Page 219 of A Taste of Vanilla

“He’s back at the bar.”

“Did he give you a speech?”

“Yeah.”

She winces. “Dry or threatening?”

“Both.”

“That means he likes you.”

“I don’t think so.”

“If he didn’t, he’d be polite.”

Halston steps further into the kitchen and studies my face. “What did he say?”

I decide to start being honest. Setting the towel down, I cross my arms. “He said you’re not a layover.”

She goes still. “Oh.”

“I told him I know.”

“Do you?”

The question sits between us in silence.

I look at her. At the woman who takes up rooms. The woman who loves an old squirrel and gave him a name. A woman who stood behind sweetness in defiance while her hands shook. The woman who touched parts of my skin that I hide and got angry at the people who taught me to do it.

I want to say yes.

A full, clean yes.

A better man would have said it already.

Instead, I give her the truth.

“I’m trying to.”

Her lips tilt downward just a touch.

She steps closer, grabbing the twisted towel out of my hand and smoothing it between her hands. “Oliver scares people by caringatthem.”

I wince. “It’s effective.”

“He can be horrible.”

“Yeah.”

“He once drove to Towson at midnight because I was crying in a grocery store parking lot.”

I look at her, watching as her eyes drop while she drags her fingers down the towel.

“I had seen Grant with another woman. Notthatwoman. This was before. I believed him when he said I misunderstood it.” Her mouth twists. “I didn’t call Marley because I knew she would go nuclear. I called Oliver because I thought he would tell me I was being dramatic.”

“Did he?”

“No. He showed up with fries and said, ‘You can be dramatic in my truck,’ and then drove me around until I stopped crying.”