“I can’t take it anymore. He’s getting worse. There’s no talking to him in a rational manner. I’m afraid what will happen if I stay, but I’m even more terrified of what he will do if I leave,” I say, readjusting my cardigan back on my shoulder. “I’ll need access to my account. I’m going to start depositing all of my money from our joint account into that one a little at a time so he won’t notice. We’ve kept half of all of my advance money in that account, right?” Deep down I knew it would come to this. I didn’t think I’d ever be brave enough to follow through.
Using one arm, she pulls me against her side and tilts her head on top of mine. I collapse into her gentle hug. “Oh, honey. I’m so happy you’re doing this. We can do this. My brother will help out. Don’t worry about anything. You can stay with me. Yes. The money is in there, and your account is safe.” She exhales a huge pent-up breath. I imagine it’s from years of watching her best friend go through torment and not being able to do anything about it. Her brother, Sean, is a police officer.He’s always been kind to me.
“I’m so relieved,” I admit. I take a cleansing breath. I’m okay right now.
She sighs and pulls away to face me. “You’re doing the right thing. The best thing. Say the word. Whatever you need from me, you have it. You could have counted on me in the past—left him sooner. You know that, right?
I absorb her words. “I wasn’t ready in the past. Not like I am now.”
My sunshine vanishes into shadow. “Greenleigh Ivers, may I have your autograph?” he says, his voice a perfected, low timbre.
Smith stands tall in front of me, a beautiful woman, Megan, by his side. “Why, hello. I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else,” I reply.
Jasmine laughs, and we both stand.
Megan smiles. “Smith has told me so much about you. I’m a little starstruck right now, to be honest. I loved, and I mean absolutely loved, your first novel,Pinion Lane. I cried for days,” she says, eyes wide.
Turning my face down, I shake my head. “I’m so bad with this.” I meet her eyes. “I’m glad you loved it. You have made my month. Public relations aren’t my strong suit.” I laugh. She still looks a little stymied. As am I. Smith told her about our meetings, and he didn’t tell me. I let my gaze flit to Smith. He’s grinning.
Jasmine breaks the awkward silence I so eloquentlycreated. “That book was my demise. I knew I needed it for my own as soon as I read chapter one,” she gushes and extends her hand. “I’m Jasmine Chen. The business behind her creative.” Jasmine bows like a lady-in-waiting. “I got lucky we live in the same city because she’s also my best friend.”
“Today she isn’t my agent,” I say. “Today we eat crepes without tallying caloric intake.”
Megan giggles. “Look, Smith, she chose your favorite flavor.” She motions to my hand. It’s a simple cinnamon sugar crepe. I like it because I can taste the actual dough.
Smith quirks a brow. “Really? My favorite? Guess that one slipped the goalie, too.”
Megan’s smile fades. “Oh,” she whispers. Her pain seeps into the air surrounding us, and he wrapswraps an arm around her waist.
I look over Megan’s shoulder at the stall of fruit behind them. “You guys enjoy your day. Let’s go grab our fruit, Jaz,” I prompt. “We were going to make that pie. I bet they have some great berries.”
Jasmine pops the last bite of crepe in her mouth and dusts the powdered sugar off on her khaki shorts. “You’re so right. It was wonderful meeting you both. Stay tuned for Carina’s next masterpiece.”
I elbow my friend. “It was great meeting you, Megan. Smith has told me so much about you. You’re just as lovely as he described,” I say, shaking her hand.
Megan gushes about my novel one more time, and weexchange brisk pleasantries.
Taking a small, strengthening breath, I let my gaze slide to Smith. “It was great running into you. Take care, okay?”
Smith bites his lower lip and raises his brows. The one on the left side of his face doesn’t rise as high as the right brow. He smiles. It’s the beautiful smile—the one that melts away anything negative. I’m too cynical to say that a smile fixes anything, but his might. “You take care, Carina. I’ll see you soon?” Smith says, his eyes pushing for a firm date. The intensity in them forces me to turn my head down, and I nod.
Once again, Jasmine links her arm in mine and steers me into a crowded group of flamboyant men talking about wine. “What was that?” she asks. “Oh my god, Carina. That man. That man.”
I furrow my brow. “That man what? What was what?”
Jasmine is known for turning a molehill into a mountain.
When we’ve separated ourselves from Smith and Megan, she spins on me. “You were all nervous in that I-think-you’re-hot-I-love-you way. Don’t say I’m overexaggerating. I saw it all. Including Megan’s face.” Jasmine shakes her head, eyes wide. “He was looking at you the same way. I wouldn’t think it was possible to gauge a look so thoroughly, but it just happened. Gaze sex. Put that in your next book. You were just gaze fucking.”
I clear my throat as my heart starts hammering. What did Megan’s face look like? Oh, god. My stomach sinks. “He was a perfect gentleman, Jaz. You’re imagining things. He loves her more than…anything else. Trust me. I’m not certain about a lot of things, but this is one thing I know is a fact. Smith loves Megan.”
“I know what I saw.”
“You saw two friends exchanging a harmless glance.” I felt more than that. How could I not? Even with Megan by his side, every nerve ending in my body was aware of his proximity and how elated it made me feel. I glance in the direction we left. Smith and Megan are waiting in the line to get crepes. His back is wide and his biceps look strong as they pull Megan’s tiny body against his side.
Jasmine runs her hands down her sides. “Fine. You win.” She holds her hands up in front of her in defeat. That says something because she never gives in. Not in any aspect of her life. I remember sweating bullets when we soldPinion Lane. She was holding out for a larger advance, and I was scared the publisher was going to tell her to stuff it and take the book elsewhere. She got what she wanted, and now I don’t question any of her business decisions. Her defeat in this moment says more than words can. She’s right, and she’s not going to argue anymore. I should be offended, but I’m scared of what that means.
We talk about nothing except fruit and pies all theway back to the car after we collect our supplies. Once we’re safely tucked in the cab of my SUV, I know no subject is off-limits.
