by A. J. Pine
A voice, attractively playful and, of course, Welsh, calls from behind the bar. “She’ll get another break! Don’t worry about it!”
Et tu, Daniel? Looks like we have a bigger audience than I thought, and I guess Elaina has recruited a co-conspirator to try to fix an unfixable situation.
“Yes, yes,” Oliver assures me. “Let’s move on. I think we were right by that kiss of yours. Since Jordan seems to be short on time, why don’t the two of you stand up and give it a go? It’s about time we see what kind of chemistry you two can infuse into Beatrice and Benedick.”
I slide off the booth, following Oliver’s direction. Noah sits, his eyes on his script. And something clicks—or rather, cracks. I’ve been feeling guilty for what I said, about this year being full of expiration dates, about insinuating my feelings for him were anything less than they were. But he violated my privacy. I didn’t cheat on him, and I certainly don’t keep running back to an old boyfriend every time things get a little fucked up. Not sleeping with Griffin is proof of who I really am, but Noah read a few words on a page and assumed otherwise. Sleeping with Noah without sleeping with Noah proves he meant more to me than just having fun. I get his trust issues, and yes, maybe I should have told him about Griffin being here that night. I made a mistake, but I never did anything worthy of his lack of faith in me. So I let my hurt speak for me, wanting to hurt him, too. “It’s just a kiss, Noah. It doesn’t mean anything.”
He looks up at me, and I can’t tell whether he looks wounded or angry. He definitely isn’t smiling.
I don’t mean to sound harsh, but my mental rant seeps into my speech. I shut up and let Beatrice do the talking.
“I would not deny you, but by this good day, I yield upon great persuasion, and partly to save your life, for I was told you were in a consumption.”
He stares, his expression blank.
Say your line so we can get the first kiss over with.
Oliver, sitting on the end of the booth opposite me, is for once at a loss for words. Does he feel the tension? It’s Emily who reaches across Phillip to give Noah a little nudge, loudly whispering his line to him. “Peace! I will stop your mouth.”
Noah turns to Emily who shoos him from his seat with another hiss of a whisper. “Say your line!”
“Wait!” Oliver cries. “Wait! This is all wrong. I thought it would work, but even a great director has to admit his shortcomings. I don’t see anything between you two but empty space. Maybe I need to rework the casting.”
My breaths quicken. Angry at him or not, this is my only chance to kiss him again, to try to show him what he meant, what he still means.
“No, no,” I plead, my eyes locking with Noah’s. “We should be able to do this. Beatrice and Benedick hate each other almost till the end. We should at least be able to pull that off.”
He stands to face me, his script left on the table. “I don’t hate you, Jordan.” The ache in his voice tears at me. He’s so guarded, always so guarded. This is the first hint of pain I’ve heard from him in a while. He was quick to make up his mind about me that morning in January. Even without any open animosity, it’s been hard to believe he’s thought anything good of me since then. And while that hurts, it’s nothing compared to hearing that he hurts, too.
We’re close, too close. I can smell him, and without thinking about our audience, I close my eyes and inhale the spring. It’s only for a second, but it’s enough to remember what it was like, if only for a night, to be wrapped in that scent, to have it linger on my skin and my sheets the morning after.
“Peace.”
I open my eyes. It’s not Emily speaking, and Noah’s tone lacks the comedic urgency of Benedick’s. Something is there, though, in the sound of his one word, an urgency all its own. Though I want to exhale, I can’t.
He’s already leaning in when he finishes the line. “I will stop your mouth.”
His lips touch mine in a quick, gentle brush. He pulls back, but only enough so I see his dark lashes close once over his sapphire eyes as he lays his palms on each side of my face. That’s my only warning before his mouth is on mine again, and this time I taste cider, and the hint of mint, and Noah.
