“Well, I need to work on my résumé,” she says, shifting in her seat. “Jennifer told me she’ll call me in a couple of days, and I think it’s promising, but I can’t really waste time. If it doesn’t work out, I need to have another iron in the fire.”
“Who’s Jennifer?” I ask. It’s weird how people here seem to know absolutely everyone. They never use last names or reference them in any way other than “Jennifer,” as if there’s one “Jennifer” in the world.
Dane leans against Haley’s chair. “I’m guessing Jennifer from the flower shop.”
“Yup,” Haley says with a contained grin.
“That would be awesome,” Dane says. “You love flowers. It’s down the road from your house. They’d probably pay as much as, maybe even more than, the library.”
Her smile wavers. “But I don’t know anything about flowers. I just like them.”
Penn laughs. “I don’t know anything about women. I just like them. Doesn’t stop me.”
Haley swats him. “No one is paying you for a service to know about women.”
“You don’t know that,” Penn jokes.
Haley sighs, switching her attention back to Dane. “Anyway, it’s really exciting, but I don’t want to get my hopes up and then get let down. So the résumé it is. Unless, of course, you want to knock up your girlfriend so I can be a nanny again.”
Dane walks backward toward the door. His hands are in front of him, the bags Claire gave him dangling in the air. “Give me time.”
“I’m just saying,” Penn says, keeping a safe distance from Dane. “If Neely was my girl, I wouldn’t need a lot of ti—umph.” He covers his stomach as Dane elbows him in a lightning-fast move. “I was kidding. Kind of.”
“If you’re both still alive later, I’ll see you up there,” I say, laughing as they continue to poke each other.
“Bye, guys,” Haley says.
The door opens, filling the room with morning sun, before shutting again. Haley and I turn around to face the kitchen.
Her tongue is jammed in the side of her cheek. It’s as if she’s challenging me to speak first.
Challenge accepted.
“So . . .” I look at Haley.
“So . . .” Her tongue slips from her cheek as she looks at me. Her eyes are bright and lively, and I wonder if she wakes up this way. “I brought your jacket back.”
“I see that.”
She fixes her gaze on the oversize fork and spoon on the wall in front of her. “Thanks for letting me borrow it. I also ate all the ice cream last night. So thanks for that too.”
“I’d say I see that, too, but I don’t want to get smacked.”
She fires a playful glare my way. “Smart move.”
I settle in my seat and run my hands down my thighs. My jeans are smooth under my palms. I repeat the move a second time when I notice Haley’s attention has turned to my hands.
“You know,” she says, pulling her gaze to mine, “they say people come into your life for a reason.”
“I’ve heard that. Not sure I agree with it, though.” I take a drink from Claire. “Thanks.”
She nods, a shit-eating grin on her face as she grabs the coffeepot and skirts away.
“Do you have any thoughts about it?” I ask.
“Yeah. I’m trying to decide what your reason is.”
Leaning forward, I smirk. “Most women come up with the same reason for coming into my life.”
“Of course you’d say that.” She snorts, her perfect little pout pressing her lips together.
“Of course I’d be right.” I toss her a wink as I sit back again. “But in this particular instance, I’m here because my father married a life-size doll who needs two hundred acres and four thousand square feet for him, her, and her two poodles, and I’m on vacation and can’t sit still. It’s pretty self-explanatory.”
“You really don’t like her, do you?”
“Meredith?” I shrug. “She’s all right, I guess. Not the kind of woman I’d marry, but I didn’t marry her.”
She leans against the bar, resting her arms on the ledge. “If you were to get married, what kind of woman would you pick?”
“Are you asking me to go steady, Miss Raynor?”
“Hardly,” she scoffs. “I’m just doing some market research.”
I sit back in my seat and study her. I don’t think I could ever think about Haley like I do Meredith or Liz. She’s not like them at all. Come to think of it, she’s not like any woman I’ve ever met. I just can’t quite figure out why.
