by Amy Daws
My spine straightens at that request. “Nate, we talked about this.”
“I know, I know,” he replies, and I can hear him ruffling papers in the background. “But I kept my promise to you, Norah, and our meeting yesterday was strictly business.”
“Which is what you deserve after that crap you said at my parents’ dinner,” I state through clenched teeth. “You’re lucky I kept you as my accountant at all. If I wasn’t on such a tight deadline with this bakery investment buyout, I would have looked for a new accountant.”
“I know. God, I get it,” he whines, sounding flustered. “Which is why I want a chance to explain myself, Norah. Explain why I was so horrible. And apologize again.”
“Nate, it’s not necessary,” I reply and then hear the voice of my mother telling me she feels sorry for the guy, and he could use a friend right now. Ugh…stupid mom voice!
“Please, Norah? One drink and then you can leave if you want. You and I have a lot of history, and I feel like shit knowing you think I’m such an asshole after all these years.”
“Douche purse,” I correct.
“What?”
“I think you’re a douche purse, or wagon, or canoe, or whatever random object I can tag onto the end of douche.” I cringe when I realize I’m talking like Dean.
Nate expels a weak laugh before he asks again. “One drink? And then I promise you can go back to the douche phrases as much as you want.”
I agree to meet Nate at Pearl Street Pub, a casual dive bar located up the road from my bakery. It’s close and convenient, and frankly, after all the big life decisions I’ve made in the past forty-eight hours, a drink sounds really good. Plus, I need to celebrate that I’m going to Paris. I’m actually going to Paris!
I’m not moving to Paris, but honestly, who moves to Paris without at least visiting it first? No one. And frankly, I have a friend there who practically screamed over FaceTime when I asked her if I could stay with her for a few months, so this is something I should have done ages ago.
My plan is to start in Paris for a few weeks and then spend time in Italy and Switzerland. Um, hello…swiss chocolate! Maybe I’ll go to Spain for some tapas and England for some high tea. The sky’s the limit. But I plan to keep things open with the overall goal to basically take a food tour of Europe and come back to America weighing four hundred pounds. It will be worth it. I’ll feed my face and my creative soul, and when I return, I’ll launch my franchise, full steam ahead.
And who would have thought that the woman to inspire this crazy idea would be Elaine Donahue? Knock me over with a feather.
I stride into Pearl Street Pub and glance around the dark, dingy bar before I spot Nate at the bar in a black suit, clearly having come straight from the office. I tug my jean jacket around my shoulders like a coat of armor and make my way to him.
“Norah,” he says and stands to offer me a hug.
I accept because…well, I’m weak. “Hey Nate, how are you?”
“I’m good.” He holds the stool out next to him. “What are you drinking?”
I sit up straight when I say, “Champagne if they have it.”
The bartender rolls his eyes at my request but brings me over a glass of champagne. I look at it with a smile because I could be drinking bubbly in Paris in a month if all goes well with the Denver bakery.
“Cheers,” Nate says and clinks his glass with mine, shooting me a sheepish smile. “Congrats on your second location.”
“Thank you,” I reply and take a tentative sip because I’m certain it’s horribly cheap. It is…but I’m too excited to care.
“It’s a huge accomplishment.” Nate nods enthusiastically. “And then going to Paris too? Damn, you’re living the dream, Norah.”
I laugh shyly. “I’m trying to have some fun. I’ve focused on my goals for so long, I kind of forgot to refill the creative tank in my head, you know?”
“I’m an accountant, so I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about,” he says with a laugh. “But it sounds amazing.”
“I hope so.” I roll my glass in my hands, and Nate’s eyes bore into me.
“I have to tell you again, Norah, how incredibly sorry I am about that dinner,” he rushes out like he could barely hold the words in a second longer.
I take a deep, cleansing breath. “I get it, Nate, but it’s not something you can apologize your way out of. It was so inappropriate, especially because I had a boyfriend at the time.” I quickly take another sip while trying to ignore the sting of reality that I’m not stating out loud: My boyfriend was fake. Very fake. So fake that the idea of us not being fake anymore sent him running for the hills.
