Page 95 of All's Well that Friends Well
“Yes?” I say.
“I’m—” He breaks off and dabs his forehead with his sleeve. Then he gives me a jerky little bow. “Sorry. I’m sorry. For what I said.” He remains bent into his awkward bow. “It won’t happen again.”
I blink at him, my mind reeling with surprise and sudden understanding.
This whole time he’s been acting so weird since the picnic—has he been trying to apologize?
“Thank you,” I say, because I don’t know what else to do. What he did wasn’t right. An apology is fine, but I can’t forget that he actively tried to humiliate me. Still…
I nod over my shoulder into the break room. “There are chocolate chips cookies on the counter in there, if you want to take one.”
Quincey shakes his head, his eyes still on the floor. “I don’t really like chocolate,” he mumbles. Then, halfway tripping over his own feet, he darts past me and into the room.
I shake my head, looking up at Luca, who’s been waiting silently in the hall with a tense look on his face.
He doesn’t like chocolate?I mouth, incredulous.
That man has more problems than I thought.
LUCA
I thinkRodney somehow told Juliet it was my birthday, which was a real jerk move. He knows I don’t like attention; he knows I’m not a birthday guy.
And yet…I think it might have been worth it just to see that look on Juliet’s face. I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone so horrified at how I celebrate—or don’t celebrate—my birthday.
It’s none of her business, so I’m not sure why I feel so strange right now. Even as I pull into my driveway, there’s still something lingering behind my sternum, settled in my lungs and flavoring every breath I take. It’s not a heavy feeling, per se, but it’s not light, either.
Part of it is the tiredness I’m so familiar with, not only in my body but in my soul. But the other part of it…
I think it’s longing. It’s a bone-deep longing for something I haven’t had in years, a yearning I never realized was there.
The desire for someone in my life who would be horrified if I didn’t celebrate my birthday. For someone who would demand to throw me a party—who was so upset she hadn’t known that actual tears sprang to her eyes.
Of course, part of Juliet’s charm is that tears spring to her eyes no matter what?—
Wait.My car stutters abruptly to a stop as that thought crosses through my mind.
Part of her charm?I think, incredulous.That’s not charming. Crying isn’t charming.
Except…when I remember the sight of her fighting her tears, all I can do is smile.
“You’re being stupid,” I tell myself gruffly as I kill the engine and get out of the car, slamming the door behind me a little too loudly. “That’s the kind of thing that’s cute in the beginning and later on becomes irritating.”
But my mind trips over this thought, too.
In the beginning ofwhat?Later onwhen?
I’m losing my mind. It’s finally happening; I’m caving to the stress, the pressure, the daily grind. I need to reset. Goodness knows I’m exhausted.
Icouldtake a nap, even though I don’t normally indulge. A birthday gift to myself, given frantically by a man on the edge and teetering more with every second. The abyss down below, I fear, is pink and soft and strawberry sweet—and I’m going to fall. I’m going to fall, and what’s worse, I think I might want to.
Because I want the things Juliet is offering. I want the future I could have with her. I want the lightness I feel when she’s around, the laughter that keeps trying to escape from my chest.
What Idon’twant is to see her walking around withanother guy, hugging him, even if he is dating her sister. She said she wanted me to think about how it felt, watching her with someone else, but…I don’t have to think about it.
I didn’t like it. It made my stomach sour, my temper flare. I disliked it almost as much as I hated watching Quincey Brewer try to humiliate her in the kitchen of this house—the kitchen where she grew up, a place that should have fond memories.
Well,I think absently as my fists curl,no. I think I loathed Quincey more than I disliked the blond, grinning man—Felix.Because at least Juliet looked happy while she was around Felix.
