The deep baritone zips down my spine. Goosebumps spread across my skin like tentacles, wrapping themselves around me until I can’t breathe. I put down the bottle of wine I’m trying to open, while Eddie swiftly snatches the corkscrew from my other hand.
I brace myself. For what, I’m not entirely sure. This isn’t the same as drop-off surrounded by two dozen other people. And when I turn around, I have my answer. It’s the dark slash of brow under his baseball cap as he frowns, disappointed that I’m here too.
“What are you doing here?”
Summoning the deepest breath possible, I flare my nostrils only to get a noseful of Hendricks and that leathery rich, mossy scent that follows him around. The one that sets off a tranche of memories and an erratic heartbeat. “Let’s just get through this without arguing, please.”
“I don’t plan to argue, and that didn’t answer myquestion. Are you on the Valentine committee?”
“Why else would I be here?”
His eyes narrow, and his head tilts a fraction of a degree. I don’t know whether he’s going to answer my question or if he thinks it was rhetorical. I’m not so sure myself, but as I stare back, his smile grows until it’s stretching from ear to ear.
“I see your mood hasn’t improved since the weekend.”
The proximity to Hendricks becomes too much for Celeste as she thrusts an outstretched hand between us, and drowns out the sarcastic retort I have on the tip of my tongue.
“Lord Burlington, hel-lo. We’ve not formally met. Celeste Scott. I teach the other reception class at Valentine Prep. Max is an exceptional child and a real asset to the school.”
I know Hendricks is used to people blowing smoke up his arse. They’ve done it his whole life, yet it still doesn’t seem to tire him because he just smiles and says, “Thank you, I’m rather partial to him myself.”
“Oh, ha ha, yes. I’m sure.” She guffaws loud enough that even Eddie’s mustache twitches with amusement. “Well, it’s wonderful to have you here. We’re all very excited to have you lead the committee.”
Blue eyes slide to mine. “All?”
I shrug, indifferent, but Celeste doesn’t notice. “Yes, all of us.”
“Then it’s wonderful to be here.” He clasps her palm. I know he’s lying. I know he’d rather be anywhere else. “Reception seems to be in excellent hands this year.”
For a split second, I wonder if Miles andHendricks have swapped. Because this guy with his baseball cap and toothy smile, stubble short enough that I can see his dimples pull in as he bats his eyelashes while Celeste preens, is too smooth for his own good.
It’s nauseating.
But then he winks at me.
And with that one singular gesture, I’m taken right back to being a teenager. To being best friends. To watching girls fawn around him while I stood on the sidelines. But no amount of fawning would get them anywhere because both Hendricks and Miles were adamant they never wanted a girlfriend.
I was the only commitment Hendricks ever made. Me and our friendship. I was the one he called at the end of the day.
Our friendship made me special, and no one could ever compete. Girls were jealous, and sometimes girls were mean, or they’d try to use me to get to him. But it didn’t matter, because I knew it wouldn’t get them anywhere.
Until that day by the fountain.
He made a lifelong commitment to someone who wasn’t me. In a second, jealousy ate me up and spat me out. My heart shattered beyond repair. For as long as I could remember, I was hopelessly in love with a boy who never saw me. My entire being was entwined with him, and it unraveled faster than I could comprehend.
Because I found out, in that moment,hiswhole life was not and never would be entwined with mine.
I’m suddenly too beaten to stand here and listen to them talk. I hate it. I hate that I’m not over him. I hate that he still has this effect on me after years apart. Even when I tried moving on with Noah.
Without saying another word, I turn my back and make my way over to the chairs, already filling up. Mrs. Winston is fussing around, greeting everyone who enters—Claudia from the bakery, the couple who run the bed and breakfast, and a few faces I don’t know. And then there’s Agatha Chase wearing an extra billowy dress under a long scarlet cape.
It’s Agatha I make eye contact with, and when she pats the empty chair beside her, I sigh in defeat and take it.
“Story, dear. Good evening.”
I don’t bother to correct her, there are too many people here who’ve known me as Story, and it would take the rest of my depleted energy.
“How’s it going, Agatha?”