But the reality is, nothing about what Dean and I had felt fake to me, which was likely the problem all along. He was living in reality, and I was living in a fantasy.
Nate sets his beer down and pins me with a grave look. “I hope my actions aren’t why you and Dean broke up.”
“It’s not,” I state through clenched teeth, still smarting over the fact that Nate knew about my breakup at our business meeting because my mother told his mother. My mom and I may have had a great heart-to-heart, but Elaine Donahue is still painfully on brand.
“There are no secrets between our mothers, I’m afraid,” Nate says with a shrug. “And that’s part of why I lost my mind at that dinner. You have to understand that my mom has been talking to me about you since the moment I told her I was moving back to Boulder. She told me how successful your bakery was and how you were more beautiful than when we were kids, which I couldn’t believe because you were the prettiest girl in our high school.”
“I was not,” I huff, shaking off that weird compliment.
“You were, Norah. You were stunning and hyper-focused, knowing exactly what you were going to do with your life. I was this French-horn-toting loser you were way too kind to.”
“Nate, you weren’t that bad.”
“Oh my God, I was,” he replies with wide eyes. “I was horribly awkward, and you were so nice to me. I couldn’t believe you wanted to even…”
“Don’t finish that sentence.”
He holds his hands up. “I wasn’t going to…I promise.”
“And please don’t mention cookies.”
“I won’t.” He laughs bitterly and stares at his beer. “But I’m telling you all this to make you understand when I showed up to your parents’ party and saw you looking more beautiful than I could have imagined and you were successful and you had a boyfriend…I just…I don’t know, I got carried away. I was trying to show off in front of Dean because he looks like a guy who’s never struggled with women a day in his life.”
“Yeah,” I confirm, hating how the mention of Dean’s name makes my eyes sting. I’ve ignored the pain for days, hoping it’ll get better, but after seeing him this morning, I realized it’s going to be impossible to forget about him. He’s unforgettable. “You really didn’t need to worry about Dean.”
Nate rolls his eyes. “Dean is everything I wish I was.”
“Nate,” I scoff, shaking my head at his self-deprecation. “You’re doing amazing. You’re all grown up now and taking over your dad’s firm. You’re not the same kid you were in high school. Not by a mile, but even if you were, I didn’t mind that kid.”
“Yeah, I guess.” He sullenly takes a drink of his beer, and the slumped posture of this tall, handsome man is painful to look at. “Wish my ex could have seen that.”
I reach out and touch Nate’s arm. “I think your ex sounds like a bitch.”
Nate laughs and gives me a glimpse of the kid I used to play checkers with who didn’t have a care in the world. “She kind of was a bitch.”
“Then good riddance.” I hold my drink out, and we clink again.
“Good riddance.” He points at my nearly empty glass. “You want one more, or do you need to get going?”
He waits on bated breath for my answer, and I can’t help but see a bit of myself in him. A few weeks ago, I was the awkw
ard, overworked, stressed-out control freak who couldn’t manage a social calendar if my life depended on it. But now, I’m changed. I want more. Perhaps Nate is the best drinking companion I can hope for right about now.
I nod and smile. “Let’s drink.”
I need IPA.
I need loud music.
I need sticky floors.
I need my clothes not to smell like Norah fucking Donahue and her baked goods.
I throw my arm over Lala’s shoulder as we meander down Pearl Street in search of our next bar. It’s dark out already, and we’ve been drinking since five o’clock because Lala turned twenty-one, and I ripped up a contract that my friend Max told me I was under direct obligation to sign.
Fucking Max. What a traitor. I should trade some of his best stocks tonight in retribution for the pain he is causing me.
I won’t. But I should.
“Let’s go to a dive bar,” Lala sings as she points at Pearl Street Pub.
I nod slowly, thinking that’s just the sort of stink I need in my life. However, this is Miles’s and Sam’s favorite place, so I murmur, “Just make sure Kate and Lynsey and that whole crew aren’t inside, okay?”
