by Ellis, C. R.
He lifted a brow. “Spoken like a true pessimist.”
“I prefer the term 'realist', thank you very much.”
“Oh, is that so? All right, Ms. Realist, what about you?”
“What about me? What do you mean?”
He smirked and rolled his eyes, undeterred by my faux-confusion. “You know what I mean, El. Anyone special in your life?”
I was about to lamely explain how I’d also adopted his no-time-for-fun work ethic when I realized that, while he used the past tense to talk about the girl who broke him out of his shell, he hadn’t actually spelled out their status. I still knew next to nothing about Bryce’s life aside from his professional capabilities. I needed answers.
“Bryce. What happened? You and the girl you met…are y’all still together?”
“Do you always answer questions with a question?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” I pointed out. “And no, to answer your previous question.”
His hesitation sent my imagination into overdrive, but before it could go too far, he brought his eyes back to mine. The sun was lost somewhere beyond the horizon, shadowing his features and making his expression difficult to read. “No, we’re not still together. She’s the kind of girl who’s always down for a good time, always making life one big party. So when things got too real for her, she chose the path of least resistance and moved to California. I haven’t seen her in two years.”
Bryce’s words were laced with the kind of pain that engrains itself into your being and leaves scars on every cell of your body. He didn’t say it, but he didn’t have to; she was the reason he left Seattle behind.
“Well, she sounds like an idiot.” I jumped up and stuck my hand out for him to take. “C’mon, there’s something I wanna show you.”
“Oh…kay,” he agreed with a mixture of intrigue and skepticism. I gripped his hand and pulled him to his feet.
We walked in silence as I used my phone’s flashlight feature to light our way down the footpath toward the woods beyond the yard. Bryce and I had played in those same woods after dusk so often as kids that we probably didn’t need a light to find our way, but that was a long time ago, and there was no telling what kind of creepy-crawlies called this place home now.
I stopped when my light found the tree I was looking for—the one Bryce and I dubbed the tallest in all the land. My fingers traced over the letters we’d carved into the bark a lifetime ago. “Do you remember this?”
“Of course. We’ll B + E friends forever,” he recited.
I smiled. “Man, we thought we were geniuses for coming up with that.”
He laughed. “We were also so sure Millie and George would appreciate our woodwork that it never occurred to us they wouldn’t approve of stealing George’s knife to carve up the tree. I don’t think I’ve ever seen them as pissed as they were that day.”
“I’m pretty sure they still hide the knives when I come home. I guess they had a point, though.” I shook my head when Bryce gave me another 'did you just say that’ look. “Oh, come on. No pun intended.” I laughed.
“Your puns always were a little dull.” He grinned.
“Wow, Bryce. That one was way worse than any of mine.”
We spent the next hour and a half reminiscing about our childhood adventures, comfortably trading jokes and more terrible puns. I reminded him of all the times I'd won our races. He insisted he’d only let me win because I wouldn’t have continued the competitions if he beat me every time. I asked if he also 'let’ me win every time I had dominated in Mario Kart.
“I don’t remember you dominating me so much as you cheating your way to victory.”
I crossed my arms and narrowed my eyes in the dim moonlight. “Oh, really? Well I happen to have a Nintendo, and I’d be more than happy to prove you wrong.”
A lopsided grin split his lips, and he crossed his arms too, feigning seriousness. “Bring it on. Any day, any time.”
“Are you free tomorrow? I’m off Mondays.”
He nodded. “I can make tomorrow work. What time?”
“Three?”
“Three it is.” He narrowed his eyes. “I get the feeling you’re about to go home and start practicing. Scared?”
“Please.” I laughed. “I could beat you in my sleep.”
“So cocky, Kincaid. Hope you can back it up.”
“I believe the word you mean is ‘confident,’ McKnight.”
“Okay, that’s fair. Your confidence is adorable. I’m almost going to be sad when it morphs into silence after I beat you. Almost.”
“Keep telling yourself that.”
