34
On Thursday night, Max and I head to the newest Lucky Spot. Business has been booming for Spencer and Charlotte, and they just expanded their bar in the heart of Chelsea, adding on a Ping-Pong table room. On Monday and Wednesday nights, the bar hosts leagues for the sport, and Thursday is a themed night featuring Ping-Pong and champagne.
Wyatt and Natalie called everyone together for a post-wedding evening out. I’m not sure if it’s their third or fourth wedding to each other, or just another excuse for them to celebrate being married. The two of them like doing that, and so the gang’s all here.
That also means this is the first time Josie and I have hung out with the whole group of friends since the end of our short-lived stretch as roommates and an even briefer stint as lovers. But no one else knows about the latter except Max.
As we walk along Eighteenth Street, I remind him. “Keep it on the down-low in front of everyone, okay?”
He stage-whispers, “You mean about you having a big thing for Josie Hammer?”
“Yes,” I say through gritted teeth.
“Got it. Because no one else could ever fucking tell.” He yanks open the door to the bar, and we stroll inside, joining the crew in the Ping-Pong room.
Instantly, my eyes find her. Josie rests her hip against the green Ping-Pong table. She wears a red skirt, and little ankle boots that would look fantastic parked on my shoulders. Wrapped around my neck. Hooked around my waist.
I drag a hand through my hair and fix on a friendly smile, lest anyone catch on that I was cycling through my favorite positions.
Josie holds a glass of champagne as she chats with Natalie. The two of them watch Harper as she bounces on her toes at one end of the table, a paddle in her hand. From the other end, Nick serves the white plastic ball, and the two volley for the next minute. Nick is ferociously focused, slamming the ball back at her each time, but then Harper delivers a punishing blow to the right corner, and when Nick stretches to reach it, the ball rattles to the floor.
Harper thrusts her arms in the air. “The streak continues!”
Josie holds her flute high, toasting Harper’s victory. Natalie hoots and hollers.
A new couple strolls through the doorway and into the Ping-Pong room—she’s a petite blonde with wavy, honey-colored hair, and the guy towers over her, a tall and broad dude. The woman chimes in, “Nick, you can never beat her. Don’t you know that by now?”
Nick pushes his glasses up his nose and shrugs. “But I can’t stop trying, Abby.”
“Better luck next time,” the new guy says with a smile.
Harper steps in and introduces me to her friends Simon and Abby. After we all shake hands, Simon drapes an arm around Abby’s shoulders and plants a kiss on her cheek, for no obvious reason other than he can. Lucky fucker.
As I peer around, I see nothing but couples. Natalie and Wyatt, Spencer and Charlotte, Nick and Harper, Simon and Abby. It’s just the Summers brothers who are single, and Josie. The thing is, Max is happy with his status, as far as I can tell. In principle, I don’t object to mine. I was never bothered being a one-man operation. Until I fell for Josie.
Now, seeing all these paired-up friends reminds me that I’m the one of us who didn’t get the woman he wanted.
Wyatt drops a hand to my shoulder. “Ready to be decimated?” he asks as he hands me a paddle.
“I am ready,” I say confidently, taking a deliberate beat, “to obliterate you.”
He arches a brow, like I can’t possibly be serious. But I am, because bar games and me are a winning combination. Tonight, the game has a welcome side effect. Beating Wyatt’s sorry ass keeps me from staring at his sister all night.
“Bastard,” he mutters as I slam the winning ball in our second round, since he challenged me to a rematch after I pummeled him in the first. Foolish choice on his part.
But before I can trash-talk Wyatt about his second loss, Spencer’s voice booms across the room. “What are you two cats doing about living arrangements now that the landlord gave you the screw?”
The man is aces at bringing up the elephant in the room, even unintentionally. Spencer looks at me, then Josie.
She pipes up first. “I’m living with a friend.”
