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He’s like a vault. I don’t know if this is truly how he is and people always have to extract information from him, or if he’s just being this way with me. Does he text me back right away? Yes, but is that because he wants to talk to me or because he’s being polite?
“This sounds stupid. We are adults. If you want to text the guy, text him. There’s nothing wrong with him knowing you’re interested.”
This is easy for her to say. She hasn’t had to endure the freeze-out like I have, and I’m just now slowly getting back what we used to have before I ruined it.
“I just don’t want to seem too interested. He’s barely started talking to me again. I can’t tell if he wants to be friends or is just being cordial to me.” I shove my phone into the side pocket on my workout pants and then pull my hat lower to cover my ears. It may be gorgeous outside, but the wind whipping through still has some bite.
“Emma, the man kissed you on New Year’s Eve like he was dying of thirst and then asked you to sleep with him in his bed, in his space. I’m pretty sure y’all are friends again.”
“He’s just been so standoffish. I don’t want to be that girl.”
We all know that girl: too eager, too in your business, too much; borderline stage five clinger and stalkerish.
“So don’t be,” she says, as if it’s just that simple.
“What would you do?”
I look over at her, and a grin slowly rises on her face.
“Funny.” She taps her chin. “If only there were someone you could indirectly ask who knows him so well.”
I hear what she’s saying and the idea has crossed my mind before, but back to my earlier point: stalkerish.
“Do you think that’s crossing a line? Snooping around to find out what he’s up to?” Another gust of wind rushes around us. This time it brings with it the faint scent of coffee and food from somewhere, and my stomach growls. Although I’m excited to try this class, I could be equally as excited to go out for breakfast.
“You’re way overthinking this.” She pulls her phone from her pocket and shakes it at me. I want to call her, I do, but the expressionCuriosity killed the catis out there for a reason.
Swallowing down my fear, I let the excitement of possibly learning something I don’t know about him win out. “Okay. Let’s call her.”
Cora’s hazel eyes light up as her smile takes over her face. She looks down at her phone, taps it twice, and then holds it out. On the third ring, Avery answers, and for no reason at all, my stomach climbs into my throat.
“Morning,” she says. I can see her, but I’m pretty sure she can’t see me. “Why are you up and outside so early?”
Cora cuts me a glare and tells her, “We are on our way to a workout class and thought we’d call you.”
Avery has an apron wrapped around her waist, and there are spots of flour on her shirt.
“We? A workout class?” Her brows rise in question.
“Yep, boxing. Emma here”—Cora flashes the phone so Avery can see me and then puts it back on her—“got the bright idea to schedule us a class at the crack of dawn.”
Avery laughs while I mumble, “You didn’t have to come.”
Over New Year’s, when I was at Clay’s house, he was talking about how people have their thing. Avery’s things are baking and running, Ash’s thing is kayaking, Clay’s things are snowboarding and—as I have to believe after seeing the details of his house—projects with his hands, and I got to thinking about what my thing is. I don’t think I have one, so I made a list of things to try as part of my New Year’s resolution.
“Why are you laughing?” I ask her, watching as she props her phone up against something and goes about kneading a ball of dough.
“Are you two planning on boxing each other? Because I’d buy tickets to watch this.”
Cora is five foot ten and I am five foot two, so I can see why she would think this would be funny.
“No, it’s not like that. It’s a fitness class. We do boxing exercises with a bag and then a few other exercises around the gym. We rotate through interval training. I thought it would be different and fun.”
“Hiiigh interval training,” Cora chimes in, and Avery laughs again.
“Are y’all making fun of me?” I ask, glaring at the two of them as I tuck a loose piece of hair under my hat.
“Nope. It’s just that your idea of exercise is walking and sometimes a little stretching.”