On the walk to our cars, he told me he hoped my driving skills had evolved since the days of recklessly ejecting him from the go-kart.
I scoffed. “Hey, it’s not my fault they used to make go-karts without seat belts. Why’d you keep riding with me if you knew there was a chance you’d get thrown out?”
Bryce’s head tilted to the left and his eyebrows pulled together. I could’ve sworn his eyes were telling me my question was silly. “Back then, I would’ve done just about anything to make you smile or laugh, El. Your laugh was my favorite sound, and I loved being the one who brought that joy and happiness to you.”
I sucked in a sharp breath. I wonder if he knows that the day we met was the day I found my smile. “So that’s why you were always telling lame jokes and doing stupid stunts for me.”
“Seems those lame jokes and stupid stunts worked out all right for me.” He paused, cupping his chin and stroking his thumb and forefinger along his jaw. “I forget; what was that last name you gave yourself because of one of my ‘lame jokes’?”
My eyes went wide, and I coughed to cloak my reaction. “Uh. I can’t remember. Hmm. Maybe you had a point about my memory issues after all. I should probably consult with a doctor.”
“Yeah, okay. Whatever you say, McPickles.”
I groaned. “Oh my god, Bryce. I was seven! I thought you were serious when you said people got to choose their own last names when they turned ten. You were obsessed with knights; in my mind that name made perfect sense.”
“So you would’ve chosen to be named after the most disgusting food known to man,” he said with a laugh. “Which also sounds like a rejected McDonald’s meal.”
“I just really liked pickles. Still do.”
“I’ve always liked salads, but that doesn’t mean I would’ve named myself Caesar.”
I felt the corner of my mouth twitch into a smile and waggled my eyebrows playfully. “Too late. I think you just gave yourself a nickname.”
“What? No. I’m way too old for a nickname.”
“Says who? No such thing. Plus, you’re still calling me Uno.”
“That’s different, Elliot.” His eyes found mine, and even in the dim light, I felt the weight of his gaze. “Do you not like when I call you that?”
“No, I do,” I said quickly. “It reminds me of…all the fun we had as kids. I’ll make you a deal—never call me McPickles again, and I won’t make Caesar a thing.”
“Done.”
“Besides, Caesar wasn’t even my best work. I’m sure I can come up with something better. Give me some time.”
Bryce sighed. “This sounds like it’s going to be about as fun as a root canal.”
I turned up the volume of my music and pretended not to notice his sarcasm.
“Hey, care to make things interesting tomorrow?” he asked.
“Like a bet? I’m in. What’d you have in mind? Five pounds of Starbursts?”
His smirk made my pulse spike. “Starbursts? C’mon, El. That’s child’s play. Loser plans a follow-up date.”
I couldn’t stop my eyebrows from lifting. “A date-date? Or a friend date?”
He bit his lip and shrugged. “Why do we have to label it one or the other? We could just call it an outing?”
“Sounds suspiciously like a devious plan to ensure there’s a second outing.”
“Maybe it is.”
“All right, Caesar,” I called. He groaned at the name and slid into the driver’s seat of his SUV. “You know, the more I think about it, the more that name suits you. Salads, mastermind like Julius. It works.”
Bryce smiled, and the warmth it radiated slid over me like honey. “Goodnight, McPickles.”
And just like that, Bryce McKnight managed to make me forget about the looming decision I had to make about the inn.
Chapter 8
Bryce
“Bryce, tell me you did not bring that bitch up in conversation with Elliot,” Xander demanded, pinching the bridge of his nose aggressively from across the bar.
Usually Xander was so self-involved he never bothered to ask about my love life or social life, or lack thereof. I shouldn’t have been surprised though; El wasn’t easily forgotten, no matter how brief his view of her had been.
“First of all, don’t call her that.” Even if it is accurate. I cut my eyes to my cousin and took a drawn-out sip of my beer. “And secondly, I didn’t bring her up. Elliot asked if I’d met anyone in Seattle, and I answered.”
“What exactly did you tell her?”