I drop my script and reach for him. His kisses beat in time with the rise and fall of his chest, and I’m kissing him back. Of course I’m kissing him back, my hands turning to fists as they grab at his shirt. The last six weeks vanish, and there is only him and me and our mouths. He pulls me in to him, forcing my hands to his neck to close the gap between us. One of his hands moves to the small of my back, and I let out a quiet moan as his skin brushes mine. I forget the hurt, forget he did not dress as he did for me. I forget we have an audience until I hear Emily gasp.
One tiny sound breaks the spell, and Noah pulls back, practically pushing me off him. His eyes are hard as he looks at Oliver.
“Did we pass the test?” His biting tone lingers, but he walks away.
“Yes,” Oliver answers to no one in particular, a glorious smile taking over his face. “I dare say you did.”
Still standing alone, I excuse myself.
“I’ll be right back.”
He didn’t leave. I can see the entrance from here. The L-shaped bar turns at the dance floor and then extends parallel to it. I find him around the corner, pacing.
“Noah.” I hesitate, afraid he’ll run off again. Instead he stops in front of me, his hands clasped behind his neck, his eyes a strained, glassy blue.
“I’m sorry, Jordan.” He shakes his head. “Shit. That shouldn’t have happened.”
“But it did happen,” I say. “Noah, why can’t we talk about this, about whatever it is that’s still between us?” I step closer to him. “You have to know I’m not that girl, the one you think you saw in the words on that page. You know that’s not me.”
His hands unclasp, one of them raking through his dark hair as his head keeps shaking.
“You’re not the girl who came here knowing that anything that happened was eventually going to end?” His bitterness throws me, especially after that kiss, but I remind myself he came here with it, to Aberdeen. There’s more to his issues than what happened between us. But I defend myself anyway.
“So what if I am? You’re going to fault me for being realistic? Shit, Noah. That’s all I’ve ever been. But you have these expectations that I somehow can’t meet. You have this idea of who I am just from reading a few words in a journal, which, by the way, was a total dick move on your part.” It sounds cold, but it’s true. The other truth, though, I can’t tell him. I came here with no expectations beyond having fun, but instead I fell for someone who was already taken, for whom I’m still falling, even when he pushes me away.
“But none of that changes what happened over there, Noah. That wasn’t Beatrice and Benedick. That was you and me.”
He wavers for a moment. I can see it, his eyes lingering on mine. Nothing about that kiss was performance, but he fights it. When he opens his mouth to speak, I know I’ve lost the battle.
“Jordan.” The bitterness is gone, but my name, my first name, still distances us. “You were right.”
Right about what?
The wind howls this afternoon, and, I hear the whoosh of the pub door opening. Something urges me to turn, and I see Hailey stepping through the entrance. My stomach drops, but only for a second because behind her is a guy, someone I don’t recognize. Her fingers are visibly entwined in his, and as if they know I need to be hit over the head with the evidence, the stranger leans down and kisses her cheek as he pulls her scarf from her neck.
If I wanted to stop the smile, to contain my glee, I couldn’t. Happy hour starts now. When I turn back to Noah, expecting his expression to mirror mine, my heart sinks when I see his eyes darken before he breaks our stare.
“You’re, you’re not with Hailey. I thought…” Hope drips off each of my babbling words, but it flows away just as quickly when he can’t meet my eyes.
“No, we’re not.” He pauses. “We ha
ve a history, and we’re still friends, but I meant what I said about ending things before the holidays.”
Then why does he sound like he’s apologizing? There’s something I’m missing, but when the entrance echoes another whoosh, I have my answer.
Standing in the doorway is a girl, less familiar than she is beautiful. Long hair, as smooth and dark as chocolate, rests atop her lime-green wool coat. Her skin is delightfully pale with a natural flush to her cheeks and full lips. She is petite, and I decide before speaking to her that she is English, but we will speak any moment because she’s walking toward me, smiling sweetly and waving. But not at me.
You were right.
I get it now, Noah using my own words against me. Maybe none of it is real, not if it’s all going to end. So why not enjoy ourselves while we’re here? That was always the plan. I guess I did a good job of convincing him I was right.
