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“You know, we never really talked about—” I falter, looking down at my hands. “About that night in Miami.”
I haven’t seen or spoken to Sierra since I left her at her hotel door that night. I thought about trying to track her down, but after the way she tore out of that office, it kind of felt like she didn’t want to be found.
“Grayson, what was there to say? We had fun. I don’t think either one of us were looking for something more. End of story,” she says firmly. “Now we’re going to be neighbors, so let’s just forget about what happened that night so that things between us aren’t awkward.”
I nod. She’s right. I wasn’t looking for a relationship. All I wanted was a hook-up. For some reason, Sierra just felt like more than that.
“It will only be awkward if we let it be,” she tells me, a determined look in her eyes. “We can be friends.”
“Friends,” I say, my eyes locked on hers. “Well then, I’m next door if you need anything.”
When Sierra doesn’t say anything more, I turn and walk out her door.
I just got friend-zoned by the one girl I’ve felt a real connection with.
And she’s my new neighbor.
And she’s my best friend’s sister.
Just my luck.
FOUR
DAMN HIM AGAIN.
Sierra
I take the last item from the box, setting it on my desk with a sense of satisfaction. There’s still a ton of unpacking to do at Gran’s house, but at least I’m settled into my new Reed Point office.
I linger on the photo of my parents, lightly brushing my fingers over the glass. My dad’s arm is around my mom’s neck and she’s smiling so big her eyes are almost squeezed shut. She’s wearing the string of pearls he gave her for their anniversary the year before, the strand that she never took off. He’s wearing a T-shirt that reads “I keep all my dad jokes in a dad-a-base.”The photo was taken about three weeks before they died. I’ve lost track of exactly how many days it’s been since we lost them. I guess that’s proof that I’m doing better, but it also makes me feel incredibly guilty.
A knock at the door wrenches me from my memories. “Come in,” I say, just as Jules peeks her head in.
“Hey you! Have time for your new office neighbor?”
“I always have time for you,” I say with a grin. “Besides, you’re related to my boss, so I kinda have to say yes. Come here, give me a hug.”
“I’m so happy you’re here, Sierra,” she says, wrapping me in a tight embrace. “It’s going to be so much fun working together again!”
I met Jules when I started working for The Seaside. Our friendship wasn’t instant—she was the owner’s daughter, after all, and I thought it was probably best not to mix business and friendship. But not long after I relocated to Virginia Beach, we spent a long weekend together at a hotel conference in Nashville and we clicked right away. We didn’t see each other as much as I would have liked, but knowing Jules would be at the typically boring work conferences that took place a few times a year made me start to actually look forward to them. We would work during the day and party at night. Hard. Jules is easy to be around, and she has the energy of a hundred people tucked into her little-bitty body. It’s always a good time when we are together.
“How are Beckett and sweet little Maya girl?” I ask. Jules and her husband Beckett have a 1-year-old daughter who is just about the cutest thing ever. “I can’t wait to squish her! Wait until you see what I brought her from Virginia Beach. You might kill me.”
“It can’t be any worse than the giant, singing shark my dad bought her. Every time I walk in the room, the stupid thing starts shrieking ‘Baby Shark’ and scares the be-Jesus out of me. I hear it in my nightmares, Sierra. In my nightmares.”
“Yikes, that sounds pretty bad.”
“It is, but of course she loves the darn thing.” She shrugs her shoulders. “What’s a mom to do?”
I feel a tiny tug of envy. I’d love a family one day. I have such clear memories of my childhood: eating dinner every night around the kitchen table with my parents and brother, our trip to Disneyland, all the summers we spent camping in a tiny, rickety tent-trailer until my mom finally had enough of the bugs and the dirt. I want all of that again someday.
“So, a quick summary until I have time to really get into the nitty gritty with you,” Jules says, rubbing her palms together like she has something juicy to spill. “First, never get caught talking to Carmen at reception when you’re in a rush. She will talk your ear off about her granddaughter. She sounds like an angel, but do I really need to hear about the kid’s favorite cereal? Love the woman, but it’s impossible to get her to stop. Next… if you want privacy, use the washrooms on the second floor. No one ever uses them. And the best place for lunch around here is The Dockside, the new sandwich shop on the corner. Their lobster rolls are ah-flipping-mazing and they come with homemade potato chips. To die for.”
“Lobster rolls are gross,” I say, sticking out my tongue. “I don’t know how you eat those things.”
“Excuse me? Don’t go shitting all over my favorite sandwich,” she teases, looking at me in mock horror.
Jules flops into the chair across from my desk, narrowing her eyes as I fire up my computer and slip on my glasses.
