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We’ll never be friends.
Not in the capacity of a normal friendship, anyway. I still have deep-seated feelings for that man that are awakened every time he reaches out to me, but I have a wall up.
I refuse to be the one who messages him first because I don’t think I can handle the wait or rejection if he doesn’t reply.
Hudson is bound to move on.
And I don’t want to be caught up from hundreds of miles away by a man who has never taken me out on a date before.
“We’re not friends,” I claim flatly. “That’s not an option for us.”
Mia bobs her head and I can feel her assessment of me and my mental state. I’ve tried my best to keep it dormant, but the more weeks that have passed, the more I settle into this deep regret. I should’ve never made a rash decision to leave but I still stand by everything I’ve done with my mother and Norah.
But Hudson isn’t here, and that was the con I’ve been trying to overcome.
“That makes sense,” Mia replies. “But is it doing more harm than good?”
“I don’t mind talking to him.”
“But does it do more harm than good?” she repeats more firmly. “You moved. And he’s still at home doing his thing. I don’t want you to not be open to possibilities here where you can proceed with your life.”
“I’m not not talking to someone because of him.”
“Have you tried?”
“I don’t want to.”
Mia points at me. “See?”
“No,” I counter with a small scowl. “We just moved here. I don’t need a relationship when I just…” Didn’t have one to begin with?
Mia gives me this sympathetic smile and I wish Rory was here to break up the monotony of this conversation but she’s with Marshall for the next week. I can fully comprehend why she’s conjured up the possibility of my being closed off but I’m busy.
I’m killing it with school, I’m working my ass off at the food truck, I’m smiling my face off to get extra tips, and I’m doing it all.
“Okay. I’m not going to push it anymore.”
“I’d love that,” I vouch with a stare-off of my own that warns Mia to drop it.
My best friend side-eyes me before returning to her snack. “Let’s do dinner tonight. I want pasta and wine.”
“Whatever you want.”
“And I’m buying it off my boss’s credit card.”
Genius.
thirty-eight
. . .
LIV
“Liv, you got the rest of the day off.”
I jerk my head over my shoulder to one of the cooks, Jose, as he stands over the grill in the middle of making a quesadilla. “What?”
“You’re good.” He jerks a thumb over his shoulder to dismiss my shift and I can’t help but not move.
