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Banana: No, but I’ve been contemplating getting a cat. Thoughts on them?
Me: I’ve never actually had a cat as a pet.
Banana: No offense, filthy cowboy, but your life sounds kind of boring.
Me: Because I don’t have siblings or a cat?
My eyelids droop as I stare at the time at the top of the screen. It’s late, too late for me to be awake when I have to get up in five hours. Is she in the same time zone as I am?
I struggle to keep my eyes open, waiting for her next message to pop up, but with the steady thrum of the heater and the tick of the clock on the shop wall behind me, I’m dead to the world before I get a chance to see them the two of them come through.
Banana: Call it a gut instinct. It’s a shame we only agree to tonight, because I could have helped bring a little sparkle to it.
Banana: Goodbye Bo.
9
ANNALISE
I’ve never wornjeans for a girls’ night before. Not that I’ve been on that many girls’ nights that didn’t involve my sister and two bags of butter-drenched popcorn.
Going out on the town in Vancouver usually meant dressing up in an outfit you found earlier that day hidden in the back of your closet and a pair of shoes that you know will have you limping home afterward. Maybe I ran in the wrong crowd of people not to spend my Friday nights in small pubs or easygoing bars. I’m sure there were more than a few of those near my condo in the city, but none I ever ventured into. It was always uppity clubs with guest lists and long lines out the door.
Peakside couldn’t be further from what I’m used to.
Bryce and Poppy don’t hesitate to saunter inside, both dressed like I am in jeans and simple tops but somehow managing to pull it off in an entirely different way. Naturally, almost.
Never in my life have I seen a pair of pink cowboy boots like Poppy’s. They’re slightly scuffed near the sole, but not a single one of the dozens of glittering studs lining the sides is missing. A pair of deep blue skinny jeans are tucked inside the boots, anda white puffed coat that falls just past the swell of her hips hides the black shirt she’s wearing beneath.
Bryce is dressed similarly, but instead of pink boots, she has a pair of black sneakers peeking beneath the legs of her jeans and a coat to match. Neither of them chose to leave their hair down tonight like I did, and I’m beginning to wonder if that was a mistake on my part.
“Don’t stand out in the cold, Anna,” Poppy says, pausing in the doorway, urging me inside with a wave of her hand.
Bryce is already inside, hopefully securing us a table. My legs still don’t move. “Are you sure we can’t just go to my place? I’ll let you win at Monopoly.”
“I blame Bryce for you knowing about my love for Monopoly. But no. We’re going inside. You look too good to spend the night at home.”
“Do I?” I cringe at my lack of confidence.
“You have the ass for those jeans. Trust me, you look hot.” Her wink makes me choke on a laugh.
“Thank you.” I mean it. Really, really do. Finally, my legs cooperate, and I move in her direction. “I know I must sound pathetic.”
“You absolutely donotsound pathetic. You sound like a woman who’s just gotten out of a relationship with a man who diminished her confidence. It won’t come back instantly just because he’s gone. You’ll have to grow it back up.”
“Well, let’s hope that it doesn’t take forever because I can’t stand this feeling,” I admit.
“You’ve got this. We’ll be here to shower you with compliments until you can start giving them to yourself.” The words sound like a promise, and I believe her.
When I reach her side, the smell of the bar hits me square in the face. It’s not necessarily a gross smell, just a strong one. One I wasn’t anticipating. A mix of frying oil and beer.
There’s a sticky sort of heat in the bar as we walk further inside, the previous topic dropped. Conversations drawl on around us from the several packed tables. A few of them halt for a breath before continuing when we pass by, as if they’re slightly surprised to see us here. Or me, I suppose.
We catch up to Bryce as she lingers near the bar, and then I follow the two women, letting them pick where we sit for the night while secretly hoping for somewhere a bit out of sight. A momentary sense of relief crashes into me when I see them turn for the booths lining the wall behind the bar before noticing that they’re heading to an already occupied one, one so full of men that the two on the outside are nearly falling onto the floor.
“Poppy—” I start, but it’s too late. The first man catches sight of us and flashes a sparkling grin, his hand rising to wave us over.
“If it isn’t Darren’s little sister, Poppy,” he shouts, drawing dozens of eyes in our direction.