“I’m a bad person to research on because I’m not, nor will I ever likely be, in that particular market,” I say.
She stares at me with an open mouth. A spattering of freckles covers the bridge of her nose and sprays over the tops of her cheeks. From this angle, she looks so much younger than what I’m guessing is her twenty-six, twenty-seven years.
“What?” I ask.
“You don’t want to get married? Ever?”
“No. Not particularly.” I roll my cup around in my hands. “I mean, if it happens, that’s fine. Great. But it’s not on the agenda.”
“Why not?”
“Why would it be?” I ask her. “Why would you want to attach yourself to one person for the rest of your life?”
Her lashes flutter once. Twice. Three times before she shakes her head to rid it of the fog she seems to think is keeping her from understanding my point. “Because you’re in love.”
“That would work if you believed in love to start with.”
A gasp escapes her throat. “You don’t believe in love? What kind of animal are you?”
I think she’s kidding with the animal comment, but I’m not sure.
My first reaction is to make some kind of sexual innuendo. To play it off and change the subject to something lighter. But the sheer shock written across her features locks me into this conversation I didn’t start out to have.
“Fine,” I say, blowing out a breath. “I believe in love. I really do. I just don’t believe in one love for all of time.”
She looks at me like I’m from outer space and don’t understand what she’s saying. “But that’s what love is,” she says slowly.
“Is it?” I take a brown paper bag from Claire, who wisely refrains from joining the conversation. She dips out, scooting into the dining area. “I don’t know if I believe that. I mean, how can the twenty-six-year-old me know who the fifty-six-year-old me wants in life? It’s ludicrous.”
A steeliness settles over her eyes. “So this is your way of opting out of monogamy?”
“No. Why does it always have to go there?” I ask. “I’ve never cheated on a woman. Ever. Not even when I was a teenager with the sex drive of a monkey. One girl for me at a time. That’s all I can handle.” I pause and think about what I’ve said. “That’s not the whole truth, if I’m honest. I firmly believe that cheating is an asshole move.”
“Wow. So honorable.”
“Not really. I watched my mom cheat on my dad, and I’m not a fan.”
“Ah, so that’s why you don’t believe in love,” she says. “I get it.”
I bend my straw in half, watching it flip back up like a spring. I don’t want to talk about my issues or about Mom. Both make me squeamish.
“What about you?” I ask. “Do you believe in some fated love like you see in movies?”
“Of course I do.” She tugs my jacket around her waist in a subconscious move. “It’s a basic human need—to love and be loved.”
“That’s where I think you’re wrong. People need to be understood, not necessarily roped into buying flowers and chocolates.”
She makes a face and turns her attention to the kitchen as a cook shouts an order is up. “It must suck to be so jaded about love.”
“Or maybe it sucks to be so naive about it?”
“I don’t think believing in one true love is being naive.” She looks at me with a softness that feels like someone sent a rock through a slingsh
ot and struck my chest. “I think believing you can go through life and not need love is naive.”
There’s something about what she says that prickles the back of my brain. It bothers me, irritates me, begs me to pay attention and dig deeper. But it’s hard to do that when I have to spend so much energy telling myself not to reach for her and pull her into my arms.
“I didn’t say you don’t need love,” I mutter. “I just said maybe getting different loves as you go through life may be more practical.”
“That’s sad.”
“That’s honesty.”
She shakes her head. “You are the exact kind of guy who’s broken my heart a dozen times. I should hate you on principle.”
The softness in her eyes hardens as a shield locks in place. The need to touch her deepens, and I busy my hand with my cup to keep from making that connection—one I need more and more.
She looks at me out of the corner of her eye. I can’t help but wonder what she sees when she looks at me.
“What kind of guy am I?” I ask finally.
She shrugs. “I don’t know. Depends on the day.”
“Today, then.”
“I’d say today you’re . . . charismatic. Cute.”
