Finn flicked his ear lightly. “Not a romantic bone in your body.”
“Oh, you want a romantic bone in your body?” he replied, catching Finn’s teasing fingers. “I’m on it.”
In a flash, Tom rolled off the couch, tossed his squealing girlfriend over his shoulder, and carried her off to their bedroom.
“That’s gross, you guys! And you still owe me cake!” Josie shouted at Finn’s closed door. Then, to herself, she said, “I havegotto get my own place.”
Rather than hanging around stewing in the dangerous mixture of jealousy and frustration that threatened to engulf her, she slid on her shoes, grabbed her jacket, and let herself out of the apartment.
She trudged down three flights of stairs and crossed the checkered floor of the lobby, exploding through the heavy entrance door. She halted just outside the building and filled her lungs with the early-evening air, uncertain of where to head. She’d been joking just now—well, mostly joking anyway—but in truth, shehadspotted Tom from across the bar in February and shehadbrought him home, hoping that she’d finally found a good guy. Turned out she had… just not for her. Tom chose Josie’s roommate, just like Josie’s mom chose her work and Josie’s boss chose Val. It was enough to give her a massive rejection complex.
Oh wait, she already had one.
She jolted herself into motion and walked briskly down the sidewalk as if speed would let her escape the excess of emotions buzzing in her skull. After a block, she realized she was headed in the direction of the neighborhood bar, Jeb’s Tap, which seemed as good a place as any to spend an hour or so feeling sorry for herself. As she approached the squat pub, her phone vibrated. She slid it out of her jacket pocket and read the message Richard had sent her, then tapped to enlarge the accompanying photo.
“What in the…?” She zoomed in closer and forgot all about her earlier agitation. Instead of entering Jeb’s Tap, she leaned against the brick wall near the door and selected a number from her contacts.
“What did you do?” she demanded.
She felt the sigh Erik heaved all the way across the line and pictured those huge shoulders rising and falling in exasperation. “You sure like talking on the phone.”
“I sure do!” she chirped, only because he so obviously hated it and rattling his chain was fun. “But seriously, did you send Richard and Byron cake samples at the hospital?” Her amazed question was met with silence, so she snapped her fingers near the speaker. “Hello? Tall, blond, and beautiful, are you still with me?”
She heard rustling and a sharp creak on the other end of the line before he spoke again. “Yeah.”
His unexpected thoughtfulness pricked her heart like a needle. “That was so sweet of you.”
“I’m not sweet.” He sounded a little alarmed by the suggestion, so she amended it.
“Fine, then it was crafty of you to track them down.” She tipped her head back against the still-warm wall of the pub and looked up at the sky, which was streaked with the pink of the setting sun above the tops of the brick buildings lining the street.
“Not that either,” he said. “I had a name and a hospital, and they needed to finalize the flavors.”
Good grief, it must’ve taken so much work to verify the location, make and package the samples, and see them mailed safely, and here he was downplaying it. He might grump and grumble and act all uninterested, but underneath it, he was turning out be a bit of a softy.
“Well, they loved it. Richard had to feed Byron because he’s still pretty immobile with his injuries. Isn’t that romantic?”
He grunted. “I thought they should enjoy the only fun part of wedding planning.”
And there it was. Long live the grump. Still, talking with Erik was helping ease the pressure that had built up in her chest from her professional disappointment and the image of Finn and Tom wrapped together in a shared happiness she’d never experienced. But she’d bet her favorite Coach bag that if she came even close to explaining all that to him, he’d hang up without a word, so she kept her reply light. “You’re awesome. But do you know what’s not awesome?”
Silence from his end. She sighed. “Since you asked, it’s not awesome that my roommate’s boyfriend ate the last of the peach cake. I was saving that for breakfast.” She shifted down the brick wall to make extra room for a cluster of boisterous men who came pouring out of Jeb’s, jostling and shouting from averyhappy hour by the looks of it. She plugged her finger in her ear in time to hear Erik cluck his tongue like a disapproving grandmother.
“Cake isn’t for breakfast.”
“Cake isn’t for…” She gasped and held her hand over her heart, too outraged to finish the thought. “You’re a baker! You should be drowning in cake! You should be gorging on your own exquisite creations morning, noon, and night!”
Silence on his end, which she was only able to hear because the gaggle of men had staggered off down the street, bellowing a Journey song as they went.
“No,” she groaned. “You’re not one of those bakers who doesn’t eat his own product, are you?” A horrible thought struck her. “You’re not…anti-dessert?”
Another creak from his end, this time accompanied by the ghost of a chuckle that sent a thrill down her spine. Getting this guy to laugh was turning into her favorite challenge.
“I like dessert fine. In moderation.”
Oh, he was too much. She’d never last a day with as much stoic self-denial as he seemed to carry around with him. “Bah. Moderation, schmoderation. I’m currently loitering outside my neighborhood bar because not only did my roommate’s boyfriend eat the last of the cake, but he hauled my roommate off to ravish her, and now I’m going to drink alone because I’m feeling sorry for myself. How’s that for moderation?”
The sky was shifting to a dark velvety blue now, approaching true night, and she willed him to say something, anything, to distract her from the gnawing emptiness in her chest. It was the same reckless feeling that had driven her to pick fight after fight with her mom during her terrible teenage years, the same feeling that pushed her to go home with wholly unsuitable men and to yell at assholes on the L. But today it felt like an itch she didn’t know how to scratch. None of the dudes who’d come boiling out of the bar had caught her eye. Her mom hadn’t concerned herself with a single decision Josie had made since the instant she’d turned eighteen. And she wasn’t about to shout at Finn and Tom for daring to be happy. So what to do with the buzzing that was getting louder in her skull, urging her tomove, shout, do something?
