“He’s certainly not hurting things.” I shrug and prop my elbows on the counter, hunching over with my coffee mug between my palms. “He’s not like anyone I’ve ever hung out with before. He’s a salt of the earth kind of guy. So different from Dryston.”
“So different from me,” he adds, a pained look behind his dark-framed glasses.
I pin him with a look. “Dean, look…I never had a clue you had feelings for me. If I had, I would have done so many things differently.”
“Like what?” he asks, his brows pinching together in confusion.
“I don’t know. Maybe come over less often. Acted differently.” I run a hand through my hair and sigh. “I love you as a friend, but I just don’t see us that way, and I’m sorry if I led you to believe otherwise.”
“You weren’t leading me on, Kate. You were being yourself. And that draws people in.” He stares at me through wide, understanding eyes, then adds, “It’s the same reason Miles can’t stay away from you even though he’s told you he doesn’t want a relationship. You’re so…magnetic.”
It’s really weird getting a compliment from a guy you’ve just rejected, but I can tell Dean is trying really hard here to make amends, and I’m so relieved. “Well, Miles is still keeping me firmly in the casual corner, so apparently, I’m not a strong enough magnet.”
Dean thinks on that for a second while taking a sip of his coffee. “I think if you really like Miles, you need to come clean with him. If you guys develop into more and he finds out you’re keeping stuff from him, it’s not going to end well, Kate.”
“I know,” I groan and run my hands through my hair. “I just like who I am with him. I like having no baggage.”
“You still technically live with your ex, Kate. That’s about the worst kind of baggage you can carry. No guy is going to take that information well, and the longer you wait, the harder it will be.”
“Are you sure I can’t keep pretending to be Mercedes? She never would have gone out with dippy Dryston.”
“You’re not pretending to be anyone,” Dean corrects, adjusting his glasses to pin me with a serious look. “You are Mercedes. You are Kate. You need to quit looking at them like they’re two different people because they are both you. You’re the porn writer and the friend. You’re the bestselling author and the neighbor. You don’t have to keep the two sides of yourself separate. Let them merge. Maybe the Kate part of yourself that you’re holding back will be exactly what brings you and Miles together.”
I look over the counter at Dean. My friend. My true friend who I’ve become so comfortable with the past couple of years. He’s sitting here, giving me advice on how to win over a dude that I’m rejecting him for. Whatever asshole tendencies he may have on occasion, he’s still a really frickin’ good person as a whole.
“Thanks, Dean.” I smile softly.
He exhales heavily. “Does this mean we can we go back to being friends again? You’re like one of four people I actually like in Boulder. Losing you would be a huge deficit in my social life.”
“Of course, we’re friends.” I smile and shake my head. “Because there’s no way in hell I’m going to start cleaning my own gutters.”
He laughs and rakes his hands through his hair in frustration. “I’m hoping you can work out this thing with Miles. I’m tired of being Lynsey’s and your damn handyman. Especially because I’m not fucking handy. I’ve told you both this. If you need help with investments, I got you. But pretty soon, I’m going to start drawing the line at favors that make me sweat.”
“Yeah, yeah…whatever, Dean.”
With double smiles, we clink our coffee mugs and get back to being exactly what we were always meant to be. Just friends. Great friends.
I’m stir-crazy this week at the shop. Something is off between Mercedes and me, and I can’t quite put my finger on it. She’s been in and out of the comfort center. We do our regular flirting thing where I come in and eat cookies, and she asks me about my day. It’s nice. It’s friendly. But it’s limited. She hasn’t asked me to help her with any more book research, and I guess I’m just wondering what she’s waiting for.
Our camping trip was amazing. More than amazing. Spending a full twenty-four hours with a person and not wanting to kill them means you’ve really found a true friend. And that’s how I see her still. A friend. So why does it feel like she’s still holding a part of her back from me?
I head up to the counter to find Sam and see if he wants to go get a drink this weekend. I need to talk this shit out, so I’m not fucking up vehicles or losing any fingers this week with my wandering thoughts.
Sam’s standing at the end of the long, high top counter where the customer service agents all check people in. I sidle up next to him, my coveralls still on, but not so dirty that I felt like I had to take them off first.
“Hey,” I say, and he looks up from his computer.
“Hey, man,” he says with a smile that’s practically hidden under his red beard.
“What are you doing this weekend?” I ask as he pulls the Bluetooth device out of his ear.
“Nothing,” he replies with a shrug. “Beers?”
I nod and slow blink.
“That bad?” he guesses.
I inhale deeply and finger the piece of red licorice behind my ear. “I’m just…in a rut, and I don’t know. I need something.”
“I’ve been seeing Mercedes in the comfort center,” he says, clearly already picking up where my mind is at. “Is she here today?”
I shake my head. “I haven’t seen her yet.”
He furrows his brow. “You guys good?”
I shrug. “I think so? I don’t know. That’s partially why I need a drink.”
“Say no more,” he replies with a congenial smile.
A light reflects off the front door as two blond guys walk into the reception area. They look about the same age as Sam and me. Maybe a little younger. They also look like they do nothing but lay out because their tans are way too perfect.
But above all that, there’s something about the way they hold themselves as they walk that has my alerts pinging. I decide to stick around and hold my spot at the counter.
Sam is busy typing something into his computer when the guy in a pink polo flicks his keys up on the counter. “I have a flat. I need it fixed.”
I cringe at his rudeness and slide my gaze to the other guy who’s decked out in a bright, neon green golf shirt. It’s fucking blinding.
Sam smiles politely at Pink Polo. “Okay, what’s your name and what kind of car are we talking about?”
“Why does that matter?” the guy snaps. “It’s a tire. Just need it repaired quickly because I have a tee time to make.”
The guy’s condescending tone has me shifting out of my leaned position to stand at full height. Green Shirt eyeballs me.
Sam is not the least bit put off as he smiles around his beard and replies, “We just need to know if you’re in the system. Because if for some reason your tire can’t be repaired, we can prorate it with your warranty to get you a new one at a discount.”