“If you’re not into Devin anymore, you should tell him. Rip the Band-Aid off.”
The problem is that I am still into him… I’m just not sure how much. Devin is my literal dream man—giving up on him after only a month would be like tossing a gift-wrapped blessing from the universe into the garbage. I owe it to both of us to give this thing between us a real chance. Even if I might be feeling… things for his brother.
I’m not prepared to confront my tangled web of feelings right now though, so I just say, “Duly noted.” I cover my hesitation with another sip of coffee. Time to change the subject. “So hey, why are you up so early anyway?” According to the clock on the microwave it’s 8:10, and Brie doesn’t usually roll out of bed until closer to 8:30 or 9.
Her expression shutters. “I woke up early and couldn’t get back to sleep. I’ve been up since six.”
I notice the dark smudges under her eyes for the first time and frown. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m just freaking out a little bit, but it’s fine. Nothing a hot shower and a kick in the pants won’t solve.”
“Is it work related?”
She shakes her head. “It’s Marcus.”
Ever since the party, Brie’s been floating around the house with her nose in her phone, a goofy lovestruck grin on her face. Could things have soured that fast? “I thought everything was going well with him.”
“It’s going amazing. That’s the problem.”
“Remind me… how is that a problem again?”
“Because, Cass, I like him so much. He might be the nicest person I’ve ever met—besides you, of course. And, you’d never guess it, but he’s actually funny.”
My eyebrows bounce up my forehead.
“I know, right? He’s constantly cracking me up—although now that I think about it, I’m not sure it’s always on purpose.” She shakes her head. “Anyway, he’s thoughtful, sweet, and he makes me feel… special. And not because I’m the daughter of Charlotte Owens, the pride of Cleveland’s nightly news, but because I’m me.”
“Brie, those are all good things. What are you so worried about?”
“Oh, you know. The usual. That I’ll fall in love way too fast, like I always do, and then everything will go to shit and I’ll end up with my heart smashed to pieces. I don’t think I can go through that again. Not after Sara.”
My chest squeezes painfully at the memory of Brie showing up at my mom’s house the night Sara dumped her six months ago, a sobbing, hiccupping mess. She’d said Sara had ended things because she felt they’d “grown apart,” but a few days later, Brie found out the real reason courtesy of Instagram: Sara had met someone else. Although I don’t know for sure, I still suspect her of cheating on Brie toward the end. I think Brie does too, which is probably why she stayed single for so long afterward.
“Not to mention,” Brie continues, “Marcus is our landlord, so if things go bad, like they always eventually do, it’ll be super awkward to have my ex living upstairs and cashing my rental checks.”
Brie drags a finger under her glasses, her eyes shining with unshed tears. Heart aching, I clamp my chair under my butt and edge around the table—a difficult feat given the pencil skirt constricting my legs, but I manage—and wrap her in a tight hug. She sniffs into my shoulder once before letting go.
Dipping my chin, I look into her pink-rimmed eyes. “Brie, the fact that you’re capable of loving so easily is one of the most amazing things about you. It’s hard to put your heart out there, but you do, over and over again. And that’s a good thing, even though I know it doesn’t always feel that way. You can’t find love if you’re not willing to try. But because you are, heartache is just one of the inevitable potholes along the way.”
She blows out a long, slow breath. “You’re right.”
“I know.” Grinning, I clasp her shoulders and give them a little shake. “So, listen to me: quit worrying so much about hypothetical futures and enjoy what you have with Marcus today. Maybe it’ll work out in the long run, or maybe not. But if you like him, don’t torpedo your chances in the first week by getting all up in your head about it. And hey, if things don’t work out and shit gets awkward, we can always move. It wouldn’t be the end of the world.”
“True.” Her shaky laughter bounces around the small kitchen as she stands. “Okay, so maybe I was being a tad melodramatic. Thanks for the straight talk. I needed it.” Ambling to the coffeemaker, she lifts out a chipped blue mug from an upper cabinet and then whirls on me, brandishing the mug like a wagging finger. “But don’t think you’re getting away that easy with ignoring the Perry problem. I know you, and I know when you’re avoiding something.” Grimacing, I scratch my nose. Busted.