So, of course, that’s when I hear the familiar squeak of bicycle brakes behind me.
“Josie?”
I turn to see Bea coasting to a stop beside me, cheeks pink from the cold and from exertion, a beanie pulled low over her curls. She’s got a woven basket on the front of her handlebars filled with what looks like loose lemons and a baguette sticking out like something from a damn Pinterest board.
“Hey,” I say, forcing a smile I don’t feel.
“You okay?” she asks, eyes narrowing as she hops off the bike and pushes it beside me. “You look like you saw a ghost. Or maybe murdered one.”
I huff a laugh. “Something like that.”
She nudges my elbow. “Want to talk about it?”
No.
Yes.
I don’t know.
“It’s nothing,” I lie, too easily. “Just a rough shift.”
Bea makes a sympathetic noise. “Ah, kitchen stuff. Must be hard working for a man like Knox. Especially now he’s back in the spotlight.”
I flinch. Just the sound of his name feels like pressing on a bruise.
“I saw him today,” she continues, completely unaware she’s slowly breaking me in half. “With that stunning woman. His ex, right? What’s her name? Savannah something? Total smoke show.”
My jaw clenches. “Yeah. I noticed.”
Bea winces. “Sorry, I didn’t mean that in athreatening ex comes to ruin everything kind of way. I’m sure it’s nothing. I mean, you’re the one he’s been spending time with, right?”
I don’t answer. I can’t.
Bea keeps going. “I mean, if she was important, wouldn’t she have been here before? Right? That’s a good sign.”
“Or,” I murmur, “he didn’t want me to know.”
Bea’s face falls. “Oh. Damn.”
“Yeah.”
We walk a few more steps in silence before she says, “Well, if it makes you feel better, I’ve seen Savannah trip over a curb while texting. Not her finest moment.”
I want to laugh. I do. But it comes out a little broken.
Bea gives my arm a quick squeeze. “Seriously, though, if you want to talk, or scream into a pillow, or commit mild arson, I’m around.”
“Thanks, Bea.”
She nods and gets back on her bike, wobbling a little before pedaling off with a cheery wave. “Hang in there, sunshine!”
I wave back, barely. Then I keep walking, the cold finally sinking deep into my bones.
By the time I get home, I’m shivering and numb in all the wrong ways.
I peel off my clothes like they’re covered in regret and throw on the softest sweatshirt I own, one of my dad’s old ones that still smells faintly like cinnamon. Then I curl up on the couch with my laptop, flip it open, and start searching.
Sous chef job, Colorado.
