Page 90 of A Taste of Vanilla

“Did you change your mind?”

I lower my hands. “No,” I say, my voice small.

Her face morphs, her eyes combing over me a little more seriously.

I look at the counter. The stainless steel reflects the overhead lights as I rest my arms against it.

“I wanted to,” I admit.

“Have sex?”

“Choose something.”

She goes quiet.

“I know that sounds stupid.”

She shakes her head. “It doesn’t. You need to stop thinking everything you do is stupid.”

“It does, though. He had such a severe face.”

“I don’t think I do.”

“You tend to like people who look a bit emotionally constipated.”

“Grant didn’t look emotionally constipated.”

“Grant looked like he used summer as a verb.”

I consider that before rolling my eyes.

Her eyes soften. “Did the stranger make you feel better?”

“No.”

She freezes. “Unsafe?” Her eyes narrow.

“No.”

“Regretful?”

I eye the coffee next to me.

The unsigned note lying near the register.

“No, and I think that’s the problem.”

She shakes her head. “That’s not a problem.”

“It feels like one.”

She bites at her lip. “Do you think that because you assume you’re supposed to perform a certain amount of devastation before you’re allowed to actually want anything?”

I frown, loving how wise my friend is on one hand and hating it on the other. I choose to allow her to know she’s right by ignoring it.

Marley’s gaze slides to the mug. “That’s not your coffee.”

I freeze.