Chapter Twenty-four
“Is it all right if I get pissed while I work?”
“That depends,” Daniel starts, “on whether you mean American pissed or Scottish pissed.”
I hand him a shot glass, imploring with my pathetic, sad eyes for him to fill it with something.
“Ah. I see. It’s the latter. Well, then. As long as you can do your job, I think we can make an exception for tonight.”
He laughs, putting the shot glass back where it nestled in the cradle of another. “You know it’s fine to have a pint going back here while you’re serving, but don’t for a second think Elaina hasn’t threatened to cut off my balls if I ever give you a shot again.”
I cross my arms, my lips pursing angrily.
He laughs again. “Mmm-hmmm. Again, the latter.”
“I thought we were friends, Daniel. But here you conspire with Elaina for this ridiculous mistletoe misplacement, and now you won’t let me blur my thoughts so I can forget that the guy I’ve not been able to get off my mind since September is here not with his ex-girlfriend but with a new girl altogether. I’m very disappointed,” I say, snagging a bottle of vodka from the well. To Daniel’s astonishment, I grab, fill, and throw back a shot before he can say pussy lightweight.
The burn of the liquid soothes and numbs, and when I focus back on Daniel’s face, he winces with pity, which only makes me want to numb it some more. I grab the bottle again, but this time he’s ready and intercepts before I have time to pour.
The pub fills with the dinner crowd, which includes a cackling group of local single women who started their Valentine’s Day party long before arriving here.
“Don’t,” Daniel says. “You’re better than this. What kind of a man doesn’t see how lovely you are? How adorably smart, funny, and mildly unhinged you can be?”
My stomach twists at his sincerity. It’s not that I don’t like him saying those things. It’s that I can’t explain the irrationality of what I feel for Noah, though we never really dated.
We both turn, facing out toward the patron side of the bar. Oliver, Emily, and Phillip are still in the round booth, apparently settled in for the night. I never did go back to the table, but the three of them are now joined by Noah and date girl. I don’t know her name. I don’t want to know her name.
“Will you at least take their table for the rest of the night so I don’t have to go over there?”
“Of course,” he says.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Elaina slams her pen down behind the bar.
“Want to know how much I use this shite pen back in the kitchen?”
She’s seething, no doubt because she’s been helping the cooks ever since the food orders started exceeding the drink orders.
I shrug.
“Nothing! I use it nothing, which means I am not taking anyone’s orders and not getting any of the tip money!”
“We pool tips on holidays, remember?” Daniel says.
Her eyes light up, all traces of her initial scowl gone.
“Shite! I forgot! Enjoy the Valentine’s Day, bitches. I’m going back to hide—I mean help in the kitchen! Call me when Duncan arrives!”
“Well, love, I guess it’s you and me,” he says, filling a pint for a waiting patron.
“I guess it is.”
Once business really gets going, Daniel takes to the tables while I stay behind the bar. When Duncan got here, Elaina snuck him into the kitchen. At least, that’s where she claims they were going. All the patrons are going nuts for her mistletoe idea. There are people snogging all over the place. As busy as I am, I find moments to sneak a glance over toward the booth. Though I have not yet seen Noah and his date abide by the sprig hanging over their table, it will happen by the night’s end. Daniel has already refilled the table’s pitcher once, and Emily and Phillip look quite cozy while Oliver seems to be keeping the table engaged in conversation.
A girl at the table next to theirs looks up to the bar, calling me over. I look for Daniel, but he is busy with other patrons. The girl’s gestures become increasingly frantic the longer I hesitate stepping out from my safe little nook. The whole booth is girls, I imagine single, and the frantic one is now waving her empty pitcher in the air.
I groan, loud and free, knowing no one can really hear me over the crescendo of voices and music.
“Can I get you a refill?”
Frantic pitcher waver hands me the empty vessel and smiles ruefully. “Thanks, love. It’s the lager that’s on special. Can you also bring us five lemon drops?”
