AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Uh-huh.” Alba’s lips purse as she squints at the menu.
Does she use reading glasses for her work? Does she still have a well-meaning vegetarian phase every six months, then fall off the wagon at the first cook-out? God, what have I missed? I want to know everything.
“I wouldn’t think you’d like a place like this.” Alba’s eyes slide off the menu to watch me.
“This diner?”
“This town. Sweet Cherry Cove. It’s so…”
Yeah. It’s a little shabby, I’ll give her that, and it’s in some kind of time warp. The people who sit outside the coffee shops at the metal tables—they chat and laugh together, no phones in sight. And there’s an honest-to-god cobbler’s shop on the town square corner. I’ve been here for months, and I haven’t stepped foot in there yet. Can you cobble sneakers?
But there’s something special about this place, too. I knew as soon as I washed up here, exhausted and lonely from another tour, just desperate to get away from the screaming crowds and flashing cameras. I stepped foot in Sweet Cherry Cove, hood already up, sunglasses on, but… no one recognized me. Or maybe they did, and just didn’t give a shit.
Either works for me. I haven’t felt this normal in years. I can even busk here, playing guitar in the town square, and the only real audience are the seagulls trying to peck my case. I’ve written a whole new album while I’ve been here, figuring out the melodies in public, completely unbothered.
It’s heaven on earth, shabby or not. I want to stay.
And I want Alba here with me. An ache spreads through my gut, but I busy myself with the menu. Chocolate milkshake? Or strawberry?
“Want to mix and match?” Though she’s speaking over the din of conversation and the retro music playing through the wall speakers, Alba sounds shy. Why? Of course I want to mix and match. This is our thing. “I was thinking loaded fries…”
“Then I’ll get a burger. We’ll cut it in half.”
Alba beams. The menu shakes in my hand. I clear my throat and frown through the window at the beach outside.
I can do this. I can go halves with the girl who just broke my heart—who thought my proposal was some kind of joke—and I can make polite chit chat then send her on her way.
And I’ll wait until Alba is safely back on the other side of the country, then I really will have a meltdown. In peace.
Three
Alba
Dalton is so different than the teenage boy who left me to seek his fortune. He was always tall, but he used to be stretched out and gangly. Now his shoulders are broad, and his jaw is strong. He looks strong all over, really. Strong and solemn in those designer jeans and plain white t-shirt.
His haircut is better. And there’s a hardness behind his eyes that was never there before—like the world has disappointed him already, over and over, and whatever is coming, he’s seen it all before.
But beneath the polish and the cynicism… he’s still my Dalton. He still gives me the juiciest half of the burger, and leaves me the best fries. He still dabs the corner of his mouth with a napkinexactlythe way I remember.
I can’t believe we’re both here. Together for the first time in eight years.
I was so sure he’d forgotten all about me, letters or no. Figured that after a while he was writing to an imaginary pen pal, not a real life girl.
And that wedding invitation… I can’t make sense of it. Dalton doesn’tseemlike he’s going through a nervous breakdown—he’s stone cold sober, and even though this diner serves beer, he ordered a chocolate milkshake. There’s no reality TV crew either. So what gives?
God, I’d exchange a kidney if it meant I could read all those unopened letters in my closet right now. Maybe the answer is in there, but I never read it.
The thought of Dalton’s letters stuffed in that box, shoved out of sight and out of mind, makes my stomach lurch. Too much fast food? Or guilt?
I’ve been bitter for so long, focusing on how Dalton let me down and left me behind. But maybe I let him down too. Maybe I owed him more than I gave.
I mean… I ghosted his mail. Just stopped opening it, without even telling him so. Let it pile up in my closet foryears, with never so much as a ‘Return to sender’.
I just… couldn’t face it. I’m a mean little coward.
But also—Dalton left me. He never texted or called, and it’s not like my number changed. And it hurt so freaking badly, longing for him like that and seeing all those gossip blogs trying to figure out which starlet he was really dating. Each new rumor scorched my insides to ash. How could I tell him that? We were always best friends, that’s all. I had no claim.
“You’re strangling that napkin.” Dalton’s voice makes me jump, and I glance down at my hands. Yep, I’m twisting this paper napkin into a tiny rope. “What’s on your mind, Hernandez?”
