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CHAPTER27
AUTUMN
I’m backin the hustle and bustle of New York City, but I’m the one plodding along, barely keeping up with the crowd. The noise of the traffic, the city, and the people is both familiar and alien after the month in Paris, where things are quieter and slower.
I stop and grab a hot dog from a street vendor. It’s not what I should eat, and definitely not a good breakfast option, but the smell attracts me, and given that I haven’t eaten much of anything in the last few days since arriving back in the States, I’m going to eat while I can force something down.
Standing there as I eat a few bites, I see a homeless man in the doorway of a deserted store. Without thinking, I buy another hot dog and cross the street. “Excuse me, are you hungry? You want a hot dog?” I ask the man.
“Huh?” he mutters, still half asleep. But when he sees what I’m holding out, his eyes pop open and he reaches out instantly. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”
He’s talking around a huge bite, and I wave as I continue on. My destination is the same as every morning in New York. The coffee shop. Inside, the smell of roasting beans hits me and I take a large inhale of the comforting aroma.
“Oh, my God! Autumn!” Claire shouts, leaving her post behind the counter to come around and hug me fiercely. A few customers grumble, but she ignores them in New York style—by flashing them a middle finger. “How are you doing? How was Paris? Did you win?”
Her bullet-quick questions slam into me at the same time she does. “Uh, okay. And no.” I huff out a wry laugh at the idea of my winning. “I kinda went out in a blaze of not-so-much-glory.”
Her usually grim expression turns sour. “What do you mean?”
She holds me out at arm’s length, scanning me with narrow-eyed calculation. I look back into her black-rimmed eyes, noting that she has white dots framing the cat-eye liner. She’s wearing a red tank top, black denim shorts, a flannel shirt tied around her waist, Dr. Martens boots laced up to her knees, and thigh-high red fishnets. She also has plastic horns clipped in her black hair.
Despite her appearance compared to mine, she asks me, “Why do you look like you took a trip to hell, toured the fire pits, and came back a hollow-eyed shell?”
“Gee, thanks,” I answer dryly. But I know she’s right. I feel empty—a cavernous void left where my heart used to reside. “I, uh, met someone there. It didn’t end well.”
Claire calls over her shoulder, “Tommy, I’m taking ten!”
“What? We’re in the middle of a rush,” Tommy answers. Claire whirls around, a dark look on her face, and Tommy pales. “Sure, yeah. No worries.”
She cuts in front of the line, completely ignoring the dirty looks the customers give her as she reaches around the counter to grab two cookies from the case. She offers me one and guides me to a table in the corner. There’s a guy sitting there already, but with one look from Claire, he gets up to leave. “See you tomorrow, Claire.”
“Sure thing, Logan,” she says easily. We sit and then she orders, “Spill it. Give me all the filthy tea.”
Over the next fifteen minutes, I tell her the rough and dirty about Paris, focusing mostly on Simon.
“And then,” I tell her as I wipe away a tear with a cheap paper napkin, “she kissed him. Like, not that whole European kissy-kissy, air-kiss type either, but... you know.”
“Fuck. Men suck, ya know?”
I eat my last bite of cookie. “After the show, I went a bit psycho bitch. I yelled at her, got in his face, and learned that this other model was his ex. She conspired with one of the other designers whom I thought was a friend to sabotage me. That was bad enough, but then his aunt, the designer I went there to work with, came in to gloat and I basically read her the riot act. And... well, I was on the first flight I could book back to New York.”
“Good!” Claire says with a victorious point my way. “Look, I can see your thoughts written all over your face, and you’re completely wrong. You’re a strong, badass bitch who protected herself and did the right damn thing. Now, as for this dickface you were catching feelings for? Karma’s a bitch, baby. He’ll get his.”
I laugh, but it’s flat and hurts my stomach. Still, talking with Claire helps me get to the office, even if I am a little late. But everything feels dreary, especially with Nora being a happy, bouncy ball of pregnancy hormones.
“Oh, thank you!” she says gleefully when I hand her the decaf coffee. “I know it’s just a mental thing, but I miss these so much when they’re not part of my morning! And don’t tell Clay, but wherever he was going, or whatever he was ordering, was nothing compared to this.” Clasping her cup in both hands, Nora looks at it affectionately.
“Glad I could do something right.”
“You do lots of things right. That’s why I’m so glad to have you back. Wish it were under better circumstances, but you can’t say I didn’t warn you.”
We talked over the weekend so she’d know to expect me back at the office, and I spilled my guts to her more fully than I did with Claire. Nora knows everything.
“You did. I’m sorry I didn’t listen,” I admit.
“I’m not. It sucks, I know it does, but what’s that saying... it’s better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all?”
“Right now, I disagree vehemently with that and would gladly tear Tennyson a new one for making that a thing.”