“Lots of pillow fights and late-night gab fests?” he asks. “Or do you style each other’s hair? Color it even? Bake cookies and watch HBO?”
Josie meets my gaze from the other side of the Ping-Pong table. A tiny smile lifts her lips, a private one that I know is just for me. I answer her with a small quirk of my lips, too. There’s a mischievous sparkle in her eyes.
But then the hint of secrets shared is extinguished and replaced by something else entirely. Resolve? Acceptance? I can’t tell anymore.
She nods as she meets Spencer’s waiting stare. “Yes, that’s exactly what we do. All night sessions.”
I don’t know if the innuendo is for me, or just to needle Spencer. That’s the problem. She feels so close, but so far out of reach.
Spencer turns to me and raises his chin. “And what about you? How’s life at Chez Summers Brothers? Keeping busy watching monster truck rallies and avoiding all food that requires utensils?”
I look around for Max, but he’s disappeared. “Yeah, it’s one big fiesta of masculine stereotypes. Some nights we beat our chests like Tarzan.”
Charlotte laughs. “I bet you miss the feminine touch Josie brought to living together.”
Boy, do I ever. Charlotte’s words are like a punch in the chest.
Once more our eyes lock, and I try to find the answer in Josie’s light green gaze. But I don’t even know what I’m looking for. “Yeah,” I say, since I can’t manage a joke right now.
Wyatt raises a beer. “But it was good while it lasted, though, right?”
He doesn't even know the half of it. I swallow and answer him. “It was the best.”
Josie nibbles on the corner of her lip and looks away. Harper jumps in, and her voice seems protective, as if she’s watching out for Josie. “I’m sure it was.” She hoists her paddle high above her head. “Anyone up for another round? Or are you all too chicken to take on the Ping-Pong champion?”
That riles up Spencer, who grabs a paddle from Nick. As they play, Max wanders back in, his jaw set, his eyes blazing.
“Everything good?” I ask him.
He shakes his head and mutters, “Had to take a phone call.” He scrubs a hand across his jaw. “Fucking Henley Rose.”
I raise an eyebrow. I haven’t heard that name in ages. “Your former apprentice?”
With a heavy sigh, he shoots me a can-you-believe-it look. “That’s the one.”
Color me surprised. “The one who left you for your competitor in a fit of you’ll-rue-the-day-you-let-me-go anger?”
“Thanks for the reminder of her parting words.”
“Would it be easier if I reminded you that you thought she was smoking hot, and your greatest accomplishment each day was not staring at her every single second she was under the engine or bent over the hood?”
He narrows his eyes. “Nothing ever happened with her,” he says through gritted teeth.
“So what was the call about then?”
He gives me a ten-second overview of the call, and my jaw drops. “Well, that’s going to make for one hell of a tawdry tale.”
He claps my back. “But that’s a story for another time.”
“I look forward to that time then,” I say, since I can’t wait to hear more about the woman who drove my brother crazy once upon a time.
A few minutes later, after Harper bests her cocky brother, she circles by, pointing to a low table in the corner of the room next to some comfy emerald green chairs. “They’ve got Scrabble back here. Want to play?”
Max shakes his head. “Nah.”
But Scrabble is hard for me to resist, and I’m sure Harper knows my weakness. She nudges me. “What about you, Chase? You and Josie are a good combo, right?”
From a few feet away, Jo
sie chimes in, “We’re the best. We beat the Hammer twins every time.”
Harper rubs her hands together. “I can’t wait to see that.” She tips her chin to the game by the chairs. “Show us how good you can be.”
Nick grabs a chair and flips open the board. “Or don’t you think you can beat us, Doctor Brain?”
I have no choice. I must destroy him now. “Those are fighting words, Nick. Prepare to die on the Scrabble board. A slow, painful death wrought by triple word scores and more combinations with J and X than you can even begin to spell.”
Josie cracks up. “Yes, dear brothers. We play to kill.”
And we do.
