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“Audrey was offered a job in London. She’s talking about going out in January, right after the holidays. She’d stay for a few months, make sure it’s a good fit, and then I’d join her.”
My brow furrows with the effort to hold back what I’d really like to say, which iswhy the fuck would you move to London for her? You two are miserable together. I bet you haven’t gotten laid in a year.
“What about your job? And you just bought the beach house.”
He looks away. “We’d rent the houses for a year and see how things go, I guess. And it would be pretty easy to find work there.”
“Bro,” Liam groans. “I’m going to be blunt: if you’re not happy together here, what makes you think you’d be happy togetherthere?”
There’s the briefest clench of Harrison’s jaw as he swallows down what he really thinks. He’s a loyal guy—no matter how miserable she makes him, he’s not going to say a word against her.
“She moved out here for me even though she hates California. She deserves to feel like she’shomewhen we start a family.”
I’m about to point out that Audrey isn’t from London, so that’s not home either, but I get distracted by the thought of Kate, back at my place, sleeping on a mattress on the floor. That can’t feel much like home either.
“You really think she’s going to be ready to start a family if she’s just changed jobs?” asks Liam, which is a fair point. And kids bring a lot of great things to your life, but they aren’t known for their ability to fix a broken marriage.
Who the hell am I to comment on his stupid decisions, though? I’m letting myself get sucked in a little more every day by a woman I will never, ever fucking have—and I don’t plan to stop.
It doesn’t get much stupider than that.
18
KATE
Breakfast on Saturday, my day off, is a new creation: egg quesadillas. Even if it sucks, I’m sure Beck will eat it as if it’s his last meal.
He regards me over the kitchen counter when he gets back from surfing, which seems to have released some of the tension that’s lingered since the incident with the trash.
“How was it?” I ask as I flip a quesadilla. My arms hurt so much from yoga that I can barely hold the spatula in mid-air for more than thirty seconds. I need to make less of an effort there going forward.
“Good. Just wish we could have stayed longer. You have no idea how much I envy your day off,” he says.
I glance over my shoulder. “If you refuse to sell the bar, hire someone to manage it and go do something else.”
He frowns, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t even know what I’d do instead.”
I don’t either. I can’t really picture him doing anything else, perhaps because he’s owned the bar since we met. “What were you studying in college when you dropped out?”
He hitches a shoulder. “Engineering. Surprised?”
My teeth sink into my lower lip. “I did picture it being something dumber.”
He laughs, leaning back in his seat, stretching his endless limbs. He’s impossible to insult. Or maybe he just doesn’t give my opinion much weight. “It’s fine. Engineering wouldn’t have made me happy either.”
“So if you didn’t have the bar, what would you do?”
He runs a hand through his hair. “Something with exercise, probably. Anyway, I was thinking you might want some furniture.”
My glance flickers to him. “Furniture?”
“Yeah,” he says, “it’s the stuff you use to put clothes in, to keep your mattress off the floor, etcetera.”
Obviously, it would be nice not to sleep on the floor and move my clothes out of suitcases, but furniture makes it seem like I’m staying. “I wouldn’t want you to do that just for me.”
He does not like this answer. I’m not sure how I know this, given that his face doesn’t move. I just do. “Though it might make you appear less suspicious and creepy when some local girl goes missing,” I add.
He grins. “Suspicious and creepy?”
