Best Laid Plans Page 17

  Maybe we’ll both fake it for a little while, but for different reasons, until we return to our balance.

  I return the tools to her office, and when I leave, a call comes in for a small restaurant fire. Battling the blaze takes my mind momentarily off the way my heart seems charred to a crisp by a word I once thought was wonderful.

  Friend.

  38

  Arden

  I stare at the dessert I made the other night.

  The uneaten dessert.

  Like a zombie, on Friday morning I trudge toward the plate of coconut bars tucked in the corner of my kitchen counter. I pick up one, studying it like a scientist, holding it to the kitchen light, considering it from this angle, that angle.

  We didn’t touch any of these. They’ve been here since two nights ago when we made love.

  “Ugh.”

  I mean . . . when we fucked.

  When he took me over the back of my couch like I wanted.

  When he gave me a fantasy from my list.

  That’s all it was.

  That’s all I can believe it was, yet my spine shivers from the memory.

  “Stop it, body. Just stop it.”

  But I replay the scene again, picturing the moment when he hooked his arm around my waist, then when he went so deep I saw stars.

  And the sensation returns. Intensifies. Builds like a storm inside me.

  “You are a traitorous bitch,” I say to my lower half. “One taste of him and you’re hungry for more.”

  I bite into a hunk of the coconut bar, chewing as I head to the back door, stepping onto the porch. The morning sun blinds me, like it’s fair that the sky is so perfectly clear, like it’s fair that the day is so deliciously warm.

  After last night, the sky should be punishing me with pelting cold rain.

  Last night was a punch to the ribs—of my own doing, but nonetheless, that’s what it was. My muscles ache, my head hurts, and my throat feels raw.

  I take another bite of the bar, but the coconut is cardboard to me. Telling Gabe I only wanted to be friends tasted like the worst lie in the world. I don’t want to be friends. I want to be everything.

  I sink onto the steps, sadness shrouding me, my heart caving. A robin swoops down, hopping across the grass.

  I remember the robins and their hunt for cheese and crackers the day David dumped me at Silver Phoenix Lake. That same fateful day my friendship with Gabe launched.

  I toss the remains of the coconut bar to the bird. Chirping, he pecks at it, and I try to laugh, to tell myself this is funny and I’ll share the story with Gabe. But it’s not any easier to return to our normal today than it was yesterday. The prospect of starting a Words with Friends game with him makes my head throb.

  I pick myself up, shower, and change my clothes.

  I can’t wallow all day. I’m a doer. So, I do. Grabbing the book I brought home last night, I head to my car and drive over to Gabe’s mom’s house. When she answers, I flash a smile. “Hi, Mrs. Harrison.”

  “Hey, Arden, good to see you. Want to come in? Gabe’s not here.”

  “That’s okay. I was looking for you anyway.”

  “You were?”

  I lean in close, whispering conspiratorially, “Don’t tell the Bookstore Police.”

  Her blue eyes sparkle, just like his. “Oh! More top secret goodies.”

  I hand her the Robert Galbraith, adding my best everything is fine smile. “Just for you.”

  She clutches the treasure to her chest. “I’m diving in today.” Then she wraps her arms around me. “You’re such a wonderful friend to my son. What would I do without you?”

  Her words are my reminder. This is why I did what I did. To preserve what we’ve had.

  Our friendship is a gift, and I treasure it the same way I do words and stories.

  As I walk away, I tell myself giving up the chance for more has to be worth it.

  39

  Gabe

  Some things stay the same.

  The day after she turns me down, I run. I cut across town, tuning into a Surprise Me playlist on Google Play.

  I make a path past the springs, toward the hill, and right to Silver Phoenix Lake as a song from the Heartbreakers comes on.

  “About a Girl.”

  Some tune about how men will change their lives for a girl.

  I shake my head. “No shit.”

  The line about falling hard and changing everything is a slap in the face.