We win with a final combination of “onerous” and the “ex” that Josie builds on our final turn.
I try to read nothing into it. It’s just a two-letter word.
When everyone else is busy doing couple stuff, she rests a hand on my arm. “I’m glad we can do this, Chase. I’m glad we’re still friends. Are you?”
“Absolutely. I’m stoked we’re friends, too.”
But she’s also something else. She’s an ex, and that’s a whole other thing. I’m learning being friends with an ex isn’t the same as being friends with a woman.
Once you’ve crossed the line into lovers, everything changes. Returning to the way you were before isn’t easy.
It’s onerous.
35
From the pages of Josie’s Recipe Book
* * *
Josie’s Liquid Courage
* * *
Ingredients
Coffee
Cinnamon
Courage
* * *
Brew your best Ethiopian coffee in a coffeemaker.
Pour into your favorite mug. Stir in cinnamon. Add a dollop of cream.
Get ready. You can do anything.
36
That Sunday, Max and I finish the century. Our team comes in third, and we raise a few thousand dollars for veterans. Not too shabby for two dudes who aren’t pro cyclists.
The next morning he leaves for a car show, and on the way to work I finish an audiobook on the role of randomness in our lives (spoiler: chance is everything). At the hospital, I start my shift with a patient who’s suffering from an early case of the flu. We treat her and then move on to a boy with a broken arm. They’re textbook cases, and we take care of them.
Everything feels as normal as it can possibly be. Amazing, how you can think you won’t survive a broken heart, but experience has taught me that you always do. You just keep moving forward. Life goes on, and during my lunch break with David, I grab a turkey sandwich from the cafeteria and get in line to pay. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot an orthopedic surgeon I know as he unfolds a brown lunch bag and takes out a tuna fish sandwich. My first instinct is to text Josie that I’ve spotted someone in the wild eating our least favorite food.
Briefly, I wonder if I can still do that. If I should do that. And the fact that I don’t know the right answer gnaws at my gut.
But then it’s my turn to pay. As I open my wallet to grab some bills, a business card falls out. I grab it from the counter next to the cashier and flip it over. Kevin’s card. Right. He included it when he gave me the cooking class certificate.
Oh shit.
I never thanked him for the class.
When I finish my turkey sandwich, I push away from the table, and tell David I need to go. Out in the corridor, I lob in a call, and Kevin’s receptionist puts me through right away when I say who I am.
“Dr. Summers, how the hell are you? I hope you aren’t calling to tell me you found something suspicious in an old forehead X-ray of mine?”
I laugh and shake my head. “Nope, and call me Chase. Anyway, I wanted to say thank you for the class. That was nice of you to do. We had a great time.”
“Awesome. Did you get engaged, too?”
I stop in my tracks in front of the MRI room. “What? No. Why? I just went with a friend.”
“Ah, that’s cool. I was just messing with you, since Cassidy and I got engaged that night.”
“Because of the class?” I ask, resuming my pace toward the stairwell.
“Yes, and we owe you. That’s one of the reasons we wanted to thank you when we came by a few weeks ago. Your suggestion to take that cooking class was exactly what I needed. Something just clicked for me that night at Enticing Appetizers. I knew Cassidy was the one for me forever. And the next night I proposed.”
As an orderly pushes a med cart down the corridor, I back against the wall, giving him room. “Huh,” I say, taking in Kevin’s news. “So it all became clear?”
“Like crystal.”
I flash back to the night Josie and I attended the quirky class, and how we made our great escape, fleeing from Ivory and then rumbling uptown on the subway, heading home. How, there on the train, Josie rested her head on my shoulder and threaded her hand in mine.
And it was clear.
Then later at our house, she took care of me when I twisted my ankle.
And it was clear.
A part of me knew then. A part of me was damn sure that she felt the same wild and crazy way I did. And I didn’t say enough at the time to hold on to her. I didn’t go out on a limb.
