by Jayne Denker
"Okay. I'll call you when breakfast is ready."
I leave him behind, continuing down the weathered steps, kicking off my flats when I get to the cool sand. The tide is in, so there isn't far to go. The desire to go for a run that I had a while ago has evaporated. I don't even have enough energy left for a leisurely stroll up the shore. After trudging a few yards, past the smoldering remains of one of last night's bonfires, I plop down and rest my forehead on my knees, completely drained.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The sun has burned off the morning haze and warms the back of my neck. The beach is deserted. Everyone is probably still sleeping off the effects of the festival. The ocean is calm, and the shushing of the waves quiets my mind. Maybe I can stay here until it's time to pick up my dad from the hospital, turtled up like this so I don't have to talk to anyone I know who might happen by.
Unless someone knows the back of my neck. Like now.
"Here."
Conn stands above me holding out a speckled beige mug with a green owl on it. He's got a matching one in his other hand. I recognize them. We used to drink hot chocolate out of them when we were kids.
"Everything all right?"
"Everything's ducky," I answer, accepting the mug and taking a sip of coffee.
"Your sarcasm betrays you." I watch him lift his own mug to his lips as he stares out at the horizon. "How about if you just relax and enjoy the view?"
I know he means the morning sunlight on the ocean, yet I'm looking at him, and it still applies. Even so, I obey and turn to the magnificent display of nature in front of me instead of the one settling onto the sand beside me. Suddenly the seascape is as blurry as an Impressionistic painting. Before I even know what's happening, I'm sobbing uncontrollably and Conn's arm is around me.
"Hey," he murmurs, "it's okay. Everything's okay."
It is, I know. My tears are simply a release of tension from the stressful events of last night. My father's fine, which is the most important thing. And no matter what might happen in the near future, Conn's still beside me now.
"I'm sorry," I blubber, quite unattractively, wiping my eyes on my sleeve. "This whole thing with my dad scared me to death."
"Of course it did." Conn's grip tightens, and he rests his temple against mine. "We all worry about losing our parents when they get older."
"He's all I've got." The thought triggers a fresh round of sobbing.
"Well, that's not true. You've got me."
I just nod. I'm too tired to argue, and I certainly don't want to think about our conversation last night.
"You don't like it when people leave, do you?" His voice is soft and sympathetic, drawing even more tears out of me.
Don't like it? That's an understatement. I could be the poster child for abandonment issues. My mom's swift departure after my parents' divorce and clear lack of interest in maintaining a relationship with her only child did a number on me, so much so I ended up clinging to Taylor, despite her wild ways. It was a poor substitute, but it was something. Even as a fully functional adult, I was devastated at being abandoned again when Taylor moved to Provincetown. Maybe Conn was right when he implied I had ulterior motives for taking Hannah under my wing. Not to feed my ego though. Maybe I was more lonely than I let myself believe.
I stay silent for a few minutes, long enough to make sure I'm not sobbing or hiccupping when I ask, "What about you?"
"Am I planning on kicking it from a toxic appendix?"
I pull back a little to be able to see his expression when I ask, "Do you ever think about leaving Abbott's Bay?"
"Nah."
He doesn't even hesitate. It's reassuring, and I want to believe him, but I'm not sure I do. "Not even with the new restaurant?"
"Chain," he corrects me with a sheepish grin. "The big plan is to open up a lot of locations."
It's news to me, although I can't say I'm surprised. Why should he stop at two? "Wow. Those are big plans. Too big for Abbott's Bay."
"I still need a base of operations. I think the compound for Garvey Incorporated would work great here."
"Compound, huh?" Only Conn could make me laugh so soon after a mini nervous breakdown, even if my laughter is diluted by a few lingering tears and an ache in my gut. "You're right. Why not?"
"All right, now what about us?"
My breath catches at his sudden change of subject. "Us?"
"Are we, you know…are we good? You never really answered me before."