“I hate that word,” I grumble.
“Okay. How’s ‘unavailable’ sound?”
“Fair enough.” I stretch out my legs, my body tight. “For the record, you’re the epitome of the women whose hearts I keep breaking.”
“I’ll play. What kind of girl am I?”
Every word that pops in my mind is one I can’t say—one I shouldn’t say. Words like “captivating” and “sexy” aren’t going to help.
I twist my lips as she watches me and awaits my answer.
“Charming,” I say, landing on the word closest to “charismatic” I can find. “Adorable.”
“You make me sound like a little boy,” she whines.
“Okay. How’s ‘available’ sound?”
“Ugh,” she groans. “See? Right there. That’s the problem.”
“What? That I go for the available ones? I’m sorry. I thought that was the right thing to do.”
“No. That you say ‘available’ like it’s a curse word. Like it makes us needy.” Her eyes burn with an intensity that I can’t look away from. “Yes, I want to be in a relationship. Yes, I want to be loved and needed, and that’s not a bad thing.”
“No, it’s not, theoretically. But it is when the proverbial ‘you’ thinks they’re going to get those things from me when I’m crystal clear it’s not going to happen.” I sigh. “I don’t like hurting people’s feelings, Haley. I go into relationships with all my cards on the table, and I still walk out of it feeling like a prick.”
She takes a napkin out of the container. Folding it over and over, her chest rises and falls faster. “For the record,” she says, “I don’t like wanting guys who don’t want me in the same way. If I could figure out how to do that, I wouldn’t do it either.”
I turn away from her for both our sakes. “Seems pretty easy to me. Stay away from guys like me.”
“Well, guys like you could not let girls like me in your bed.”
“There go my plans for tonight,” I joke.
We chuckle together. I barely hear the sound over the clatter of the kitchen, but somehow, it almost drowns it out too.
Although I’ve been clear and up front, I feel . . . disappointment. It’s like the lines have been drawn, and I feel bereft because of it. But she’s right. Guys like me should not let girls like Haley in my bed.
She gets to her feet slowly. Claire comes by and asks if she wants her lunch put on her tab. They have a quiet conversation as I busy myself with checking my nonexistent new text messages. I look up when Haley stands next to me.
“Here’s your coat.” She extends a hand, my jacket dangling from her fist. “Thanks again.”
“No problem.” I take it from her, watching the browns and golds in her eyes swirl together.
There’s something I want to say, but I can’t articulate it. When I don’t say anything more, the light in her eyes dims, and she turns toward the door.
I could stop her if I tried. But I don’t. What good would that do?
CHAPTER TEN
HALEY
The clock on the wall at Mucker’s is shaped like a pizza. Each hour is marked with another topping. The seven is a pepperoni and the time Claire was supposed to meet me here for dinner twenty minutes ago.
I don’t text her, because it’s futile. She never texts me back.
The book in front of me, the one I borrowed from the library this afternoon, promises to make résumé writing easy. It lies—that, or I just have nothing to put on a list of qualifications.
I look up to see Claire’s car pulling in front of the restaurant. She gets out, puts her purse on her shoulder, and starts toward the door. Then stops. She waves before talking with an animation I know means she won’t make it inside for another twenty minutes.
My stomach rumbles. I turn to flag down Alexis to place an order, but when my gaze lands on Claire again, my hand falls to my side.
Trevor is standing next to my friend. He looks freshly showered and shaved. A green pullover hides some of the ridges of his body, and if I could stop looking at his face, I might be annoyed by that.
It’s really disappointing that I didn’t meet him six months ago. Back then, I didn’t care whether I could get on the same page with a guy. I jumped in and hoped for the best. I just had to go and start making sense a bit too soon.
Trevor points toward the building as Claire laughs. She shakes her head and shrugs.
