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I put it out before I drape my arm over her shoulders. She leans into me and my stomach plummets from knowing she means it in no other than a friendly way.
“So, did you know?” she asks, referring to the news about Summerland earlier in the day.
“I was just as surprised as you but can’t say it isn’t one of the smarter decisions Cash has ever made.” I give her shoulder a squeeze, and she lays her head against me.
We walk side by side, her body fitting perfectly next to mine, her long legs in stride with my own. We joke about what Cash is like as a father. I scoff. “And I thought he was unhinged before.”
“Just wait until she’s old enough to start dating,” she adds dramatically. Then her head pops back up and an accusatory smirk lights up her face. “Oh, I heard Veronica stopped by earlier on her day off looking for you.”
“Who?” I ask in mock ignorance. There’s something about Stella bringing up another girl that makes my stomach roll with guilt in a way it never used to.
“You’re terrible.” She laughs, jabbing me in the ribs with her elbow.
Music drifts out of the open front windows of a café taking advantage of the mild summer night, their bistro tables pouring onto the sidewalk. A pair of R&B singers croon sweet, velvety melodies, the man strumming leisurely on an acoustic guitar.2 At this hour, there are only a few diners left, the last lingering guests slowly finishing a bottle of wine as the candle on their table burns its last leg.
Leaning into the ambiance, I drop my arm from Stella’s shoulders and wrap it around her waist, pulling her into my front as I sweep up her hand in mine. We sway, dancing slowly. I tilt my face closer to hers and say softly, “Well, did you at least let her down gently?”
“And say what? That her seven-day trial period has ended?” she teases, moving in rhythm with me.
“No. That I am madly, unbearably and relentlessly in love with the manager.”
Fairy lights hang among wisteria vines that drape around the windows. They reflect like sparkles off her beautiful skin as she throws her head back on a laugh. “Uh-huh, sure. And the hostess, bartender, and three other waitresses.”
I spin her under my arm, and my throat knots as I pull her back and our noses nearly brush. I feel her stomach suck in against mine on a silent gasp. My tongue burns with the desire to tell her how brutally honest my words are. How I didn’t mean them with any hint of a joke. But as she clasps my hand tighter and continues to dance with me on the sidewalk, I’m too much of a coward to ruin the moment.
I’m beginning to realize the real reason it feels like I have a new girl every week is because none of them can live up to her. It’s impossible to give anyone a fair chance when she’s the only one on my mind.
So I let her laugh off my confession. I let her think I’m nothing more than a flirt, nothing more serious than a good time.
If that’s the only way I can have her, then I’ll take it.
For now.
The singers hum the final line and I pull her closer, content with having said my piece even if she doesn’t realize it. She rests her cheek on my shoulder and my hand splays out on the small of her back. Her weight in my arms feels just as magical as the stars breaking through the clouds and city lights.
The duo finishes and is rewarded with soft clapping and cheers from the bistro guests. The applause is our cue that the moment has passed, and we go right back to walking and chatting the rest of the way to her brownstone like it’s just any other night.
When we reach her block, the peace from the bistro is gone. My limbs and chest buzz. I have the urge to scream into the night, crash my lips against hers, drive like the devil, or get into a bloody fight. It’s like my body is fighting to lash out. The feelings I’ve been repressing around her want to burst through my skin.
She pauses by the curb in front of her steps and turns to me. I ball my hands into painful fists as she pecks my cheek with a light kiss. “Thanks for walking me home.”
“Same time tomorrow?” I holler after her as she climbs her front steps.
“Good night, Lochlan.” She chuckles and waves behind her without turning around.
The next morning, I’m in the elevator to Cash’s penthouse with a tray of coffee cups. My knee bounces as I lean against the handrail impatiently, watching the floor numbers slowly tick by.
Jesus, is this thing taking longer than usual?
At last, it pings on the top floor and I’m out of the damn thing as soon as the doors open enough for me to slip through.
“Hey, Baby Fox.” Alfie’s smile widens when he spots the tray of drinks in my hands. He looks like a gangster straight off the streets of Dublin with his tight polo shirt and strawberry blond hair.
“Shut up or you won’t get your pumpkin spice cold brew—did you know June Bug is the only place that carries pumpkin spice flavor all year?”
“And I pay handsomely for that privilege,” he says seriously, and I laugh. Does he really bribe the coffee shop across the street to stock his favorite flavor? He takes the iced drink from my hand then freezes. “Is it—”
“Yes, it’s almond milk, and no, I don’t want to hear again what happens if you have dairy.” I know him well enough to cut him off before he really gets going and ruins my appetite for the rest of the day.