“What?” Lala giggles and pulls me through the door.
I cringe and glance around nervously because the very last fucking thing I need in my life are my two sister wives seeing me out with Lala when they don’t have a clue that Norah and I are over. I haven’t been returning any of their texts, nor have I updated my fucking social media because, well, I’ve been busy ripping up half-million-dollar contracts and stuff.
“I don’t see them!” Lala squeals as she rushes over to the end of the bar to order drinks.
My gaze follows her, and my eyes squint when I see the back of some very familiar blond hair. It’s familiar because I’ve had my hands wrapped in it several times while driving inside her. My gaze slides over to the guy sitting next to the familiar hair, and I might upchuck the four IPAs I consumed at the last bar.
“Fucking Douche Printer,” I grumble quietly as Nate’s gaze lands on me.
He frowns and straightens his posture like a peacock trying to show off his stupid feathers. At the same time, the familiar hair turns her head and laughs at something he said, giving me a full view of her stunning profile.
My fucking sugar lips is out with Nate…laughing.
And the hits just keep on coming.
I beeline over to where they’re sitting, passing Lala without a second glance, and stop right between Norah and Nate. “Well, hello, you two.”
Norah stiffens and turns to look at me, her blue eyes blinking nervously at me. God, she looks good. I saw her this morning, but I swear she’s gotten prettier. My eyes drop to see their legs are dangerously close to one another, looking all cozy and happy, like they’re having the best night ever.
Must be rough.
“Fancy seeing you guys here.” I nod to them and straighten my glasses, noticing Norah has a glass of champagne. “Out celebrating?”
Nate turns in his stool to face me and cocks his head to the side. “It’s really none of your business,” he says with disdain.
Coming out swinging, Nate. Good for you, buckaroo.
I laugh and shake my head, turning back to Norah. “Well, I ripped up that stupid contract your douche accountant here helped you with, so I can’t possibly imagine what you could have to celebrate.” I gasp and cover my mouth. “Or are you two out on a date? Did Douche French horn finally get his second chance with you, sugar tits?”
“Dean,” Norah growls, finally gracing me with her voice. “Go away. You’re clearly drunk.”
“And you’re clearly too smart and beautiful to be going out with this Douche Beer,” I slur and point at Nate. “Seriously, Norah. What the fuck are you doing? You went from not wanting to date anyone to picking the lowest guy on the totem pole?”
“Why do you care?” she snaps, her nostrils flaring as she glares at me.
“Because you’re changing into a completely different person, and it seems like you’re throwing your life away.”
“How am I throwing my life away?” she exclaims, hitting me with wide, wavering eyes. “You’re the one who encouraged me to change, remember? You’re the one who told me to live a little and have some fun outside of work. What’s so wrong with what I’m doing with my life?”
My head jerks forward as I step closer to her, inhaling her sweet scent all over again. “You’re throwing away solid investors like me, you’re delaying your franchise launch that’s going to be amazing, you’re selling your fucking apartment, and you’re dating a sycophant who brags about plucking girls’ cherries.”
Nate stands up, closing in on my profile as he grinds out, “Walk away, Dean.”
Just then, Lala comes stumbling over with two draft beers, slopping them all over the floor as she sidles up next to me. “An IPA for you, Deano, and a Busch Light for me.”
I cringe and begrudgingly take the beer as Norah’s eyes slide to Lala and turn into fiery pits of hell. Norah huffs out a sardonic laugh and shakes her head. Without a word, she pulls on Nate’s arm to lower him onto his stool and turns away from me.
“Want to play darts?” Lala asks, taking a drink and shaking her hips to the dull bar music.
I stare at Norah’s back, dumbfounded that she just turned her back on me like I was nothing. Like I’m nobody. Like I’m not worth fighting for, and what we had didn’t matter. How can she be so cold?
