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be here yet?”
“Not yet. We’re still a few weeks away, so he hasn’t told me. You know how he is.” I shrug my shoulders. If anyone knows Hardin, it’s her.
“You’re sure this is okay, right? Because you know if you aren’t, I can have him stay at a hotel or something,” I offer.
I would never want her to be uncomfortable in her own apartment. Hardin would fight me over this, but I don’t care.
She forces a smile. “No, no. It’s fine. This is your place.”
“And yours,” I remind her.
I put the first cup of espresso into the freezer for Tessa. She’s doing this thing lately where she only drinks cold coffee. My suspicion is that even something as simple as a warm cup of coffee reminds her of that boy.
“I’m going to pick up extra shifts at Lookout. I’m almost done with training anyway. They’re letting me do brunch and dinner today.”
My chest aches for my friend, and for once, my loneliness doesn’t seem so bad compared to the alternative of her shattered heart.
“If you change your mind—”
“I won’t. I’m fine. It’s been—what?” She shrugs. “Four months
or something?”
She’s lying through her teeth, but nothing good is going to come from me calling her out on it. Sometimes you have to let people feel what they need to feel. Hide what they think they need to hide and process it however they do.
The espresso burns my throat. It’s thick and strong, and suddenly I have more energy than I did two seconds ago. Yes, I’m aware that it’s a mental thing, and no, I don’t care. I throw the little cup into the sink and grab my sweatshirt from the back of the chair. My running shoes are by the door, lined up in a straight row with the other shoes . . . Tessa’s doing.
I slip them on and head out.
