“No, it’s not. But man, I’ve never been happier than I am with Alex. Even with the hard stuff, even with her being in California right now, even knowing we might not work out in the end – I wouldn’t trade what we have for anything.” His eyes meet mine. “And I almost missed out on all of it because I was too scared to try.”
“That’s different,” I protest. “You and Alex... you’re normal. You know how to?—”
“To what? Love properly?” He snorts. “Dude, nobody knows what they’re doing. We’re all just trying our best not to fuck it up too badly. The difference is some of us actually try.”
I make a noise, between a grunt and a scoff. I want to defend myself, but I can’t. I’ve never tried. Never let myself.
“Maybe you’re right,” he continues softly. “Maybe you can’t love like normal people. But from what I’ve seen of ‘normal’ people? Most of them suck at it too.” He stands, heading for the door. “At least, you care enough to be afraid of doing it wrong. And for what it’s worth? The way Tara looks at you? I think she’d rather have you try and maybe mess up than never try at all.”
He leaves me with that, and I stare at my now cold coffee. I think I’d have rather run into Ethan.
15
TARA
If I thought Alfie was quiet before, it’s nothing compared to the silence radiating off him now as we approach L’Étoile. The restaurant practically screams money, with its limestone exterior and an actual doorman. I resist the urge to check my reflection again in the polished brass fixtures, though I know my white and gold dress looks damn good.
The Spencers had arrived in Mountain Springs that morning.
“Your hands are shaking,” Alfie murmurs.
“What? No, they’re—” I look down. Oh. “Maybe a little.”
He takes my hand, and I’m about to make a joke about method acting when I realize his fingers are cold. “Hey”—I squeeze them—“we’ve got this.”
The maître d’ leads us through the main dining room, all crystal and candlelight and the kind of wealth that doesn’t need to announce itself. The private dining room is already half full with Alfie’s extended family—theSpencers, the Bollingdons, and what seems like half of Mountain Springs’ elite.
“Darling!” Mrs. Spencer’s voice carries perfectly, like she’s had lessons in how to project warmth without volume. She rises gracefully, dark hair and sharp features so similar to Alfie’s.
“Mother.” Alfie’s fingers tighten on mine as his brother Drake approaches, trailing a woman who looks like she stepped out of a country club catalogue.
“Little brother,” Drake’s voice booms. “Glad you could make it. Everyone’s so eager to meet your girlfriend.”
The way he says ‘girlfriend’ makes it clear exactly what he thinks of me. His wife Lisa’s eyes linger over my dress before she offers the fakest smile I’ve ever seen.
The interrogation starts immediately. Mrs. Spencer gestures me to a seat beside her while Drake whisks Alfie away to talk “business.” I’m suddenly surrounded by perfectly coiffed women who probably use “summer in the Hamptons” as a verb.
“So, tell us,” Lisa practically purrs, “where exactly did you and Alfie meet? He’s been somysteriousabout the whole thing.”
Before I can speak, Marcie Bollingdon cuts in. “Oh, leave her be, Lisa. Not everything needs to be an interrogation.”
I try not to stare, but it’s hard. Marcie is nothing like I expected—runway model elegant with kind eyes that throw me completely off balance. This would be so much easier if she were awful.
“We met through my brother,” I say, sticking to the truth. “He’s Alfie’s roommate.”
“How quaint.” Lisa’s smile shows too many teeth. “And what does your family do?”
My eyes drift to Alfie across the room. He’s standing with suited men, expression glazed over as Drake holds court. “They’re professors.”
“Academics!” Lisa’s voice carries just enough to draw attention.
“How... enriching. Tenure, I assume?” Alfie’s mother adds.
I nod, watching Alfie knock back his whiskey. His shoulders are so tense they’re practically touching his ears.
“And you, dear?”
“Oh, I work in the bar in town. Luzia? It’s pretty fancy.”