I reach out and tap her shoulder. “Norah, we need to talk.” My eyes are hooded as memories of being a kid and my parents completely ignoring me flood back in fast and hard.
“No, thank you,” Norah says, shaking off my grasp.
“Norah,” I growl, and then Nate’s back in my face again. “This guy.” I shake my head and laugh. “What’s up, California Ken? Got something to say to me?”
“You need to leave, Dean.”
“You need to leave.”
“I was here first, bud.”
“I need to talk to her.”
“She clearly doesn’t want to talk to you.”
“Don’t you fucking talk to me like you know her.” I push him to the side so I can take his seat, and he grabs my arm and whirls me around, causing me to drop my beer.
The glass shatters and Norah turns around, her eyes wide, her lips parted. “Dean, stop it!”
“I didn’t do that. Your fucking new boyfriend here did.”
“Dean,” Norah growls and stands up, setting her champagne down before grabbing me by the hand and yanking me toward the front door, leaving Nate and Lala behind.
Her grip on my hand is a friendship hold, not a waffle hold. I didn’t even know what the fuck those stupid terms were until this woman came into my life. And now, that’s all she wants from me…a friendship hold. The churning in my belly has me regretting all those beers I had tonight.
She pulls me outside into the darkness, and the blue lights from the interior beer signs illuminate her angelic face. God, she’s pretty.
“What are you trying to do, Dean?”
“I’m trying to talk to you.”
“Why?”
“’Cuz I need to know what’s going on with you.”
“You don’t need to know, Dean. It’s none of your business.”
“It is my business because you and I are friends.”
She flinches at that term and closes her eyes tightly as she shakes her head. “We were friends…maybe…although honestly, that’s not true because friends don’t treat each other the way you treated me in your house on Sunday morning.”
Her words hit me right in the guts, and I groan while running a hand through my hair. “Norah, I’m sorry about that. You have no idea how sorry I am.”
“Sorry doesn’t mean anything, Dean, because I fell for you, and you rejected me. I can’t stay friends with a guy who rejected me. I’m not like Kate and Lynsey. I can’t get over it and stay friends.”
“You’re nothing
like Kate and Lynsey,” I groan, my head pounding at that realization. “You’re…special.”
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t give me the you’re special speech after you showed up here with Lala. It’s all hot air with you. It’s all that stupid flirting you did with me in the bakery, back when I was Luke Danes and you were Lorelai Gilmore.”
“Wait…I thought I was Luke.”
“No, I’m the bakery owner, I’m Luke.”
“Why do I have to be the girl?”
“Because you’re the colorful, plucky patron who blows in like a freaking storm. You mess everything up, and you leave a wake of destruction behind you.”
“What about you, Norah?” I snap, irritated that I’m taking all the blame here. “You said all that shit to me in my house and totally blindsided me with talk of marriage and babies.”
“I was speaking hypothetically,” she cries loudly, throwing her arms out dramatically. “I wasn’t telling you I wanted to marry you. God, we hadn’t been together that long. I was speaking candidly to a friend about the fact that my priorities have changed, and I’m open to more now.”
I nod slowly, my eyes narrowing. “So, because of that, you’re letting your mother play matchmaker? You’re gonna be out there dating guys like Douche Curb? Am I going to start seeing you on Pearl Street every night now?”
“I guess so.” She shrugs helplessly. “I liked having a boyfriend, fake or real…so the idea of sharing my life with someone doesn’t sound so bad. You have Lala, so why can’t I find someone too?”
I scowl, anger bubbling up inside me. “So, because you want a serious relationship, you have to cut me out of your business and your life?”
She nods and makes a noise in her throat. “That’s the way the croinut crumbles, Dean.”
“No…no. This isn’t fucking fair, Norah.” I take a couple of steps away from her to get some air, some perspective. “We promised each other we could do this. We had an agreement, and you broke that agreement.”
“And you ripped up my contract today, so I guess we’re both shitty at business,” she seethes.
My jaw clenches with frustration. “I hate this. I hate that you’re here with him. You deserve better than him, Norah.”