Me
Perfectly fine. Don’t stress. We’ve got this
Chelsea
Thank you. Usually my mom does it if I can’t make it, but she’s out of town
Me
Like I said, don’t stress
Me
Have you eaten?
Chelsea
Not yet. Deat did, I just haven’t had a chance to sit down while I’m going through the new bakery menu
Me
I’ll bring you something
Me
And if you tell me I don’t have to do that, I’ll be highly disappointed
Chelsea
How can I argue with that?
Half an hour later, I’m at Chelsea’s door with her favorite pizza pie, and she’s letting me up into her apartment. I do not think about what my friends or brother said earlier tonight because they’re childish idiots, but I also don’t miss the way Chelsea’s long, dark hair hangs down her back — usually it’s tied up for work.
Or how she fills out the jeans she’s wearing, making my eyes dip to her ass.
Or how pretty her skin is with no makeup on. She doesn’t need it — she’s a natural beauty.
“I stopped by the pizzeria.” I waggle my eyebrows.
“That’s very sweet of you, thank you,” she says, letting me in the door. “I just put Deaton to bed, but come up.”
Seeing no reason not to, I do just that, following her up the stairs that lead to the apartment. It’s neat and tidy, just like everything Chelsea does; it’s to perfection. I wouldn’t expect anything less.
I want to broach the subject of the sale of the bakery building again, but last time I merely mentioned it, I made her cry. I’ve also done some research, and the property will go up for auction. Great. So there could be a bidding war.
Chelsea has to live with the fear that she may or may not be out of this building; ready to move, uproot her life when her lease runs out and the building is sold — and Deaton’s — and that’s killing me.
Her kitchen is compact and nothing like the one downstairs, but she’s made the place her own with throw rugs, a comfy couch, a round dining table where we’ve shared many a meal, and even a small balcony.
“Listen, about the other day,” I begin, wanting to get the awkward conversation out of the way. “I’m really sorry that I upset you, and I know you said it was you being sensitive, but that isn’t true. I’ve run the comps, and done some research, and you’re right, the price tag is looking at over one point two million.”
Her face falls and I kick myself for even saying it, but she brightens quickly. “It’s totally fine, like I said, I was having a day, and it all just came out in one outburst.”
“Well, I meant what I said; you can tell me anything, anytime.”
“You’re a great friend, B.” She does that thing where she squeezes my forearm and I feel it right between my legs. “I know I’m dropping all of this stuff on your lap, but Bea is away as well, and my other friend Morgan?—”
“That’s what friends are for.” I clear my throat. There’s that word again.Friends.
