Or does he want to be here, with me and Hallie, because we’re friends and he, too, is too much of an island sometimes?
I have a lot of friends around town, of all ages and backgrounds, but since I broke up with Miller, I haven’t beentight-tight with anyone who’s not approximately forty years older than I am. Hanging out with Fletcher is making me miss what I used to have.
Not that I’d trade my ladies for the world, but sometimes, I want what I gave up two years ago too.
“Sammiches!” Hallie exclaims as our server arrives with our individual, three-tiered trays and sets them in front of each of us. Hallie’s hot chocolate mustache is epic enough to battle Fletcher’s former mustache in the wrong kind of glory, and she’ll have the sugar buzz to end all sugar buzzes when she gets home.
Brittany’s probably glad I’m leaving the country.
But also, Hallie will crash hard if we can get her through a bath.
Our server points out which sandwiches are which, our jam flavors, and the sweets on the bottom, then asks if we have any questions.
“Is that real clotted cream?” Fletcher asks, pointing to a ramekin on the middle level.
Our server smiles at him. “Our chef is British. It’s real clotted cream. But if you prefer whipped cream?—”
“I’m gonna need a pint of clotted cream to go.”
He’s serious.
He’s completely dead serious.
And it’s utterly adorable.
“What else do you miss about England?” I ask him after the server’s departed and Hallie is digging into her finger sandwiches.
He stares at his own tray long enough that I chalk up my question to one more that I won’t get a straight answer to.
Considering it’s half of what our friendship is based on, this doesn’t surprise me.
Or bother me.
But then, I hear, very softly, “My team.”
And it suddenly makes complete sense why, now that we’ve cleared the air about what happened in that VIP suite all those years ago, Fletcher fits in my life.
I might not know his whole story, but I’m positive he gets the heartbreak of losing the friends closest to you. He understands the unique kind of loneliness that comes with not knowing where you’ll fit next. With needing to go somewhere else—anywhere else—to find what’s suddenly missing in your life.
“I miss that about Copper Valley too,” I say softly.
He holds my gaze longer than should be comfortable.
So your truth finally comes out, Coach Goldie.You fake fitting in too. You’re as lost as the rest of us.
I sip my tea and reach for a finger sandwich, then pause to explain to Hallie which sandwiches are which again.
She listens, then dives for the brownie bite on the bottom rack. Apparently salmon spread doesn’t have the same appeal as sugar for an almost-four-year-old. Who knew?
Fletcher’s still watching me over his own tea cup. No milk or sugar for him.
But I don’t feel judged.
I feel understood.
Right as I’m about to leave the country.
Figures.
