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“I haven’t seen him since he told me he doesn’t want a relationship.”
And then, because apparently the universe hates me, the bell over the door dings and none other than Yvonne walks into the diner.
Since I’m facing the door, I’m easy to spot. Our gazes meet across the small room, and it’s like we both experience a brain stutter between recognition and remembering we hate each other.
“What?” Celeste turns to look. “Oh shit. I didn’t even think… I’m sorry, Abbey. I should have picked an establishment not so close to campus.”
Yvonne pauses at the door before making her way toward us on a pair of brown leather riding boots. She looks as elegant as always, with her hair perfectly styled. Clad in skinny jeans and a slinky sweater beneath an unbuttoned knee-length peacoat.
“Should I…?” I trail off, biting my lip.
“Hide in the bathroom?” Celeste whispers. “Maybe?”
Too late. In a few strides, Yvonne weaves through tables to stand at ours, her eyes never breaking contact with mine.
“I’m not here to fight,” Yvonne prefaces, which does nothing to alleviate the adrenaline already accelerating my heart rate. “I should apologize.”
Celeste can only stare at me like she’s found herself trapped in the peripheral vision of a wild animal.
“So should I,” I tell Yvonne, my anxiety dissolving into regret. “I never intended to hurt you. For whatever it’s worth, I didn’t ask Nate to break up with you. He and I are not even really seeing each other.”
“I know.” Her attention flicks to Celeste, and I take it to mean Celeste managed to talk some sense into her friend. “I didn’t handleit well, and you were an easy target.” Yvonne juts her chin. “Showing up at your flat was petty and stupid, and I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.”
“I don’t expect us to be friends or anything,” Yvonne says, shrugging in that cool, indifferent way she has. “Just want you to know there are no hard feelings.”
“Water under the bridge,” I answer with a nod. “No worries.”
Once she’s said her piece, Yvonne goes to the counter to order a coffee, leaving the diner less than a minute later. Celeste and I watch her go. I think even if Nate and I had never said two words to each other, Yvonne and I were still never destined to be friends. We simply don’t click. But it takes courage to admit when you’re wrong and try making amends after such an epic tirade. I give her credit for character.
“I honestly thought she was coming to take a swing at you,” Celeste confesses, sounding relieved her prediction didn’t come true.
“Trust me, I was ready to throw my drink on her in self-defense.”
Luckily, the rest of lunch is uneventful. After Celeste and I part ways, I walk back to campus for my next class. Later, I take the Tube home, eager to get in the shower and wash away the grime of the day.
No sooner do I walk through the door than Jack appears and says, “Abbs. You up for a chat? You and me.”
I do a bad job at hiding my wariness, but there’s an intensity about him that raises my guard. He’s in jeans and one of his surf T-shirts, hair messy as if he’s been repeatedly running his fingers through it.
“Oh. Okay,” I say.
He nods toward the staircase. “My room?”
“Sure.”
As I follow him upstairs, I mentally prepare myself for this conversation, which I assume will involve yet another apology. Then I think about Celeste’s advice to give Jack some grace, and I have toacknowledge that the recent awkwardness hasn’t been entirely his fault, a fact I bring up once he closes the bedroom door.
“I wanted to apologize,” I tell him. “For my part in how tense things have been lately.”
He shrugs. “It’s not your fault. I was the dickhead.”
He sits on his bed and gestures for me to join him. After a beat of hesitation, I sink down beside him, keeping a foot of distance between us. He’s still one of the best-looking men I’ve ever seen outside a movie screen, and my attraction to him refuses to dim no matter how resentful of his actions I may be.
I clasp my hands tight to my lap to curb the temptation to reach for his hand and lace our fingers together.
“I’ve been thinking,” he starts, his voice a bit husky.
