“As if I’d dare,” I call to her retreating form.
And in the quiet that follows, I realize I don’t regret it.
It’s the next morning, but the sunny sky hasn’t offered clarity. If anything, my mood is full of storm clouds. The man to my left scooted his stool away the instant I barged into The Paddock. I must reek of a frigid chill and frustration. That’s probably why Byron left a note on the fridge, telling me to take the day off. He couldn’t even face me.
“The audacity of that man,” I grumble into my mimosa.
Paisley lifts her glass in solidarity. “Screw him.”
“Good for nothing but heartache,” Gemma adds.
This is my first attempt at leaning on others. I’ve heard it can be therapeutic. As it turns out, I got a two-for-one special. The Keaton sisters arrived as a dynamic duo now that Gemma movedback to town. They’re off to an impressive start, but we just sat down.
Paisley gives me a heavy dose of eye contact. “How did Byron fuck up this time?”
A long exhale delays the gratification. “He hugged me.”
“He… hugged you,” she repeats.
“After he shot me down.”
Her lips part. “Hewhat?”
“Can you believe that? Could’ve had a sure thing.” I gesture at my goodies that are stuck on the shelf.
Paisley shakes her head as if to clear it. “Why did he hug you?”
“Beats the hell out of me.”
“Was he trying to comfort you?”
“How should I know?”
“You spend a lot of time together.”
“Doesn’t matter. It’s not like we really communicate openly. That’s a foreign concept for me.” One of many. But I’m not trying to tally my insecurities. “The point is he’s not willing to give me what I want.”
“Which is casual sex.”
“Don’t be so condescending. You make me sound like the wicked witch in this scenario.”
“If the ruby slipper fits…” she mutters under her breath.
“Hey!” My palm slaps the wood bar top. “I didn’t invite you to boozy brunch to criticize me. You need to blindly support me like a best friend. Aren’t you in my corner?”
Her eyes are wide and unblinking. “Um, yes?”
I huff at her blatant uncertainty. “He crossed a line. We don’t hug. It was too warm and fuzzy.”
“You’re just not comfortable with that level of intimacy,” Paisley counters.
“I don’tneedthat kind of intimacy.”
Which is the lie I’m telling myself and anyone who will listen. In truth, I’d never felt more cherished. The tears were unexpected. It freaked me out and I overreacted. But damn, Byron shouldn’t test me while I’m in such a vulnerable state.
His woodsy scent still burns in my lungs. I wonder if my perfume is clinging to him. My eyes squeeze shut. No, it doesn’t matter. I’m just the nanny. Ronnie is the only commitment I can manage and that’s already costing more than I can afford.
Paisley hasn’t moved a muscle during my internal crisis. “Are you okay?”