  “I did fall hard,” I mutter. “I wanted to change everything.”

  I run up the trail, running past the spot where I found Arden more than a year ago, flashing back to that fateful day.

  I should have known then I’d wind up right where I am—with an aching in my chest. I should have known because whatever feelings I’d already had for her—the crush that kicked in the first time I met her—didn’t vacate when I saw snot running down her nose. When I witnessed her tears for another man. The way I felt for her only intensified.

  She was crying in her crackers then, and I still found her endearing.

  Kind.

  Clever.

  And beautiful.

  After eight punishing miles of trying to drain my thoughts of her, I do what I did that day. I run to my parents’ house. As I turn the corner to their block, a red car fades in the distance, cruising the other way.

  Her car?

  Hell, that’s a crazy thought.

  Must be another red car.

  When I go inside, my mom waves from the couch. “Do not disturb. I’m reading the new Robert Galbraith.”

  “Isn’t that out on—?”

  Before I say Tuesday, I know Arden was here, stopping by to give my mom a gift. My chest hollows, a big gaping hole that I wish I could fill with how I feel for her. If she keeps being herself, she’s going to make it awfully hard to get over her.

  I head to the kitchen, and when my dad offers me a coffee, he asks what’s going on with her.

  “Nothing. That’s the trouble. She only wants to be friends.”

  He pats me on the back. “Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose. Sometimes the girl you want doesn’t feel the same.”

  That’s the whole sad, sorry truth.

  40

  Arden

  “I’m looking for a book.”

  I turn away from the shelf of travel guides to a thin man wearing a straw hat.

  “Anything in particular?” I try my best to feign cheeriness on Saturday morning. I’m the happy, happy bookstore owner today and every goddamn day, even though there’s an organ in my chest moping over a guy I can’t have.

  The man in the hat strokes his goatee. “Can’t remember the name. It’s about a fireman who has special powers . . .”

  He talks more about the story, but I latch onto one word, thinking of a certain fireman and all his special powers. His charm, his heart, his funny bone. He has so many more powers though. The power to make me feel like I’m special. Like I’m wonderful.

  “Do you know it?”

  I blink, trying to root myself in the present. “I . . .”

  I can’t place the book he’s talking about.

  A voice cuts in. A chipper, confident one. “You mean Joe Hill’s The Fireman. Yes, we have it in stock,” Madeline says, tipping her head to that section and guiding the customer there. She easily locates the novel and rings him up.

  When he’s gone, she turns to me. “Are you okay?”

  “Just a little off today.”

  “Go take a walk or something. You’re not yourself.”

  “Maybe I just need to clear my head.”

  “Take a break for a few. I have this covered.”

  I turn to go and step outside when I see Mr. Businessman heading in my direction.

  I freeze.

  He’s the reason I went to Gabe in the first place. Is he coming back to try to ask me on a date again? What do I say?

  I’m not sure I’ll handle it any better this time around, even though
the smile on his face expands as he walks toward me.

  41

  Gabe

  Another rep. And another. On the weight bench, I make it through more reps than usual.

  “Damn, are you hitting the juice?” Shaw asks as we go through our morning workout.

  “Yeah, just like I did back in Texas.”

  “Ah, I always suspected you were a ’roid head in your playing days.”

  “That’s me.” My voice is pure monotone.

  “How did it go with your lady the other night? Didn’t get to ask.”

  I finish my set, sit up, and scratch my jaw. “Let’s see. On a scale of one to ten, it was a negative fifty.”

  “Ouch. That bad?” Shaw switches to the bench, and I move behind, spotting him.

  “She gave me my official let’s be friends forever card.”

  “Damn. And you told her how you felt?” He pushes up the weights. “You told her everything?”

  I shrug, keeping my hands near the bar. “Pretty sure.”

  “Pretty sure?”

  “I asked her to go out. That’s clear, isn’t it? Like on a date?”

