“That’s not what I meant.” Her eyes cut through me, sharp and sincere. “You’re not just volunteering. It’s children’s oncology, Caleb. At the same hospital where you...”
She shook her head, breathing deep. “I’d say that’s a dark rabbit hole for anyone, but especially you, and you’re doing it anyway. You quit school when it wasn’t working. You moved here on your own terms. You’re taking control of your life instead of letting everyone else control it for you. That’s goddamn admirable. So shut up and take the compliment.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “You might not find me so admirable if I don’t find a paying job soon.”
“Whatever. You keep replacing my empty wine bottles with full ones. That’s enough for now.”
“That’s all it takes?”
“No. What I really need is for you to convince Zadie to—” She stopped herself. Took a sip of her drink. “Never mind. The wine is superb. Let’s leave it at that.”
She buried her face in her book. If she noticed the way my jaw tightened at Zadie’s name, she didn’t let on. But she’d cracked the door, and we both knew it.
Over the past two weeks, Chantel had been dropping hints with the subtlety of a sledgehammer. She did it when we were alone and when Zadie was around. She didn’t discriminate. And none of it had changed a thing.
Zadie and I were still playing friends.
Playing. Because that’s exactly what it was. An act. She kept pretending she wasn’t interested, and I kept pretending I was okay with it.
Neither of us was fooling anyone. Least of all each other.
“We should go out tonight,” I said, a restless energy still buzzing under my skin. “I feel like doing something.”
Chantel peered at me over her novel. “I just got off a fourteen-hour rotation. If you think I’m spending tonight doing anything other than this chair, this wine, and this book, you’re out of your mind.”
“But—”
“Not happening. Ask Zadie. She should be getting off work soon.”
“Think she’s up for it?”
“Merde, Caleb. What do I look like, your pimp? Text the woman. The worst she says is no.”
Maybe Chantel was right. Or maybe I was still riding the high of her pep talk and the adrenaline from the board. Either way, I felt ready to take the hit if it came.
Besides, Zadie had only turned me down—what, three times? Wasn’t the third time supposed to be the charm? Or was that the fourth?
I pulled out my phone.
Want to go out tonight?
The text sat unread for long enough that my confidence started to crack. Then her reply popped up.
I’m still at work.
My energy flatlined. But before I could resign myself to an evening of reading romance novels on the couch with Chantel, my phone buzzed again.
But I’m starving. Pick me up at the resort when I’m done?
My pulse kicked as another message came through.
And this isn’t a date.
My fingers flew over the screen.
Whatever you say.
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
