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She taps her index finger to her chin. “Define ‘good.’”
Brant gives her a gentle nudge with his elbow, chuckling under his breath. “C’mon, Neville.”
She giggles, ramming him right back with double the force.
I blink.
“Ack, sorry,” she blurts out, skipping forward and extending her hand. “I’m Sydney. Brant’s favorite coworker.”
“My favorite pain in the ass,” he corrects in jest.
Chewing on my cheek, I return the handshake and force a smile. My eyes skip between them as a stab of jealousy punctures me. Brant looks so happy right now.
But it’s not me who’s putting that smile on his face or adding that bounce to his step. He’s not laughing over a joke I told, or partaking in affectionate banter with me.
And I have no idea why that stings.
You’re being ridiculous, June. You should be happy that he’s happy. Period.
Clearing the senseless emotion from my throat, I wring my hands together and fidget in place. “Well, I’m ready when you are,” I say to Brant, sending him another tiny smile that took far too much effort to produce. Brant’s Highlander is in the shop until Monday, after the alternator died, so I offered to be his chauffeur for the weekend.
He studies me for a moment, the sienna flecks in his eyes darkening to umber, as if he can sense something off about me. “Yeah, I’m good.”
Sydney pipes in, waving her arms back and forth. “I’m going to take off, too. I have a date with a riveting book of smut and my vibr—” She wheezes a little, catching herself. “Vibrant imagination.”
Brant laughs.
And I can’t help it. I laugh, too.
“Have fun with that,” I chuckle, pacing backward. “It was nice meeting you.”
“Likewise.” She waves us off with a toothy grin, then wanders toward the parking lot.
Brant’s smile lingers as he pivots to face me, his hair looking darker than ever. Almost black. But his eyes have a light I wasn’t sure I’d ever see again.
Tipping my head to my car parked behind me, I gesture to it. “Ready?”
He nods, and we both pile into the dated sedan that Mom and Dad bought for me for my nineteenth birthday. The mileage is high, and it smells like Sharpies, but I’m grateful for my own set of wheels—mostly because I don’t have anywhere close to the funds I’d need to purchase one on my own. It’s embarrassing, really, but my dreams of becoming a Broadway dancer shriveled up and died last year, and leaving to go off to college was too painful to even consider.
So I enrolled in a few community college courses to keep myself busy until I fully decide what I want to do with my life, while waiting tables four days a week at Barnaby’s diner.
Truly pathetic.
I’ve considered picking up more shifts at the diner and moving in with Genevieve, who also decided to stay local and share a place with her stepbrother right after high school. But he’s entering the military, so she asked me if I’d be interested in taking his place and splitting the rent.
I am. I really am.
But my paychecks are going entirely to car insurance, gas, and my cell phone bill, and I have pennies left to spare.
Sighing, I close the car door and sit quietly for a minute, fiddling with my keys. A cloud of Ivory soap and spearmint fills the small space, causing me to gnaw at my lip as I lift my gaze to Brant. He’s already looking at me. Probably wondering why I seem so glum after spending a fun, exciting day at the beach with him just two days ago.
Before he can interrogate me, I twist a piece of loose hair around my finger and blurt out, “You should go out with her.”
He frowns, his neck craning back slightly with bewilderment. “What? Who?”
“Your coworker. Sydney.”
I’m not sure why I say it.