  His eyes widen as he raises the weights again, wincing, then lowering. “And you told her you’ve had it bad for her for a year?”

  “I told her I’ve wanted her for a long time.”

  “Wanted?”

  “Yes. Wanted.”

  He grunts, lifting. “Dude. She probably feels like a piece of meat.”

  More like the other way around. “I think I was pretty clear.”

  “You’re pretty sure you were ‘pretty clear’?” He finishes his set and sits up. “As in, you said you’re in love with her?”

  “Hell no,” I answer defensively.

  He furrows his brow like he’s deep in thought. “Did you, by any chance, say you were crazy for her?”

  “No way.” But now he has me wondering if I totally botched my plans to lay it on the line.

  He taps his chin. “Wait. Wait. Did you say, ‘I have no brains’?”

  I sigh heavily. “All right. Spit it out. What should I have said?”

  He doesn’t answer because a dark-haired guy with a swirl of sunburst tats up his left arm strides over to us. “Hey there. Any chance one of you can spot me? I’d appreciate it.”

  “Go for it.” Shaw moves behind him, and the guy starts lifting, using more weights than either of us. “Damn. You training hard for a fight, bro?”

  The guy laughs, barely breaking a sweat as he lifts. “Nah, my fighting days are behind me. I’m turning over a new leaf as a pacifist.”

  Shaw arches a brow. “For real?”

  “I’m kidding. Well, I’m all for world peace. But no, I just need to stay in shape for work. I’m starting a new job in a few days.”

  “Lifting heavy shit?”

  “Bodies. Very heavy bodies sometimes,” he says, playing up the spooky card, as he raises the bar. Then, he’s pure deadpan as he answers. “I’m a paramedic. And sometimes the bodies are quite heavy.”

  I look at Shaw knowingly then say, “Welcome to the club. Well, we’re at the local firehouse, so we’ll be seeing you around.”

  “No shit?” He sets down the bar, wipes his palms against each other, and offers a hand to shake. “Good to meet you. I’m Derek McBride. Just moved here from San Francisco. Some other guy is heading back home, right?”

  Shaw answers, “Yeah, that’s Charlie. Friend of ours.”

  “Sorry to hear he had to go, then. It’s never fun when a good bud moves away.”

  “So are we,” I say, then make the official intros to Shaw and myself. “But let us know if you need anything. Rescue workers—we look out for each other, right?” I knock fists with Shaw, then the new guy.

  “Amen to that.” Derek scratches his jaw. “Speaking of, I’ve been looking for a place to stay. It’s getting crowded as hell where I am right now. Couches are the worst.”

  “The absolute worst,” Shaw echoes.

  “And finding a decent rental in this town is harder than tracking down a beer for less than $5. Do you happen to know anyone in town who has a place to rent?”

  Shaw grins. “As a matter of fact, I do. I’ll hook you up. And you’ll find cheap beers at The Barking Pug. Awesome dive bar off the main drag.”

  “Dive bars are the best kind.”

  Shaw grabs me by the shoulders, then speaks to Derek in a deliberately leading-the-witness voice. “Also, don’t you think Gabe should tell the woman he loves how he truly feels about her?”

  Derek grins. “Always. Always let the woman know how you feel.”

  He gives a quick wave then takes off.

  When we finish working out, Shaw punches my shoulder. “And you, dipshit, think about what I said. Think about whether you said all you needed to say to her.”

  As if I can think about anything else.

  As I head home, I replay that last night at her house.

  My questions.

  What if we tried to be more than friends? To date. Go out.

  At the time, my meaning seemed patently clear. But now, with a few days’ perspective, was it?

  I flash back to my year in the majors, and it feels like déjà vu. Was I simply warming up in the bull pen with Arden? Rather than going full tilt in a game with a pennant on the line?

  More importantly, what if Shaw is right?

  Later, I head over to see the one person who tells it like it is. I’ll never sort it out for myself, and I can’t let this uncertainty go on a moment longer.