I hesitated, debating whether the free drinks I got by coming to the bar where he worked, Sipology, were worth having this discussion with him. I’ve got beer at home. Sure, I prefer it on tap, but I also prefer it without a side of conversation.
“I told her the truth.”
“The whole truth?”
I gritted my teeth. “I didn’t lie, if that’s what you’re getting at. I just haven’t had the right opportunity to explain everything.”
It was such a horribly lame excuse, even to my own ears. It’s just…explaining everything wasn’t something I was ready for yet.
Xander groaned and threw a cocktail napkin at me. “Whatever, man. Your life, your decision.” He didn’t bother looking back at me before picking up a crate of glasses and taking it across the bar, leaving me alone with my laptop and thoughts.
Solitude suited me perfectly, though I knew I didn’t have long before the bar opened. I gathered my laptop, sketchpad, notes, and portfolio and headed to a booth in the corner to claim my usual spot. My house was only a few blocks away, but changing scenery usually kickstarted my brain’s creative side.
The truth—the one I’d never utter to Xander—was that I knew I should’ve told Elliot everything that night at the inn. Or even the next day at her apartment. But the timing was never right, and I still wasn’t entirely sure what exactly to say.
After she won the fifth straight Mario Kart race (yeah, she might’ve had a reason to be cocky after all), I bowed down and admitted defeat to avoid further humiliation. We had segued into conversation easily when I asked how she became so good at Mario Kart…
* * *
“Turns out living with a guy isn’t all that terrible," Elliot said. "Milo got the Nintendo last year, and I realized playing video games is like riding a bike, only without the calorie burn.”
“So, you and Milo…?”
“What?! God, no,” she exclaimed immediately.
“So y’all have never hooked up or anything?”
Her face twisted in disgust. “Definitely not. I love Milo, but like a brother. Plus, I’m not even sure Milo is familiar with the term ‘relationship,’ much less willing to stay in one for any length of time.”
“I know the type,” I muttered. “What about you? Do you ever think about marriage, kids, the whole nine yards?”
“Kinda hard not to think about marriage in my line of work. But I’m not in a rush to walk down the aisle. I’ve always been what Milo calls a ‘serial monogamist,’ but I’ve learned there’s really no ‘fake it till you make it’ when it comes to love. And that’s what I used to do with every guy I dated. Somewhere along the way, thankfully, I realized love isn’t one-size-fits-all. It’s gotta happen organically, and if it doesn’t then you’re with the wrong person. You know?”
I nodded.
“As for kids…I don’t know. If—and that’s a big if—kids are in my future, it’s way down the line. I’m incapable of eating the recommended daily servings of fruits and vegetables myself, so there’s no way I’d be qualified to make sure another human being does.”
* * *
I had considered telling her the whole truth right then, but didn't want to risk losing what little trust I’d built with her. Opening up to Elliot was never a problem when we were kids, but that’s because childhood’s the golden age of honesty, when the biggest concerns in life revolve around video games and trading Lunchables.
But things were different now. I was reminded of that fact every time my stomach knotted as my phone rang, and again each time I caught Elliot looking at me with a smile on her lips and a promise in her eyes. The same promise I’d seen when we were kids, and again five years ago when I hadn’t known I needed it.
I just wasn’t sure she’d still give me that promise after she knew the truth about everything.
Instead of letting hypotheticals run wild in my thoughts, I forced myself to focus solely on work—on the plans for the inn. I’d spent the last week and a half at my desk, or here at Sipology, hunched over my computer. I had a vision for the inn, and, if our last meeting was any indication, I was pretty sure Elliot and Sophia would love it.
Xander stopped in front of my booth and tapped on the wood, drawing my attention. “Dude, not trying to be a dick, but you’re kinda killing the vibe. People usually come here to get away from work and their problems, not to be reminded of them.”
My head snapped up. “Huh?”
“You’ve been sitting here for three hours, alternating between slaving away at your laptop,” he shouted over the music, picking up a handful of stray blueprints, “and staring at your phone like you’ve lost your damn puppy.”
