Her eyes skate away. “That’s it.”
I give up on the whole not touching her thing and slide my hand round the back of her head, tugging on her ponytail so she has no choice but to look at me. “That was not it. You’ve already said it once darling, the only thing you’re going to do by not explaining is piss me off.”
Lola worries that damn bottom lip of hers but eventually gives in. “And he was drunk. Like sitting alone at the bar all morning drunk. The bartender said he’s been going every day for the past couple of weeks.”
I shake my head. I guess the reason I needed her to repeat it is part of me was sure I’d heard her wrong. It was one thing finding Mase drinking at the Lagoon the other night, but this is different. I didn’t realize being discharged had hit him so badly. Ishouldhave realized.
Lola lifts one shoulder, worry creasing her brow. “I don’t know what’s wrong with him.”
I soften, wishing I could smooth that crease out, take her worries away. “He shouldn’t have said that shit, but if it helps at all, I don’t think it was really about you. He’s been discharged from the army.”
Her mouth rounds. “Oh. Well, shit.”
“Yeah. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to throttle him for talking to you like that though.” I absentmindedly tug on Lola’s hair tie, raking my fingers through her hair to shake out her ponytail.
Lola shudders and leans back into the palm of my hand.
Guilt threatens to strangle me. If I hadn’t been spending so much time thinking about Lola ortrying notto think about Lola, I would have gone to see Mase. I would have noticed he needed help.
Even knowing that, I can’t bring myself to detangle my hand from the silky brown locks of her hair. I fiddle with one of the purple strands, rubbing it between my thumb and forefinger.
Lola watches me, questions and confusion sparking like fireworks in her eyes. She opens her mouth then sighs and closes it again. Shaking her head, she dodges around me.
My hand falls from her hair, and I feel the loss of it in my stomach. I turn to face her like I’m a compass and Lola’s my true north.
Her eyes catch on the burnt sign, and she screws up her face before turning her back on it and rounding the counter into the main part of the shop. “Maybe I should just give up, go traveling again,” she says, arms crossed, her back to me.
“Lola.” My gut hardens, everything in me rejecting the thought of her leaving again.
She turns around and the doubt on her face strips me bare. “What if Mase is right? What if I can’t do this? I should stop now before I can screw things up anymore.”
“You’re not going to do either of those things,” I say, scowling at the way she curls in on herself. Lola is a force of nature, a wreckage of waves, it doesn’t feel right to watch her make herself smaller.
I tap two fingers on the purple folder sitting on the counter, right next to the design for the shop sign. “What’s your projected profit margin for month three?”
“$2,200,” she answers on instinct like I knew she would. No one puts together a business plan that thought out and doesn’t memorize every word of it.
“Why are you opening at the end of this month?”
“Roman,” she sighs my name.
“Lola,” I taunt back. “Answer the question.”
She glances up at me from under her dark lashes. “You’re really in? You’ll sell me the apples?”
“I’m really in.” I wait her out for a minute until she caves on a soft sigh.
“Opening at the end of summer gives us enough of the end of season tourist trade to make a good profit to offset the initial costs but will be quiet enough for us to work out any kinks.”
I tap the folder again. “Where did you go to business school?”
She looks up from the floor, her soft eyes seeking me out. “How did you know?”
“I read your business plan. That’s how.” I cock my head. “I’m not sure you understand quite how good it is.”
She uncrosses her arms and pulls back her shoulders. “I do. I know it’s good. Really good.”
I nod slowly. “How about you do me a favor and stop talking shit about quitting then.”
