Just Friends(44)

On the one hand, my dream house had been dropped into my lap, but it was in a town littered with emotional land mines. I still held on to New York City, because even if it wasn’t to support my mom any longer, I was sure Lottie’s death would become easier to digest. Or, if I was being honest with myself, easier to ignore. Easier to drown myself beneath the crushing weight of work in a city where I’d never made memories with her.

And the other land mine, the one who had hired me, the one with kind eyes and a low voice, the one who literally lived across the street, was the other, more active threat.

Because the thing was, when I wasn’t in Declan’s orbit, the thought of opening myself up to another human being enough to constitute a relationship sounded less appealing than eating an entire pack of Sour Skittles and then swishing peppermint mouthwash around my mouth—which I knew from experience. Filling the hundreds of micro-tears in my gums with stringent mouthwash was such an intense burn; all my thoughts went white.

And wasn’t that a microcosm of relationships? All the tiny ways you offer up your soul are left as smoking craters when all is said and done. And regardless, I felt plenty fulfilled working toward retiring my mom and spending time with Roshi and Faye in between. But now that I was in Declan’s vicinity again, I was acting touch starved—a version of myself so distilled to the point of becoming an unrecognizable, craven being. I felt embarrassed for myself being this affected by him.

But it was an inevitability when it came to Declan. He reminded me of all the ways I had forfeited believing I could meet someone who made me feel seen the way he did. Talking to other people felt like going to turn on a lamp only to realize it wasn’t plugged in. You expect light, but you’re met with awkward clicking sounds instead. For Declan, that light switch was connected to his emotions for me. And they were pointedly off. So, living in the cottage across from him was not an option. Not a healthy one, at least.

The other road was the one I would take, surely. The one that led to New York City in September. The only one I could emotionally handle. Surviving July and August in Seabrook already felt like an impossible feat.

“Hey.” The sound of a mousy voice squeaks from behind me. “Blair?”

I turn around, latte in hand, to find Harper. Her white apron is tied around her waist, blond braids resting on each shoulder, and spider lashes opened wide with anticipation.

“Yes?” I say, and regret how suspicious I sound.

“Me and some coworkers are going bowling tonight, and I was wondering if you’d want to join?” She twists her hands in front of her, nervous.

I felt like I’d be crushing a six-year-old’s pleas for ice cream if I said no, but I also had zero interest in deepening my ties to anyone here when I’d be gone in two months.

“Uhhh.” I scratch the back of my neck. “Which bowling place?”

“Jonny’s Pints and Pins on Forth Road,” she replies.

“I might need to help my mom tonight, so I’ll let you know,” I say, hoping I can drift away unnoticed after my shift and then apologize tomorrow when I realized I didn’t have her number to tell her I couldn’t make it.

Harper seems unsatisfied with my answer, but a man with jet-black hair walks in, and I excuse myself to take his order. I reach the cash register and look up, but my eyes meet his chest. I have to crank my neck back to meet his eyes, and I mentally hear a creaky cartoon sound effect to match the movement. Is there an NBA team passing through Seabrook?

The man who wants coffee is wearing a navy button-down, sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms, and tan Carhartt pants. His style is reminiscent of… Declan. Gosh, I can’t even look at another man without being reminded of him. Craven, fallen being, I think to myself.

“Hi, good morning,” he says, gaze pinned on me for a second longer than I’m used to. Like he’s taking in the totality of my face.

“Good morning,” I reply, and pray that my cheeks aren’t visibly red from someone so attractive perceiving my existence. “What can I get started for you?”

“I’ll do an Americano if it’s not too much of a hassle.” He smiles, and it causes his scruffy cheek to gather into a dimple.

I giggle. The response is so knee-jerk that I feel betrayed by my own body.

“That is no problem at all, sir. Can I have a name?”

“You sure can. It’s Calvin,” he says like I wanted to know his name for more than a coffee cup.

“Perfect. I’ll have that right out.” I turn the payment screen toward him and hurry to the bar to make his order, willing the warmth to drain from my face.

Harper sidles up beside me as I start pulling the espresso.

“I see you’ve met Calvin,” she whispers not so subtly beside me.

I shoot her my best side-eye, but she laughs in response.

“And he seems to have taken notice of you too.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m a professional. I do not fraternize with the customers,” I retort mock sternly.

She leans in further to my side and says, “Well, it looks like he’s working up the courage to ask you something when you turn around.”

My heart jackhammers.

“Yeah, he probably looks like he’s frothing at the mouth because I’m holding the drink he’s addicted to.”