My pulse strums through my veins as I watch them talk like old friends and wish I were out there too. I grip the edges of the table, not sure whether to push back and stand or keep myself in place. The decision is made for me when Claire’s eyes shift from Trevor through the window to me.
She makes a fist and brings it to her mouth. She fakes a cough before sticking out her bottom lip.
“What are you doing?” I mouth.
She fakes another cough. This time, she follows it with a laugh. She says something to Trevor again before climbing back in her car.
“What are you doing?” I ask, even though she can’t hear me. My brows pull together as I watch my friend back out of the parking lot and venture off down the street.
My heart skips a beat at the exact moment the chimes ding on the front door. I don’t have to look to know Trevor walked in. His gaze smacks the side of my face, covering me in a warmth that I didn’t know I was missing. But at least now I know that this will lead absolutely nowhere. Girls like me—naive, willing for the wrong reasons—are a dime a dozen to Trevor Kelly. He made himself very clear earlier today. I’d be his type if I were okay with a one-night or multiple-night stand only. And that’s not me. Not anymore.
He stops at my table.
“Claire said to tell you she was sick and that she’ll call you tomorrow,” he says. He shrugs with a nonchalance that makes me laugh. “She’s also full of shit, but she didn’t ask me to tell you that.”
“I didn’t need you to tell me that to know it.”
“I figured as much.” He takes in the little dining area. “This is even smaller than it looks.”
“Most people sit outside. That,” I say, pointing out the window behind me, “used to be a basketball court.”
“I can see that.”
“It’s a really cool space. That big rock thing in the corner is a giant fireplace,” I say. “They’ll light fires on the weekends and bring out kerosene heaters. It’s fun.”
He grips the back of the chair across from me and scans the room again. The silence between us isn’t awkward, but it’s swirling with something I can’t pinpoint. It’s a vibe of uncertainty. I hate it.
I glance around him and notice Alexis refilling a drink, but her attention is on Trevor.
“That must get really old,” I say.
“What?”
&n
bsp; “Going in places and having women stare at you.”
His shoulders relax as I feel him slide back into the easiness between us. “Who is staring now?”
I sweep the room quickly. “Oh, everyone.”
“For what it’s worth, I didn’t notice. But thanks for telling me.” He straightens his shirt with a grin. “Good to know I’ve still got it.”
“Oh, please,” I say with a sigh.
He laughs. “So can I sit with you?” He leans in. “I have a thing about eating alone.”
“I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t have to sit alone for long,” I whisper.
He rolls his eyes but pulls out the chair. His body unfolds as he sits. And despite my ribbing of him, I completely understand why the lady in the corner is practically drooling.
There’s an aura surrounding Trevor that’s undeniable. It’s also magnetic, pulling your attention toward him even if you don’t want it to. It’s a quiet confidence, an easygoing vibe like he could blend into the crowd if he weren’t so damn attractive—a quality he doesn’t carry around like a badge.
“What’s this?” He turns my book to face him.
“I got that to help me figure out how to construct a résumé.”
“There’s an art to a well-crafted résumé,” he says.
“Have I mentioned I’m unartistic?” I scrunch my face. “It’s the most uncomfortable thing I’ve ever done.”
He bites his lip. “I’m not going to say a word.”
“I meant trying to sell myself.”
“I’m still not touching that.”
His laugh is free and light. The sound shoots right to my core. My entire body clenches, the unspoken innuendo impossible to ignore.
Alexis moseys up to the table. She gives me a quick once-over and then sets her sights on Trevor.
“What can I get for you two?” she asks. While the question may have sounded like it was aimed for both of us, it was clearly directed at him. “Would you like an appetizer?”
I sink back in my seat and wait for the flirting to begin. Much to my surprise, Trevor looks at me. “What do you want? Cheese sticks? Loaded fries?”
“I usually just get a pepperoni pizza,” I say. “And an ice water.”
He makes a face. “Really? After the doughnut, I thought you’d feel much stronger about this topic.”
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