I pulled my phone out and sure enough, he was right. I looked around and realized the bar had filled up with a typical Friday night crowd. Customers lined the bar and were scattered throughout the room, laughing and basking in that anything-is-possible, early-weekend happiness that only comes on Friday nights. Xander might’ve had a point; it was one thing for me to lose myself in work here while it was empty, but nobody wants to be the depressing loner in the corner.
“Sorry, guess I lost track of time. It’s just easier to work here. Can I use your office?”
“Yeah, sure. We’re about to get slammed, so I’ll probably be at the bar until closing.”
Xander hadn’t always been a model citizen, but after he got expelled from Duke and was one more idiotic decision away from hitting rock bottom, Sipology’s owner took a chance and gave him a job bartending. This bar and his job had somehow provided Xander with the kind of stability he so desperately needed. Seven years later, Xander was still a far cry from normal, if you asked me, but I had to give him credit for how far he’d come. His personal life was still a damn circus, but I mostly thought that was for the best. The day Xander looked at a woman and cared more about her heart than her bra size was a day I’d pay to see.
My phone pinged with a text, and seeing El’s name was enough to make me jump up and haphazardly stuff my things into my bag.
“Hello? Bryce, did you hear anything I said?” Xander asked after a few seconds.
“What? Uh, yeah. Sorry. I won’t be needing your office after all. I have to go.”
Xander crossed his arms and arched a brow. “Guess you found the puppy.”
* * *
Thanks to the sudden threat of a rainstorm, Elliot had been forced to throw together a last-minute plan B for her client’s upcoming outdoor wedding. When the forecast changed during the rehearsal dinner to include overnight thunderstorms, Elliot told her clients she’d take care of the logistics to get everything moved indoors. By herself.
Her offer didn’t surprise me; she’d always been selfless beyond belief. Once she started, though, she quickly realized she’d need reinforcements.
“Thanks for letting me cash in on the bet so last min
ute. I don’t know what I would’ve done without your help.” Elliot’s smile spread as she picked up a couple of folding chairs to take inside, and in that moment she could’ve asked me to fry an egg underwater and I would’ve tried to find a way to make it happen.
I picked up the remaining chairs and followed her into the renovated barn, the alternate reception location. “You’re welcome, but I would’ve come regardless of the bet. This doesn’t count.”
“Really? Why? This more than makes up for you losing to me in Mario Kart.”
“Nah, this isn’t even close. This is just…helping a friend in need. Tomorrow night’s still good for you, right?”
She paused, chewing her lip in contemplation before waving her hand dismissively. “You really don’t have to do anything else, Bryce. You’re practically a lifesaver already.”
I dropped the chairs in place at the table and stopped. When Elliot realized I was no longer following her, she stopped and turned back. “What is it, Uno?" I said, now that I had her full attention. "Are you having second thoughts about the date thing, because we can—”
“No,” she said quickly, cutting me off. “I mean, I don’t know. I, uh...” She paused, groaning and dropping her head back. “God, this is going to sound so lame.”
“I used to let you talk me into participating in your Barbie weddings. Think you’ve got my number on lame, El. Talk to me.”
Her shoulders dropped as a smile appeared, and I gave her one in return.
“True. Okay, so…a while back I decided my dating habits needed an overhaul. I had this tendency of trying to mold every boyfriend into ‘the one.’ I went into relationships with the intention of meeting my future husband. Which was absurd, of course, because I was way too young for that. But I craved a healthy, stable, long-term relationship. It doesn’t take a shrink to figure out why…” She trailed off, shifting her attention to the centerpiece before continuing. “But then I realized I needed some time to be single and independent. And I swore to myself that I wouldn’t put any pressure on my next relationship. But with you…it’s complicated because we have history. I’m just not sure how to navigate whatever it is we’re doing. Or not doing. Or will be doing eventually. I mean, this is exactly what I said I wouldn’t do—pressure. We haven’t even been out yet, and I’m already overthinking things. Do you see—”