Just Friends(67)

Swiping my water off the table, I take a long gulp to hide my flaming cheeks. Why are my cheeks flaming?

“That’s the current plan,” I say, setting my water down and tracing the rim. “But my plan is looking a little flimsy now with the house situation.” I release a wry laugh.

He rolls his lips inward. He’s gone quiet like he used to when he was trying to solve a difficult problem. But those green eyes are simmering with something. Whatever the emotion is, he fights it.

“Blair, you know I’d love to help you. With anything. But, with the house, if you’re leaving soon anyways, I don’t like starting things I can’t finish.”

His eyes burn into mine and I physically resist squirming in the booth. What am I supposed to say to that? I have the urge to insist that I’m staying, but I can’t be making promises I don’t know if I can keep.

The waitress comes back with the check, saving us from the stunted silence. I reach for my wallet.

“Don’t. I got it,” Declan says, voice low.

We return to his car, and I can’t breathe without feeling self-conscious about the sound. The song he was showing me on the drive over is still playing and he turns it off quickly, leaving us drenched in silence. Pinks and purples swirl in the distance as the sun is pulled under the sea, and by the time he pulls into his driveway, the moon fashions the sky instead.

“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow.” He breaks the silence with a flat voice and steps out of the car without looking at me.

That’s my cue to leave, I guess.

“Alrighty,” I say, awkwardly, opening my door. “See you tomorrow.”

I shut the car door and strut across the street to my car, hurrying to get inside and on the road.

What just happened?

Was he upset that I was leaving? Or that I would potentially stay?

I don’t like starting things I can’t finish.

I mull over the meaning of his words until I’m drifting off to sleep. I’ve let the statement simmer at the edge of my mind for so long that it starts fermenting into a different substance altogether. Because the conclusion I kept coming back to, the one thing that couldn’t possibly be true, was that he was talking about us.





Chapter 21


Harper sashays up to me behind the bar, and at her exuberant smile, I realize I haven’t seen her since her abrupt departure from Jonny’s Pints and Pins.

“Harper!” I exclaim. “Where have you been?”

And then, in a moment that shocks even me, I pull her in for a hug.

“Why, hello! I missed you too,” she teases, squeezing me back.

We’re both scheduled to make drinks while Sonia works the register, so in between calling out names, Harper fills me in on her weekend.

“So yeah, Chicken is all better now, and I just have to start putting my hairbrush in a drawer.” Chicken is Harper’s cat, who repeatedly has trips to the vet after coughing up fist-sized hairballs. Literal, Harper-colored hairballs. “But anyways, sorry about my behavior at Jonny’s. I haven’t had a slip-up like that in over a year and—” She shakes her head with widened eyes, looking down at the milk she’s foaming.

“Slip-up? What do you mean by…” I trail off.

“Oh.” She shoots her eyebrows up at me. “Oh wow, sorry. I thought it was obvious. The drinking?” She searches my eyes for the meaning to land.

“Ah… yes, yes.” I overcompensate for my shock by being overly solemn, voice going low and eyebrows furrowing. She snorts a laugh.

“No, no. Don’t worry. It’s not like a serious alcohol problem. Well, maybe that’s what everyone with alcohol problems says, but I have this agreement with Declan that I can’t drink if I want to work here. Plus, the whole fake ID thing is pretty frowned upon, I guess.”

She continues pouring the cappuccino into a mug and then calls out “Ryan!” at the counter, like she didn’t just drop a ginormous piece of personal lore.

Her blithe demeanor gives me the confidence to ask: “And how did you and Declan come to that agreement?”

“Well, I was only drinking because it was an excuse to get out of the house. I grew up in foster homes, for context. But then, you know the Richardsons?” I nod. She nods back and continues, “Yeah, so they adopted me when I was seventeen, and I still had the little drinking habit. And no one would hire me because of it. But Declan was opening this shop and told me he would give me a chance if I gave up the drinking. So, I agreed, and we shook hands.”

“And you’re how old now?”

“Almost nineteen,” she says, flashing me a grin.

“Wow.” I blow out a breath. “I did not know any of that.”

“I thought Declan would have told you.”

I blink too quickly and whip my head toward her.

“And why would you think that?”

“Because… he’s always yapping about you?”

“He’s always what?” I cry.

“Yapping,” she replies. “You know, like, ‘Blair this and Blair that’ nonstop.” She moves her hand like she’s controlling a puppet and tucks her chin to imitate his voice.

Her words feel like dry ice spreading through my chest, resistant hope warring with reason inside me. “I’m sure that’s not—”