“Sure. Be right back.”
I’m about to head back to the bar, when a small uproar forces my gaze to the table to the left. Through a mixture of laughter and clapping, I hear the unmistakable English voice that hours ago directed me to do the same thing.
“Well, I guess you’ve got to kiss now.” Oliver is smiling and taunting Noah who sits across from him. For a moment I think he’s talking about me, but Noah doesn’t know I’m standing behind him, nor does Oliver take notice of me, though I’m in plain sight for him. No. Oliver’s directive is aimed at date girl, who is standing under the fucking mistletoe.
It’s one thing for Noah to throw my own words back at me as punishment, another to stay here, where I work, parading another girl in front of me. But watching him now, as she leans in and brushes her lips gently against his mouth—I break.
“Fuck you, Noah.” He doesn’t turn around, doesn’t have to. He knows it’s me.
When I bring the pitcher and shots back to the table of girls, the frantic pitcher waver girl puts a wad of cash in my apron pocket and a lemon-drop shot in my hand. There are only four girls at the table, but she ordered five shots.
“You looked like you needed one of these.”
I shouldn’t. I’m working and have been a dumbass and had a shot already. But my lungs constrict, and my head pounds. I don’t want to screw up on the job, but I want so much more to be numb.
“Thanks.” I toss back the shot without regret. “I do.”
Moments ago the inhabitants of the coveted round booth stared at a—what did Daniel call me?—mildly unhinged server. Moments ago I finally believed Noah was an actor, that Benedick kissed Beatrice but Noah never kissed me. That’s all gone, now. What remains is the heat of the liquid traveling down my throat, warming my chest, clouding my thoughts, and allowing me to finally breathe.
You were right.
My last shred of common sense stabs at the back of my mind. She kissed him. I shake my head at the thought because even if that’s the way it happened, it’s not like Noah pulled away. And even though something in me knows what I’m about to do will not dull the hurt, I can’t stop the momentum of the idea once it’s started.
Daniel hands out a tray of drinks to a nearby table. Above his head hangs one of Elaina’s brilliant little branches. As soon as he turns, tray in hand, to return to the bar, I’m standing beside him. He called me lovely, which hopefully means what I’m about to do doesn’t change that.
“Jordan. What are you doing out here? I
told you I’d take care of the tables.”
“It got too busy.” My voice trembles under the bravado of the alcohol.
“Are you okay?”
I steady my resolve. “I will be,” I say and reach up to kiss him. Our lips barely touch before he pushes me away with his free hand.
“What are you doing?” His voice is pained, his eyes glassy with sadness, but my skewed logic overrides the truth.
“You’re standing under the mistletoe. See?” I stretch onto my tiptoes, one hand on his shoulder and the other reaching above me, as if I could come close to touching something that hangs at least three feet above my head. If I could show him the mistletoe, he’d understand.
Defeated, Daniel turns back toward the bar, but his movement is too sudden for my increasing inebriation and altogether ungraceful lack of tiptoe balance. I lose my footing and misjudge the placement of the table. Putting my hand down to steady myself, I grab nothing but air. My forehead greets the table’s edge on my way down. Someone calls my name, my last name, but it’s too late. My peripheral vision goes black, and then the darkness takes over completely.
The light shining through my bedroom window wakes me with a dizzying ache. I open my eyes, and the ache increases exponentially. My arm reaches for the curtain in an attempt to pull it shut, but the only thing my hand grasps is the corner of the windowsill.
“Shit.” I whimper to myself. Hangover Saturday beats Hangover Monday hands down. What the hell did I drink last night?
Snippets of the evening creep in through the cracks of the hangover daze.
A kiss.
Mistletoe.
Another girl.
Daniel.
A hospital.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
My lips are dry, cracked. I lick them as my hand moves slowly to my face, fingers walking up my right cheek to—there it is. Above my right eyebrow I feel tape, and gauze, and the sting of freshly broken skin.