We should be, if I can manage to get out of my own head and not act like a lovestruck idiot around him. "Sure," I answer, telling myself to stop there. But when do I ever listen to my own advice? "Only…"
"Uh-oh."
"About you and Sasha…"
"Oh, honey, not that again. Please."
"But—"
"Just wait a minute. What I was going to explain last night, before we were interrupted—"
"By Sasha."
"Not intentionally."
"You believe what you need to, pal."
"Can I finish, please?" I clamp my lips shut and gesture for him to go ahead. "When I said I invited Sasha here—and Jack too, by the way—it wasn't for my birthday or any other social reason. I'm looking for angels. Investors. I need some backing—to help finance the Provincetown location now and the rest of the chain in the near future. I hope. Which requires a lot of cash. If I have to have partners, I'd rather have people I know and trust. So I asked Sasha—and Jack—to come up for a day or two to talk it over."
I think about this for a minute. It would explain the "business" Jack said he had in the area. And they are both loaded. Normally I'd have plenty to say about the word trust in relation to Sasha, but I leave that alone as something else pings in me, a tiny stab in the vicinity of my heart.
"First the Provincetown location, and now investors? Conn, why didn't you tell me any of this sooner?"
"I'm sorry. You know I tend to keep my business plans to myself. And finding investors…it's a delicate thing."
My voice is hollow and weak when I say, "You didn't ask me."
"Ask you what?"
"To be an investor. Why didn't you? I have money."
A small smile steals across his lips. "I wouldn't dream of asking you. What if there was a problem? Jack and Sasha can afford to take the hit if it doesn't work out. I wouldn't want you to run that kind of risk."
He's protecting me? I don't want protection. I don't want him to humor me, or watch over me, or…still see me as a teenager, cute and harmless.
Less than.
"Okay," I say slowly, trying to keep my voice strong and businesslike. "But when I told you I was going to give you all the money from Your New Best Friend—"
"M…" he sighs in protest, but I cut him off.
"I still want you to have it."
"I told you, I don't—"
"—Need it. I know. This isn't charity. I want to be one of your investors."
He gives me an assessing look. "You do, huh?"
I fire back my best steely glare. That's right. I'm an adult, buddy, with my own money and decision-making ability, in case you haven't noticed.
"Okay," Conn says quietly, sounding a touch amused.
"Okay?"
"Fine. You can be one of my angels for DBC."
After a moment's hesitation I murmur, "All right then." I finish the last of my lukewarm coffee. That's one victory. Let's try for another. I take a deep breath. "Now promise me you won't let Sasha suck you back in."
"Melanie, for God's sake—"
"I don't care if you think she's only here about the restaurant. If you can't see she wants you back, you're an idiot." Conn's jaw clenches as he glowers at the horizon. "And I…I couldn't handle watching her ruin you again. Not after the last time. It broke my heart."
"Don't get confused," he bites out, suddenly prickly. "That was my heart."
"Hey, I had to stand by and watch you fall apart. What do you think that did to me?"
Now he's star
ing at me—hard. "Tell me why you're making this about you."
"I-I'm not," I stammer, although he's right—I absolutely am.
"So you're just dying to dole out your advice for altruistic purposes. Like I'm one of your clients."
"Sort of like that." Nothing like that.
Conn pauses, and I can tell he's working on containing his irritation. "All right, go ahead. Lay it on me. I'm one of your New Best Friends. Advise me."
"You're not one of my New Best Friends. You're my oldest best friend."
"Pretend I hired you. Tell me what you'd tell one of your clients. Be your usual blunt self. What you're known for."
"Thanks a lot."
"Go on."
"Fine." I take a breath, set aside my empty mug, and wrap my arms around my knees. "I'll give you a picture of what's going on now, and you can tell me how right I am." Conn snorts at this. "Let's see…" I start slowly, as though I actually have to think about this, as though I hadn't figured it out days ago, as soon as I spotted Conn and Sasha through Vernon's telescope. "Sasha has loved her fabulous life, but she's gotten tired of traveling all over the world, poor thing, and she's seriously thinking about settling down in one place, marrying again, starting a family. She's missed you, and she thinks the divorce was a huge mistake. She wants to try again, right here, close to home. She's always loved Abbott's Bay. Or hey, Provincetown is always great. You two could get a new start there. She could open a practice—you could oversee the new restaurant. Beebs or Tommy would be a great manager for the Abbott's Bay DBC. It practically runs itself."
