“I’ll never understand your need to run at the crack of fucking dawn when you could be sleeping.”
I always tell him it’s because I love the morning. In actuality, it’s because I love to run, and morning is the only time of day I can guarantee my knee will carry me for six or so miles. Later in the day, my leg is usually too tired to run any kind of distance. So, since my injury, I’ve trained myself to be a morning person.
“It’s the best time of day. You know, for us non-lazy people.”
Ben lets that pitch sail right by, staying laser focused on our conversation. “So, what happened when you ran into her?”
“Nothing,” I say casually. “We just ran together for a bit.”
“Uh, the girl you like who will barely give you the time of day unless you’re talking about work ran with you? Voluntarily? That doesn’t seem like nothing.”
“I don’t like her,” I say, too quickly.
What I don’t say is that like is the wrong word. I don’t know what the right word is, but it’s miles more complicated than simple like.
Ben gives me an unimpressed look. “Tell it to someone who doesn’t know you. You’ve liked that girl for years and she likes you too. If you would just pull your head out of your ass and actually talk to her about it, you could finally figure each other out.”
“It’s complicated,” I mutter.
Ben gives me a serious look. “So uncomplicate it. Life’s too fucking short not to tell people how you feel.”
“Says the guy who waited eleven years to tell Hallie he was in love with her.”
“Exactly. And if I had told her sooner, maybe we could have had more time. I could have a hundred years with Hallie, and it would still never be enough. So, what’s holding you back?”
For a second, I consider telling him everything. Just flaying myself open and telling my best friend what happened eight years ago, and how guilty I feel, and how I live every day of my life worried that nothing is permanent and the people closest to me will leave and how the reason I paper over my brooding with humor and cheer is because I think it makes me more likable and I want everyone to like me because if they do, then they won’t leave. But that’s not a conversation I’m ready to have with Ben. Not now, and maybe not ever. I consider how to respond to him, but he speaks again before I figure it out.
“Listen, I know you don’t want to talk about it, and that’s okay. But I also know that you’ve been hiding something about you and Emma for a long time. Years, I think. And if you ever do want to talk about it, you know you can talk to me.”
I swallow around the emotion clogging my throat. “I know. Thank you. I appreciate it.”
“You don’t have to thank me. It comes with the friendship territory.”
Ben speaks with the confidence of someone who has always been secure in his friendships. As well as he knows me, he’ll never understand what those small gestures of friendship mean to someone who never really had them until much later in life.
“Anyway, Hallie is out of town at a conference and the weather sucks.” Ben gestures to the window where I see the rain coming down in sheets. “Want to stay up at the loft with me tonight?”
The loft above the bar is where Ben lived from the time we opened Fireside right after college until last year when he moved into Hallie’s house. It mostly sits empty now except when Ben and Hallie crash there occasionally after a late night at the bar. But tonight, staying in the guest room and not walking to my car in the pouring rain sounds excellent.
“Will you make me coffee and breakfast like you make for Hallie?”
“Make your own damn breakfast,” Ben says with narrowed eyes. He talks a good game, but I know he’ll be at the stove in the morning. At the coffee maker too. He’s a natural born caretaker and can’t help himself. It works in my favor because he’s a fucking good cook and breakfast is his specialty.
“So that’s a yes to omelets? Just pretend I’m Hallie since I know if she was here, you’d be standing at that stove bright and early.”
“Fuck off. It’s a yes. But if you want some weird flavored creamer in your coffee in the morning, you’ll have to get it yourself. I don’t make dessert coffee.”
“Bet you would if Hallie wanted it,” I mumble, well used to defending my penchant for overly sweet coffee and seasonal creamer flavors.
“There are a lot of things I would do for Hallie that I would balk at doing for you.”
I snort out a laugh. “I’ll just bet. Crashing upstairs sounds great.”
My phone rings then, and I pull it out of my pocket, glancing at the display. I assume it’s spam. The only people who call me are standing right in front of me, on call at the hospital, or in Colorado visiting family.
Only it’s not spam. It’s Emma.
I fumble the phone in my haste to answer. Ben looks at me strangely.
