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“You think I don’t know?” Georgie pulls a face. “When I was seein’ that guy from the book shop, I thought Betty from the cake shop was gonna scratch my eyes out. Apparently, she’d had her eye on him for months, so she got first dibs. Way I see it, you snooze, you lose.”
I take a sip of my coffee. It’s bitter and earthy. I skipped breakfast, knowing there was a pain-au-chocolat here with my name on it, but my empty stomach doesn’t seem to realize it’s getting fed.
“I’m not ready,” I say simply, thinking of Rowan. If there was a guy to pique my interest, he’s it, with his quirky sneakers and his comfortable manner and his interesting, not so straightforward good looks. He also loves Grace, and she’s my dealbreaker, so there’s that.
Georgie leans closer, narrowing her eyes as she stares into mine. “Where are the bodies, Summer?”
“Huh?”
“The bodies. Where you hidin’ them? There’s somethin’ you ain’t tellin’ me. You’re all shifty, pickin’ at your pain-au-chocolat like a precious little bird instead of swallowin’ it down like you can’t get it in your mouth fast enough, the way you usually do. Pelican-style, as I like to call it.” Georgie taps her nose. “You can’t hide the bodies from me. I can scent ‘em out and dig ‘em up if you don’t give up the location with your own two lips.”
I sigh and stretch back, away from my mug of coffee and the pastry that, despite being heavenly, I can’t bring myself to eat. Not when the guilt is already eatingme, gnawing away at my insides. It doesn’t make any sense, though; I speak to guys at the gallery all the time, putting on some charm to sell a painting they’re on the brink of buying, and I’ve never felt guilty. Dirty, on occasion, but never shame like this.
I shake my head. “It’s nothing. Still hungover, probably. After twenty-five, I swear you don’t bounce back like you used to.”
“After twenty-five of anythin’, you ain’t bouncin’ back.” Georgie flashes me a grin, letting the subject drop. Or, so I think, but as she turns to clean out the milk foamer and the used espresso glasses, she tosses one last, gutting remark back at me. “You can miss him with all your heart, Summer, but him dyin’ doesn’t mean you have to hang up your livin’ shoes.”
It isn’t meant unkindly—nothing Georgie says ever is—but that doesn’t make it sting any less. Nor is it breaking news. I know I can’t wallow forever, and I don’t think I want to be alone forever, but the pain is still too raw and I’m worried that if I try to rip the Band-Aid off too fast, I’ll do more harm than good. Then again, my grandma never believed in Band-Aids—she said you have to let a wound breathe or it won’t heal, but the near-fatal blow of my grief is suffocating. How do I let that kind of loss breathe? Isn’t it enough to just survive it?
“Well, that was as sympathetic of me as a slap to the face with a wet fish.” Georgie turns and offers an apologetic smile. “I know we haven’t been friends long, Summer, but I knew you were gonna be one of the good ones the very second you stepped in here, all shy and wide-eyed. So, let me make it real easy and dip that toe in the water for you. You and me are goin’ out this Friday.”
I groan into my coffee. “Last time we went out on a Friday, I had to call in sick on the Mondayandthe Tuesday.”
“And did it help?” She puffs her chest proudly, the three, layered necklaces she always wears glinting at me like a warning, as if to say, don’t you dare refuse and don’t tell me no lies, either.
I manage a smile. “It might’ve helped more if I could remember anything other than haunting flashbacks.”
“You were havin’ the time of your life, and so was I!” Georgie cheers, waving a dismissive hand. “Andyou talked your way out of a ticket for someone else’s car, so you were surely winnin’ that night. Anyway, I ain’t gonna hear a ‘no’ from you, even if I have to break down your door and drag you out in your jim-jams. It’s happenin’.”
I put up my hands in mock-defeat. “I know when I’ve been beaten. Friday night, you and me, but don’t expect me to start swooning over guys after I’ve had a drink or two. My heart, unfortunately, isn’t that fickle.”
Isn’t it?Rowan’s smile and inviting eyes flare in my head. Since we parted ways on Saturday night—him retreating to the guest room while I set up camp on Grace’s floor—he’s been sneaking back into my mind, like a high-school boyfriend through a bedroom window. I barely slept on Saturday night, terrified of nightmares and daydreams in equal measure. I didn’t sleep much last night, either, but that was mostly due to a squad of motorheads deciding to roar up and down the street at all hours.
“You’re buryin’ those bodies again,” Georgie says, raising a knowing eyebrow. “But I’m a patient girl. I’ll wait ‘til you’re ready to spill the coffee.”
The bell above the door rings, and I’m ripped through a vortex of memory to the entrance of the Climbing Rose. It reminds me that a call to Ms. T is long overdue. She’s already suspicious of the “chirpy bird at that Whistle place, who ought to be doin’ less talkin’ and more servin’ coffee,” thinking I’ve replaced her.
“Must be my lucky day.Twocustomers before noon!” Georgie flashes me a wink and goes to take her place by the register, leaning on her forearm like a fifties soda-shop worker. She’s just missing the upside-down boat hat and the striped apron.
I fix my attention on the pain-au-chocolat. It was still warm when I had my first taste, but the dark chocolate inside has hardened. Not that I mind; it’s delicious.
So, when a deep, throaty voice calls my name, I glance up in confusion with a mouthful of pastry, the flakes tumbling onto my chin, my gray cardigan, my cream blouse. If the butter has time to seep into the silk, I might as well toss it out, or I’ll forever be looking at the little mark that doesn’t fade, no matter how many times it goes in the laundry. But before I can get too carried away, panicking about stains, my heart jolts in fright at the sight of the speaker.
“I thought that was you,” Rowan says, smiling shyly.
Behind the counter, Georgie looks like she’s going to explode if she doesn’t get the lowdown immediately. Her lips resist curving up into a knowing smile, while her intense brown eyes, the color of a fresh cup of pure, Colombian coffee, narrow at me with an expression that says,Ha! I knew you were keepin’ bodies from me.But she’s a professional, and only I can see the excitement jittering through all 5’10” of her. Of course, she’ll wait until he’s gone, probably try and persuade him to make his order to-go, and when he walks out, all hell will break loose.
Rowan skirts around the counter to where I’m sitting and dips his head to graze a kiss across the apple of my cheek. It’s too familiar, but… not completely unwelcome. Hell, if we were in Europe, it’d likely be a rude greeting: just one kiss on the cheek.
“Uh… hi,” is all I can manage, as a numbness spreads down from my cheek, locking my jaw.
Georgie’s eyes are so wide they could replace the mismatched saucers she uses for pastries. They’re supposed to be decorativeandfunctional, though I’ve never seen her reach for any of the dusty ones in the corners.
“Sorry, don’t know why I did that.” He steps back like my skin gave him an electric shock, putting his fingertips to his lips as if he can wipe away what he just did. “Not surprisingly, I’m terrible with second impressions. Or are we on our third? The third is where I really start to shine, or is it the fourth? I can’t remember. You’ll have to be the judge.”
It sounds like he’s flirting and trying to cover his tracks at the same time. My brain is on fire, struggling to cope with the sudden rush of questions, bewilderment, and conflicting feelings. On the one hand, he’s Lyndsey’s brother—he’s part of her family and, by extension, mine, so it’s not so weird that he kissed me on the cheek, is it? He seems to think it’s weird. Maybe, that’s why he’smakingit weird. All the while, my cheek is an inferno, and the flush of it is rising. I probably look like a boiled crawfish.
“What are you doing here?” It comes off like an accusation. Perhaps, it is.