  42

  Arden

  Empirically, he’s good-looking.

  But as the handsome man strides toward me, all I can think about is the man I want to be playing Fifty Shades of Everything with.

  Not this guy. And if he asks me out again, I’ll turn him down like a big girl this time. Using my words.

  Only . . .

  He doesn’t look at me. He’s looking elsewhere. He breezes right past me. Like he doesn’t even see me.

  He says, “Hello,” and then the next words out of his mouth shock me. “You must be Darla.”

  What the what?

  I whip around as Mr. Businessman meets Darla in front of the coffee shop next to A New Chapter. Darla takes his hand and shakes it.

  “So great to meet you. I’m Hank,” he says. “Vince told me you were pretty, but you’re even prettier in person.”

  Who the heck is Vince?

  She laughs, a pretty tinkling sound. “And you’re a perfect gentleman, but that’s exactly what my cousin told me.”

  Okay, this Vince fellow is Darla’s cousin, and he must have set them up on a blind date.

  “He’s a good friend. Plus, I paid him. No, just kidding.” Hank the businessman hooks his thumb first toward the coffee shop then down the street. “I like coffee, but there’s a great ice cream shop around the corner that has birthday cake and blueberry ice cream this month. Any chance you want to go there instead?”

  “Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

  I slink against the wall like I can blend into it, but they’re only looking at each other as Hank, the man who wanted to date me, and Darla, the woman who dated Gabe, head to an ice cream shop to eat my favorite flavor.

  They’re living their lives. Enjoying themselves together as they get to know each other. This feels like karma, only I’m not sure what to make of it. Is this a sign that I need to live my life? But which version of it?

  I shake my head, trying to understand why I feel anything about these two people I hardly know.

  Especially jealousy.

  I’m a little jealous they’re dating.

  That they’ve moved on. That they’re enjoying the next thing in their lives, having ice cream for lunch on a Saturday.

  I go for a walk through the town square, calling Finley and telling her about the blind date I just witnessed, since she loves to hear romance tales that might inspire a TV episode.

  “Ice cream dates have traditionally been know
n to lead to happily ever afters,” she remarks in her usual wry and chipper tone.

  I try to laugh, but it sounds as empty as I feel. “I would like an ice cream date,” I say, a little sad. A lot sad.

  “So go get one.”

  But really what I want is the happily part. And the ever. And the after.

  “That’s the thing. I’m not sure how to do that.”

  She hums, like she’s thinking. “But maybe you do actually know.”

  Do I though?

  I say goodbye, then wander along the side streets, reflecting, thinking, till I wind up on a block where Perri’s been running traffic duty. I find her talking to a well-built guy with a left arm covered in ink. He’s straddling a motorcycle, his helmet in his hand.

  She stares sharply at him. “I’m going to let you off with a warning this time. But do us all a favor and obey the law. Can you do that?”

  He winks at her. “Anything for you.”

  She points at the pavement. “Hit the road, mister. Before I decide to stop being the nice cop and write you a ticket instead.”

  “Maybe I’ll see you around, nice cop.”

  “Maybe you’ll be better off if you don’t.”

  “A man can dream.” He takes off, the bike rumbling in his wake.

  I close the distance to her. “Who’s that?”

  “Someone who’s too hot for his own good.”

  “Or for your good?”

  * * *

  “Ha. I’m immune to hot, inked men on bikes.”

  “Right.” We both know there’s no vaccine for her on that count.

  “What’s his name?”

  “Derek McBride.”

  “Hot name.”

  “Hot name for a hot guy, but nothing will come of it.” She tilts her head, looks me over. “You okay?”

  I heave a sigh. “I’ve been better.”

  She rubs my shoulder briefly. “What’s wrong?”

  I draw a breath, and my heart shakes. My voice wobbles. If I speak, I might cry. But I do it anyway, blurting out, “I’m in love with Gabe.”