My shoulders rise and fall as I take a breath. “Yeah, I came back because I need some closure. Facing this town. Facing those ghosts. I think I need this.”
And then, maybe, I can finally let it go.
“Closure,” she repeats, and I nod.
Her smile starts slow, but in the end, it could light up this dim room. “Well, there you go. That’s all I wanted to know.”
And that, I think, is the thing I love most about Brandy—she doesn’t dwell. As soon as something is over, it’s over.
“Should we order food?” She reaches for the bar menu. “Potato skins, maybe, to soak up the alcohol for the next round?”
“Let’s finish these, then go back to your place. We can order pizza.”
“The way to my heart,” she says. “Can we do both a veggie and—Oh.”
“What?” I sit up straighter, as if the tone of her voice is a taut string tugging the top of my head.
“Opportunity knocking. Cute guy at eleven o’clock eyeing you. Other side of the bar.”
“I don’t think I—”
“Just look. You can’t get back in the saddle if you avoid the horses.”
“What does that even mean?” I protest, but I do look, to no avail since my view is obstructed by the intricate shelving unit filled with colorful, shining bottles of spirits.
“Lean this way,” Brandy whispers when I say as much.
I do, then suck in air as I quickly move back to upright, my heart pounding so hard I’m surprised my shirt isn’t vibrating. “That’s him,” I whisper.
“Him? Who?”
“Saint.”
Her eyes go wide. “Seriously?” She starts to lean over to see him better. “No, surely I would have—”
I pull her back.
“It’s him,” I whisper. “He’s looking this way.”
“So go over there. Tell him you can do the interview right now.”
“You really think I should?” But even as I ask the question, I know the answer: Hell yes, I should. If it was a legit conflict, he should be fine with that. And if he’d intentionally blown me off this afternoon? Well, at least I’ll know.
“Go on.”
“Right.” I slam back the last of my drink, then nod. “Okay, then. That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
And I do, too.
Except by the time I get to his side of the bar, Devlin Saint is gone.
Chapter Seven
“He bolted. The son of a bitch bolted.”
“Seriously?” Brandy leans sideways, as if maybe I just missed him. “What the hell? So maybe he really was blowing you off this afternoon.”
I make a face, then stifle the urge to order another drink. “What now? Should I try to find him? He’s probably outside right now. We could—”
Brandy tilts her head to the side. “Um, no. Neither one of us wants to sprint around the Arts District trying to find a man who probably hopped in a car the second he stepped out the door.”
True enough.
“Let’s forget the asshole and go back to my house. I liked the pizza plan a lot.”
So did I, but that was before. Now I’m antsy. Frustrated. And very pissed off.
I shift on the stool so that I have a better view of the interior of the bar. And the truth is, there are a lot of hot guys in here.
Brandy puts a hand on my arm. “Ellie.”
I tense. That’s the blessing and the curse of a lifelong bestie. “Don’t handle me, Bran. I’m not you. I don’t need the roses and flowers and wining and dining.” I just want the rush. I just want to forget.
“I know. And that’s a good thing.”
I look at her. “Seriously?” Easy acceptance of my less than prudent quirks has never been high on Brandy’s list.
“Sure. It’s great that you’re not me. The world couldn’t handle that much awesome.”
I roll my eyes, careful not to smile.
“It’s just that I worry about you.”
Her voice is so soft—so genuine—that I can’t help but sag under the weight of it. “I know.”
The truth is, I worry about me, too. Fast cars. Fast fucks. I’m a therapist’s wet dream, or I would be if I ever saw one. So far, I’ve kept far enough ahead of my demons that I haven’t felt the need to lie on that iconic couch. Maybe someday, but not yet.
And thanks to my bestie, I won’t hit it tonight, either. I curve my lips into a smile as I let my body sag in defeat. “Just not a rom com, okay? I really couldn’t stand the cuteness.”
“Bound?”
I think about it. The movie’s over twenty years old, but it’s one of my favorites. “Two hot girls getting the better of an asshole guy? Yeah. Sounds perfect for tonight.”
And it is, actually.
Once we’re back at Brandy’s place, we make popcorn, then settle on the couch on either side of Jake. We sip wine and snack on the popcorn and by the time the movie ends, I’m feeling less edgy and seriously pumped up on girl power.
I’m also feeling at loose ends. And a little buzzed. “I’m going to walk down the hill for a coffee.”
Brandy’s house is the kind of place that real estate agents would love to get their hands on because the commission would be so sweet. It’s tucked up in the canyons, but still a short walk from the Arts District and the beach.
It’s a two-story, three-bedroom stone and wood house that belongs to some guy who travels about forty-five weeks out of every year, and who Brandy calls Mr. Big Shot. In exchange for very cheap rent, Brandy keeps the house in order, sorts and forwards his mail, takes care of the house-related bills and maintenance, and generally runs the place. My job pays more, and I live in a sixth-floor studio walk-up with dicey plumbing in a neighborhood that is on the scary side of iffy.
Jake whines as Brandy shifts so that she can gape at me. “Coffee now?”
“It’s not even nine yet. And I want something other than instant.” Brandy has somehow managed to get through life without owning an actual coffee maker. How we’re such good friends is beyond me.
“I’m so glad that’s your vice, not mine.” She waves a hand imperiously. “Go ye forth into the world and seek thee the blessing of the great god of caffeine.”
“You have drunk way too much wine.”
“So have you.”
Can’t argue with that. “Don’t wait up. I’m probably going to take a walk on the beach.”
Her brow furrows. “Do you want company?”
“No, it’s fine. Thanks for the offer, though. I just—you’re the good part of being back. I’m still dealing with the rest of it.”
“I get it.” She flashes a quick, sad smile.
I change out of my comfy PJs into jeans, then head out. It’s a gorgeous night, with crisp air and a moon that provides more than enough illumination for the short walk down the hill to Brewski.
I take my coffee to go, then aim myself toward the tidal pools and the exact spot where Alex kissed me for the very first time.
It’s a bit of a hike, but I don’t mind, and I take off my shoes and dangle them as I walk the length of shoreline between the Arts District and the DSF.