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It's still there.
I'm sorry.
The two words feel like a dedication.
Like everything.
My stomach is in knots. Half of me is screaming call her. The other half is screaming never speak to her again.
I check the time. Fifteen minutes until my next appointment. Fifteen minutes in my head, turning over my options.
Leighton is sitting at the counter, reading something on her Kindle. Her eyes meet mine. She raises a brow. The same thing she's done every day since my birthday.
Are you really going to sulk when you could call Iris?
You're making yourself miserable. And you're annoying miserable. Not like Ryan or Brendon. They know how to do miserable. You don't.
We've had that conversation way too many times.
Maybe I don't wear miserable as well as Ryan does.
But Ryan is the king of miserable.
Those are big shoes to fill.
I stare back.
She shrugs. "What?"
"You know what."
"I'm reading."
"You gave me a look."
"You're pissy today."
"Go fuck yourself."
"I will. Later." She slides off her stool. "I'm making coffee. You want one?"
"Yeah. Thanks."
"You're welcome." She takes a step toward the Keurig. "You could call her."
"I'm aware."
"You'd be less annoying."
"Where's the fun in that?"
She shrugs suit yourself, but there's concern in her blue-green eyes.
She still wears her eyeliner the same way Iris does. That long line. Hers is purple. Iris's is a dark brown.
It makes me think of her.
The entire shop makes me think of her.
