I cursed hotly under my breath as I hit the brakes, but I stopped myself from shouting out the window. The guy in the Toyota behind me was less restrained, laying on the horn and waving his middle finger at the bike as he yelled obscenities. The cyclist continued unaffected, likely only aware of whatever came through her earbuds.
“That was close,” I whooshed out, pulling over to the curb to get my bearings.
I glanced at Will, whose face had gone white. His breaths came in short puffs as he gripped the seat belt across his chest.
“Are you okay?” I asked, reaching over to put a light hand on his shoulder.
He opened his eyes and nodded. After a moment, he spoke with a shaky voice, “Yeah, I’m okay. My accident. I just get that way with bikes on the road, you know?”
“I’m sorry… Maybe it’ll cheer you up to know that I hate bike riding. Don’t own one.”
Will shook his head, releasing a brittle guffaw. “You think I’d be used to it by now. There are so many bikes in Seattle. But I guess it’s always going to mess me up a touch when something like that happens.”
“Understandable.” I moved my hand to rub up and down his arm. “That’s the thing about bad memories. They fade and change like any scar. Sometimes you notice them less…”
“But they’re still there.” He sighed heavily.
And sometimes you notice them more.My fingers drifted down to touch the small scar on my right leg from where I’d gotten stitches the night of my alcohol poisoning.
With an okay from Will, I started the car again. A minute later, I pulled up in front of a beautiful old apartment building in one of Seattle’s more established neighborhoods. It looked a bit out of place, surrounded by newer condos, but I preferred its homey feel to the modern steel boxes on either side.
“You remodeled this?” I asked.
“Um, no. I paid people to remodel it.” Will laughed. “But I worked closely with the architect to make sure it came out the way I wanted. It probably would have been more profitable to start from scratch—I certainly could have fit more units in that way—but maintaining the character of the building was important to me.”
“Well, kudos. It’s lovely.”
“Did you want to come up?” The question felt loaded even though we’d been acting like a couple for the past few days. “It can just be for coffee or a soda,” he said quickly. “No pressure.”
“I’ll come up for one cup of coffee or Diet Coke if you have it,” I said. “But then I’ve got to get going. Bren is expecting me.”
“Bren?”
“My best friend.” Will’s forehead scrunched. “What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Nothing. You mentioned staying with your friend but hadn’t said the name before. I feel like I’ve heard it recently and can’t place it. Weird.” His brows drew together.
We walked up an ornate marble staircase to Will’s third-floor apartment. He took his bags and gold pillows into the bedroom while I looked around the main living space. The prewar, shotgun-style layout had hardwoods and rounded archways above the doors. The galley kitchen was small by new build standards, but it had been opened so one half-wall functioned as more of an island. There were also brand-new stainless-steel appliances.
I noticed a small plastic Christmas tree in the corner. It made me smile, remembering the one Marley had put in his room at her house.
As Will poured soda into glasses in the kitchen, I unlocked my phone to get the rideshare squared away. In the app, I punched in the address for Bren’s apartment.Uh…
“Hey, what’s the address of this place?” I’d never gotten it since he’d just directed me to his building from the passenger seat.
He answered, and I laughed.
“What?”
“I think my best friend lives in this building.”
He snapped his fingers. “That’s it! That’s where I’ve heard that name before. Bren. Her boyfriend is Chase, right?”
“Yep.”
“That’s crazy. That’s why they looked so familiar to me—they were in your videos. And at Musicbox. I just hadn’t put it all together. They actually live on this floor.”
I texted Bren to let her know where I was. “That is so strange. What a small world.”
