“Seriously. That has to make it hard to date.”
“Maybe he’s married?”
“Was there a ring?”
“No.”
Pia laughed. “So you noticed?”
“Perhaps,” I admitted with another bite. “But like I said, problem or no problem, I’m not interested.”
“In a relationship. But maybe a little tourist-action is just what you need to get back on the saddle.”
“Thanks, but no thanks.”
“So the bracelet?” Pia circled back around.
I did really enjoy making jewelry. And painting. And even pottery. My mother had been shocked I went the science route in college. She’d been convinced I would do something with art, but I had enough starving artist friends to know how viable that was as a career. When I did decide on becoming a pharmacist, both of my parents were overjoyed.
“Fine,” I said. “Get her number.”
“Awesome. She’ll be thrilled. I also think it’ll be good for you.”
I knew exactly what Pia meant. Since the breakup, I hadn’t picked up a paintbrush, or even entertained going into my craft studio which had been converted from the second bedroom in my house.
“Maybe,” I said noncommittally. “I’m sure hanging out in a pharmacy isn’t on your Saturday night to-do list. What’s next?”
“I’m meeting Mason at O’Malley’s. You should come. Are you done at nine?”
“Yeah. Although I don’t understand why we stay open so late this time of the year. Before you, I think the last customer came in an hour and a half ago.”
“Because the owner is a dipshit.”
“True.”
“Come on,” she urged. “When was the last time you went out?”
“I go out plenty,” I argued.
“Not to dinner. I mean, out out?”
“It’s been a while,” I admitted. “But I’m not dressed and?—”
“Delaney.” Pia’s tone scared me.
“We’ll see,” I said, not willing to commit. I’d held up pretty well all day, but pretending I was okay, and totally ready to move on from Makis, had taken its toll. I also kinda wanted to go home, take a tub and then crawl into bed.
“Mmm hmm.” Pia gave me the stink eye, knowing me too well. “I’m not letting you off the hook. It’s time to rejoin the world of the living.”
The pharmacy door opened. “Thanks for dinner,” I said, moving my jambalaya to the back room. “I’ll text you.”
“You better,” Pia warned, waving. “Talk to you later.”
“Thanks again,” I called, shoving dinner to the side and heading back to the counter.
“Can I help you?” I asked the stranger.
6
