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“That local band, remember, who got the huge record deal? They’re touring, and they’re back here, and we’ve got tickets.”
I froze. The Sweet Onion was the spot for couples — sheltered booths, candlelight, droning musicians. And a BDR concert — I knew who they were. They sang all those love songs. Slow, crooning ballads. If I took Izzy to see them, what would she think? I saw it all in my head clear as real life, me and Izzy spilling out of the packed concert hall. Late-night drinks at some low-lit wine bar. Impatient kisses in the emptying street. I looked into Izzy’s bright, dancing eyes, and all I could think was, was she excited for the concert? Or did the stars in her eyes mean she wanted more, the wine, the romance, falling in love?
“I, uh…”
“Come on. Or— oh, shit. Don’t tell me you’re busy?”
I stood tongue-tied, caught between what I wanted and my better judgment. What I wanted was simple, a night out with Izzy. Laughter and music. A delicious meal. But what if she had caught some type of feelings? What if she wanted more from me, and this was her play? If I said yes, I’d be leading her on. I’d be no better than Gates, or worse, because I knew better. And because me and Izzy were friends. You didn’t treat your friends that way, setting them up for heartbreak.
“Don’t tell me this is some macho thing.” She smacked my arm. “You one of those guys who thinks BDR’s soppy? Scared someone might see you and think you’ve gone soft?”
She didn’t sound in love. I rubbed my arm.
“It’s not that,” I said. “I like a few of their songs, Blue Light, Last Summer.” I thought about going, but no. No, I couldn’t. I couldn’t take the risk with her. It wouldn’t be right.
“I’m busy,” I said, and Izzy’s face fell.
“Aw, really? That sucks. And it’s only tonight…” She folded the envelope and tucked it away. “What are you busy with? You couldn’t cancel?”
“Sorry, not this time. Training, y’know.” It wasn’t fully a lie — Coach had given me a book to read about maximizing my training. Still, Izzy’s disappointment plucked at my heart. She rose on tiptoe and kissed me, then backed away. Her hand slid off my shoulder and trailed down my arm.
“Guess I’ll ask Leon. He loves the Sweet Onion. But if you change your mind before he gets home…”
“I know where to find you.”
She left me standing in the doorway and went to get ready. I kicked my boots off and went to my room, and listened until I heard Leon come home. A few minutes after that, I heard laughter, then cheering. I heard Leon’s shower start and then cut out, then his shout down the hall — Izzy? I’m ready! I lay on my bed, alone and jealous, my chest gone all hollow, my stomach in knots. I could still run out there and tell her I’d go, but no. Leon was already excited. I couldn’t do him like that, and besides, besides?—
“I love them,” said Izzy, close by my door. “Not just because they’re from here, but their music’s so?—”
“I know,” said Leon. “I actually tried to get tickets to take Delores. But I called the first day and they were sold out.”
“Oh, I don’t have to go, if you wanted to take her.”
My heart leaped. If Izzy stayed home, that would be perfect. I could cheer her up with dinner somewhere. Not the Sweet Onion, with its candles and violinists, but maybe that jazz place with the gumbo she loved.
“No dice,” said Leon. “She went to visit her mom. She’s in a care home, so…”
My heart plunged to my toes as quick as it’d leaped. I pulled a pillow over my head to shut out their chatter, and the next thing I heard was the front door slamming. Then I heard Izzy’s car start, and they were gone. I lay with that void sucking deep in my chest, watching the minutes change on my bedside clock.
Idiot, I told myself, unsure what I meant. Was I stupid for not going, or for regretting it now? For lying here picturing a night out with Izzy, the two of us cuddled in a Sweet Onion booth? They had a dance floor as well, near the live music stage. Maybe if I'd gone, we'd have sneaked in a dance, a sweet little slow dance after dessert. Then at the concert?—
“Idiot,” I said, out loud this time. Maybe I was the one who’d gone and caught feelings, mooning around like some lovestruck kid.
I jumped off the bed before that thought could take hold, and grabbed my gym bag and jogged for the door. What I needed was a workout. A good hard sweat.
Nothing like a workout to get my head back on straight.
CHAPTER 12
IZZY
Ipoked at my salad, underwhelmed. Of all the green vegetables, kale was the worst. It was bland, it was boring, and it left a bitter taste. And it was in everything from salads to smoothies. Even tacos today, soups and burritos, everywhere on the menu, there it was. Kale.
“Anyway,” said Lola, “enough about me. I’ve been in such a love bubble, I haven’t even asked?—”
Even at the Sweet Onion, I’d run into kale. They’d stuck it in the minestrone. Where had kale been ten years ago? When had every damn menu become a sonnet to kale? And why hadn’t Spencer come to the concert?
“Keep going,” said Cherie. “Your man sounds amazing, not like my ex. I asked him to stop off and grab some pea milk, and it was like I’d asked him to fly to the moon. And then he came home with this huge bag of peas.”