I took the safe option, not the risky, daring, hallelujah one.
Something else is clear right now, too. I haven’t moved on. I’m not over her. And I definitely don’t want to be just friends with Josie.
I want to know I can text her about a goddamn tuna fish sandwich, and I want to send that message as her man. I don’t want to fire it off as her favorite guy friend. I want to tell her about the tuna, then take her out to dinner and wander around the city with her, hand in hand. After that I want to go home with her, fall into bed with her, and love her.
That’s what I wanted a few weeks ago when I moved out. My heart, for her, hasn’t changed.
But what’s crystal clear now is that the bigger risk isn’t losing her as a friend. The bigger risk is losing the woman I’m pretty damn sure is the love of my life.
“Hey Kevin, can you help me with something?” I ask, remembering the corporate name on his business card. The guy’s job might be just the ticket. He’s got to know people, right?
“Anything. Name it.”
I tell him what I need, and he says, “Consider it done.”
When we hang up, I send Josie a text.
* * *
Chase: Hey! Any chance I can stop by the bakery when my shift ends? I have something for you.
* * *
Her response comes a minute later.
* * *
Josie: Yes. I have something for you, too.
There’s someone else I need to talk to first. I text Wyatt and he gives me the address where he’s working today.
The second my shift ends, I hop on my bike in my scrubs and ride across town to Wyatt’s job site, adrenaline fueling me, turning me back into the speed demon I’ve always been. He’s remodeling a kitchen in a brownstone in the West Eighties, and he comes to the door and lets me into the foyer.
“What’s the deal? You said it was mission critical,” he says, a hammer in his hand, his tool belt on.
My breath comes fast and hard from the two-wheeled sprint. “Yes. It’s critical.” I cut to the chase. “I need you to know I’m in love with your sister.”
He scoffs and runs his free hand over his chin. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
My jaw drops. “What? How did you know?”
He clasps my shoulder and laughs. “Dude, everyone knows that. The question now is: Are you finally going to do something about it?”
I can barely contain a grin. “Yes. I’m going to do something about it. Are you okay with it? If you’re not, I’m sorry, but not sorry. I’m going to tell her anyway. Even so, I wanted you to know before I do it.”
He laughs. “Appreciate the heads-up. And when I asked you to look out for her, it was to protect her from jackasses. I’m pretty sure you’
re not one of them. I’m also pretty sure this isn’t the kind of story where the fact that you’re in love with your buddy’s sister holds you back. The hurdle has always been how much the two of you already care about each other,” he says, and squeezes my shoulder harder. “Besides, I approve of you so much it’s ridiculous. Now, stop talking to me, and go see my sister. See if you can become her favorite person in the universe.”
That’s exactly what I want to be for her.
“Thanks, man,” I say, then we hug. But, you know, a manly hug.
I leave. But when I reach Sunshine Bakery, take off my helmet and lock up my bike by a meter, I pat the pockets of my scrubs and curse. What the hell is wrong with me? I’m showing up empty-handed. That’s not how you win a woman’s heart.
I spin around, looking for something. Anything.
When my eyes land on a sea of white and yellow, I’m struck with the memory of giving her daisies. That seems far too long ago. But this time, the gift has another purpose. I buy a bouquet from her friend’s flower shop, and as I reach the door of the bakery, my heart jackhammers.
Excitement trips through me, and a full dose of nervousness races alongside it, too. I don’t know how she feels, what she’ll say, or what she’ll do.
But I know the possibility of an us is worth the risk.
This once felt like a hallelujah scenario.
Now it is the only option.
37
The closed sign rests on the door, but I knock twice. Looking up from her post behind the counter, Josie smiles, wipes her hands on her apron, and heads to the door. Unlocking it, she lets me in. Her hair is swept back in a ponytail, and her lips shine with gloss.
I waste no time.
“Yes,” I say emphatically. Loudly. Confidently.
“Yes what?”
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