The roughness in Jamie’s voice surprises me. “Absolutely.”
She checks with me first, and I give her a nod.
“What can I get you?”
“How about two dry vodka martinis, extra dirty,” Jamie says.
My heart lurches. “Hey,” I say softly. “That’s my drink.”
“You don’t say.” Jamie gives me a small, bittersweet smile, like maybe this martini is a peace offering after what he said on the boat the other day. And our fight on the hiking trail.
I feel the need to offer up one of my own.
“Um, but you shouldn’t feel the need to get a martini just because I want one,” I say. “You should get whatyouwant to get.”
“I know,” Jamie responds. “But right now, I want what you want.”
Images of exactly what I want flash like a neon sign in my brain, and I blush as Dani returns with our cocktails.
“Thanks,” I say to her. She gives me a little salute before crossing to the other end of the bar.
There’s an awkward silence as Jamie and I take tentative first sips from our martinis, careful not to spill the liquid that Dani has filled right to the rim of the glass. I can’t help wondering what has happened to Genevieve. I haven’t seen hersince the snorkel boat, though that would make sense since I’ve been hiding out all day. Still, my imagination has them fighting later that night. Over me. Over why Jamie leapt off that boat to come after me. Whydidhe jump, really? I’m dying to ask, but I don’t want to somehow tripwire the argument we already had about it. Not when it feels like we’ve reached some kind of fragile truce.
Finally, Jamie breaks the quiet by saying, “I watched some of your social media content for that Flowies brand.”
I choke a little on my cocktail, olive juice going up my nose.
“You did?” It’s not at all what I expected him to say.
He nods. “I was curious after you mentioned them yesterday, so I looked them up. Obviously, I’m not their target demographic, but even I can tell it’s really good.You’rereally good, Sybs.”
I swallow my next sip of martini, vodka and warmth sliding down my throat. “Thank you, Jamie.”
It’s not like I’ve been looking for validation from him. I get that from my boss, from the followers, from my own sense of accomplishment after I nail an edit that goes on to get tons of engagement. But still, it doesn’t hurt to know that Jamie sees that I’m good too. That he might even be proud of me.
“They’re so funny,” he continues. “That one where you’re in an Uber asking the driver to take you to all those different stops in a failed search for a lost tampon? Hilarious. And they’re honest. They don’t feel like an ad, you know? They just feel like… you.”
“That’s the goal,” I say with a shrug. But my heart is pounding, remembering how it feels to be seen by Jamie. Tobe known by him. “I’ve been there for almost a year—kind of a record for me.” I give an embarrassed little laugh. “But, um, I feel like I’ve gotten into a groove with the content creation. I really love the work.”
“Good for you, Sybs.” Jamie reaches a fist over to lightly bump my knee. Then he sighs down into his martini glass. “Honestly, I’m kind of jealous.”
“You should be.” I nod, adopting an expression of mock solemnity. It’s a ridiculous notion, Jamie being jealous of my job given the success he’s had in his own, but I play along anyway. “Everyone knows that the hallmark of a high-powered career is free underwear from your employer,” I say. “But last I heard, The Kauffman Group was still just doing those complimentary travel mugs.Lame.”
“Actually, we’ve moved on to tote bags.”
“Oh!” I throw a hand to my heart. “I had no idea. Well, that’s just one step away from Kauffman Group–branded portable chargers, so sounds like things are looking up!”
Jamie smiles, a soft one that crinkles the corners of his eyes. For a moment, I just smile back, wondering how, after everything, we came to be here, in this moment, joking together on an island in the middle of the Pacific.
“Seriously, though,” Jamie says, leaning his forearms on the bar. “I think it’s really awesome that you found a role where you can shine. Be yourself. Do things your way.” He starts tearing at his cocktail napkin. “I don’t get to do a lot of that these days.” As quickly as it came, his smile has faded.
“Your dad?” I ask tentatively. I know how complicated his working relationship with his father is.
“He just…” Jamie sighs, running a hand through his hair. “He likes things done how he likes them done. He never wants to try anything new.”
“Sounds like someone else I know,” I say a little coolly. ‘Structure and order and certainty…’”
Jamie frowns and starts to twist a little on his barstool, turning to face the ocean—and away from me. “Fair enough.”