"Very…inventive."
"You mean accurate."
"Not so much. But go on."
"I would advise you—as my client, you understand—not to fall for it. She's going to wreck you just like last time, because Sasha doesn't change. Do you really want to put yourself through that again?"
With a growl, Conn surges to his feet. "Ms. Abbott sounds like she's letting her personal opinions cloud her judgment."
"I could say the same about you."
He doesn't answer, just starts marching back toward his house. It feels like we're continuing our argument from last night. Apparently, we're not okay, despite my assurances to the contrary. Are we going to keep going around and around like this forever?
"Conn!" I shout, standing as well. To my surprise, he stops. I reach him in a few strides. Looks like I have to play my last card and tell him about Jack and Sasha. "There's something else—"
"You know," he says as he squints at me and rubs his earlobe, the casual gesture a sharp contrast to his harsh tone, "all that stuff you just said? Every last thing was completely wrong. You were wrong. But hey, don't let that stop you."
My stomach flips, partly from embarrassment that I made any sort of mistake in my assessment, partly with hope that Sasha isn't angling to get Conn back. "What was wrong about it?" I challenge him.
"Sasha's always hated this place. It played a big part in our breakup, in fact."
I hold my breath, stunned at his words. Conn has never shared any intimate details about his divorce before now. I've always been curious, but I've respected his privacy too much. Well, also because every time I ask too invasive a question, his barricades go up, his face becomes a mask, and he makes it all too clear the subject is out of bounds. Is he finally going to open up?
He doesn't continue, however, so I prompt him timidly, "You wanted to live here? And she didn't?"
"I swear she decided to take the residency in Seattle because it was as far as we could get from Abbott's Bay and still be within the continental forty-eight," he says, still sounding bitter.
Huh. I always thought it was because she wanted to pretend she was a regular on Grey's Anatomy. Insert meow.
"But the Pacific Northwest didn't make her happy either. What she really wanted was to travel, like we did after college, but permanently. She never suggested it, because she knew I was ready to settle down and start a family, ideally in Abbott's Bay. I missed living here. But I buried that. Nice, right?"
"You compromised. It's what married people do."
"But it has to be done willingly. With us there was so much…resentment underlying everything, spoiling everything, and we couldn't overcome it. We were…well, incompatible doesn't begin to describe it. She was always so…"
"Perfect?"
Conn grimaces. "Sasha is most definitely not perfect."
"I want to hear everything."
"I'll bet you do." After a pause he says, agitated again, "More important, has it ever occurred to you that no matter what Sasha wants for the future, I wouldn't be interested? I mean, what do you take me for? Why would I ever, ever think being with Sasha again would be a good idea? Especially when…"
He doesn't complete his thought, and I'm stuck hanging on his words, waiting. "Especially when" what? Does he know about her and Jack? I sincerely hope so, because I don't want to be the one to tell him if I can help it.
"You're so sure you know what's going on in everybody's head, don't you?" he marvels. "But you really don't. Not that it ever stops you from believing your own imagination. I've gotta ask…do you do this for all your clients, or is this VIP package just for me?"
"I—"
"Thought you knew everything, as usual."
"Conn, please don't lecture me. I'm in no mood for it."
"And I'm in no mood for you to mess with my life. So just stop, okay?"
He's right. Friendships have boundaries, and I've pretty much crossed all of ours…most of them within the past twelve hours. No wonder he's fed up with me. I can't look him in the eye. Instead I'm captivated by the empty coffee mug dangling from his fingers. I've left mine near the water, and I don't care—not even if his mother comes down hard on me someday when she finds out one is missing. (She's absolutely the type of person who would take inventory of the items in her old house.)
