I’d appreciate that.”

“So . . . you own this store?”

Claire brought her mug to her mouth. “I do. Iris didn’t tell you?”

“You could probably fill several of these shelves with all the stuff Iris doesn’t tell me.”

Claire pressed her mouth together. “Is that why you’re crying in my shop? Iris?”

Stevie didn’t say anything. She wasn’t sure what the protocol was here. She and Iris were nothing, fake, a business arrangement, and Claire was Iris’s best friend, not hers.

“I notice you’re still wearing your line dancing outfit,” Claire said. “Did you . . . did Jenna—”

“It’s not Jenna,” Stevie said. “Jenna is lovely, but I didn’t . . .”

“Got it,” Claire said. She tapped her nails on the table, a yellow diamond ring shining on a very important finger.

“That’s a lovely ring,” Stevie said.

Claire beamed down at her finger. “Thank you. Delilah did that all by herself. I was very impressed.”

Stevie smiled, something Iris said a few weeks ago filtering slowly through her thoughts.

My best friend, Claire, is now engaged to the only person she’s ever tried to have a purely sexual relationship with.

She took another sip of her tea, watched Claire fiddle with the ring, a little grin still on her face.

“Can I ask you something?” Stevie said.

Claire glanced at her. “Of course.”

“How did you . . .” Stevie paused, half wondering if she should really be doing this, but she had to know. And there was no one else she could ask. All of her friends already thought she was with Iris.

“How did you know?” Stevie asked. “With Delilah. When you two first started . . . you know.”

Claire laughed. “So Iris at least told you that story.”

“No. Not all of it. Just that it started with . . . well, it started out as . . .”

“Sex?”

Stevie’s face warmed. “Yeah.”

Claire nodded. “And you’re asking how I knew I wanted more.”

“Yeah. I guess I am.”

Claire inhaled deeply and sat back in her chair. “I just . . . knew. I couldn’t stop thinking about her. Hated being away from her. And yeah, it was partly about sex, but it was more than that. I wanted to hold her hand. Make her laugh.”

“Romance.”

Claire smiled. “Yeah, I guess so. But it was deeper than just romance too. I wanted to be part of her life, the good and the bad, with all her snark and attitude and bluster. I didn’t care about any of that. Or actually I did, but it didn’t deter me. I wanted all of her.”

Stevie’s eyes stung, and goddammit, she was not going to cry again in front of this woman. Except she already was, her tears on a mission to humiliate her as they raced down her face.

“Oh, sweetie,” Claire said, grabbing a café napkin and handing it to Stevie.

“Sorry, shit.”

“It’s okay.”

Stevie wiped her eyes, the brown paper scratching at her tender lids.

“You like her,” Claire said. “You really like her.”

“Who, Delilah?” Stevie said, and Claire busted up laughing. Stevie laughed too, tears mixing with this brief moment of mirth, but then Claire reached out and squeezed her arm.

“You like her,” she said again, “and she told you to leave this morning. Didn’t she?”

Stevie lifted her thumb and forefinger into a finger gun. “You know your girl.”

“I do,” Claire said. “All too well.”

“So I guess that’s that.”

Claire sniffed, eyes softly narrowed in thought. “You know, when you were dancing with Jenna last night, Iris was . . .”

Stevie’s heart nearly stopped. “Iris was what?”

Claire tapped her fingers on her mug. “I could tell she didn’t like it, I’ll just say that. She didn’t like it one bit.”

Stevie thought back to their night together. She figured Iris had just gone home, forgotten about Stevie and Jenna, and simply been caught up in a moment of lust when Stevie showed up at her apartment.

But then Stevie’s brain locked onto those illustrations—illustrations in complete dissonance with the way Iris refused to look at her while she picked up her room. Or even more, the way Iris did look at her—all smirk and flirt as she called herself an amazing screw.

An act.

A total show.

Stevie studied actors as part of her job. Dug into their performances, their methods, the way they created a persona, a character.