Conn and I have been around one another for decades, in varying degrees of closeness. But just because I probably drank out of one of those mugs twenty years ago as we kicked one another under the dining room table doesn't mean I have the right to think I know what's best for him now. I've gotten overconfident lately, thinking I know everything about him, and it's wrong. I'm wrong.
"I'm sorry," I whisper, my eyes brimming with tears again. I'm apologizing and crying more today than I normally do in a month. But it's warranted. "I…want what's best for you. And I worry about you." My intentions are good, but I don't own him. I've got to stop acting like I do. Starting now. "Do whatever makes you happy."
"M—"
He stops when I step closer and put a hand to his cheek. I take a moment to study the face I, yes, love. It's a marvelous face—so handsome, with those eyes that can be playful one minute, thoughtful the next. He's thoughtful now. I regret making this so heavy. That's not what we're about. Someday we'll get back to the fun, teasing relationship we've always had. It might take a while though, considering how gutted I feel as I brace myself to walk away from this man who truly is my best friend.
"Are you okay?" he asks.
Not in the least.
"Yeah. Fine. I'm going to go. Thanks for the coffee."
Then I do it. The thing I've wanted to do—forever, if I'm going to be honest with myself—but told myself I couldn't. I give him a little kiss. It's not passionate. It's not an invitation. It's simply an acknowledgment of everything we've been to each other over the years. The tingle that goes through me when my lips brush against his is bittersweet, because I know I'll never be able to do it again. If I were a different person—Taylor comes to mind—I would really go for it to see what would happen. But I'm not Taylor. And I'm not Sasha either. I'm just Melanie, in love with the wrong guy.
I pat his chest, give him a small smile, and turn to go. I don't even check his expression because I don't want to know how he's taking this.
Doesn't matter—I find out immediately. I'm yanked back, his grip hot on my arm.
"Hey," he snaps. "What th
e hell was that?"
Dammit. I've pissed him off, and now he's going to deny me my melancholy, noble exit.
"I expect better from you."
Here comes the lecture. About what? A little nothing kiss between friends? He's got to be kidding. It was a tiny peck! I start to argue when he cuts me off, his breathing shallow.
"At least do it like you mean it."
Wh…what, now? The words go into my ears, but my brain refuses to accept them. Stops them right at the border, in fact, and sends them packing. But my heart understands, and it starts hammering away in my chest like it's trying to make a break for it.
Now I know what people mean when they say time stands still. But it's not quite like that. Everything freezes, yes, but everything's moving at top speed at the same time. It's a surreal feeling, exacerbated by the rush of blood in my veins, by the lurching of my stomach, by the way every single nerve ending becomes hyperaware of every sensation—the cool breeze on my flushed cheeks, the rasp of my clothes on my skin, the way I can't seem to take a deep enough breath. One thought rises above the chaos in my head: is he daring me?
I force myself to look into Conn's eyes. In today's palette of pale bluish-green, I see that dare, that defiance. I also see frustration and agitation and something else that looks suspiciously like…need. Hunger. And a little bit of trepidation and vulnerability. It makes my rabbiting heart pick up the pace even more.
Part of me is afraid it's a joke, a prank. I'll reach for him and he'll back away, slap my hands down, and laugh as he says, "Don't be ridiculous!" My confusion must be showing on my face, because Conn has one more thing to say on the subject.
"Go on, Abbott," he says, and there's the tiniest quaver in his voice. "Take your shot."
This can't be real. This is Conn, after all. It doesn't matter what I think I just heard. And yet I'm taking a step toward him, my hand reaching out…then I stop before I make a complete fool out of myself. I can't—
The next thing I know, Conn pulls me into a tight embrace, fusing us together along the entire length of our bodies.
"Do I have to do everything myself?" he growls.
"Shut up," I whisper.
I wrap my arms around his neck and my lips find his…his find mine…we find each other.