“But that changed.”
Because a friend wouldn’t do what I did.
“When?”
“Eryn.” I give her another desperate look. I’ll tell her whatever she wants to know, but this seems cruel, to both of us.
She doesn’t look away even as I squirm. “Tell me.”
“I don’t know. At first it was like I was just wearing Wren down. He put up with me because he didn’t have a choice, and I put up with him because I needed his help. He hadn’t told me the whole story about his mom yet, so I didn’t understand why me being a tourist was so intolerable to him, but—”
“He told you about his mom?”
I hesitate, then nod, feeling as though I’ve somehow just admitted to something worse than a near kiss. “But I decided that Icould prove him wrong, if not about all tourists, at least about me. Whenever there was a moment I could tell he was thawing toward me, it felt like a win. Honestly, I thought that was all I wanted, just for him not to hate me. It wasn’t until we started working on his new tour script and making real progress with our research that I started to wonder if it might be more than that.”
“You were helping him with Tate’s speech?”
“No, his new speech, you know, because he didn’t want to give up the one part of working at the museum he likes...” Based on the look on her face she obviously didn’t know about this. My voice falters. “...so I’ve been helping him write and rehearse a new one for himself to pitch to his dad.”
She goes so still that, if I didn’t know better, I’d think this revelation hurt her more than everything else combined.
“Since when?”
I glance past her to the closed door, wondering how much time we have left before she’s called back inside. This is not what I thought we’d be talking about. I just wanted to apologize and then, I don’t know, but not this. “My first week here, but none of that matters, does it?”
Her hands slide up to grip her elbows, wrapping her arms protectively around herself. “It matters because that afternoon in the back room may have been the first time you meant for something to happen, but you and I know it wasn’t the first time you both wanted it to.” Her fingers squeeze into her skin. “And I want to know when that started.”
She’s right, and that’s what makes shame splash like bile through my insides. “On the Fourth of July, when we fell asleep in his truck. That was the first time I let myself think about acting onthose feelings. We never—we just talked. Nobody has ever understood how important this project was to me, but Wren did. It started to mean something to him too, and then it became easier to talk about other things that we cared about too. That’s how he told me about his mom. And I talked about my dad.” I squeeze my eyes shut, not wanting to see her when I admit this next part. “And I started to not care as much about the past when we were together.”
I chance a look at her. She’s standing in exactly the same position, arms folded around herself, head held high, eyes dry, but there’s something fragile about her now, like she’s holding herself together with the barest of threads.
“I don’t understand how it could’ve changed so quickly. How do you go from arguing to—to—” Her words choke off. “We were never like that. He’s always been sweet to me. I don’t think we’ve ever been in a real fight.” Her features go blank, and then, almost to herself, she adds, “And the worst part is that deep down I knew.”
My brows pinch together. “Knew?”
“There were all these little signs and moments where I’d catch him staring at you or you at him. I started to feel like the intruder.”
My chin quivers before I can stop it. “No, I’m the one who shouldn’t have been there.”
She looks back at me again. “But you were. Every time I turned around you two were huddled together. I thought it was just glances. Elliot and I have had glances.” She stops abruptly then starts up again a moment later. “You’ve been so nice, and Wren would never hurt me.” Her voice is barely a whisper, but I hear it crack.
“Nothing ever actually happened between us,” I say, but I can’t argue when she responds.
“Everything happened.”
The back door of the café opens, and a guy’s head pops out, his smile coming easily at the sight of her. “Eryn, the buns are done proofing.”
“Okay, thanks, Elliot. I’ll be right in.” She waits until the door shuts before turning to me again, and I can tell she’s fighting to hold back her emotions. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now.”
“You don’t have to do anything. I hate that I hurt you this way and that I messed things up with you and Wren.”
“You didn’t do it alone.”
“I know that, but—”
“Lili. I don’t think I want to keep talking right now. I don’t hate you.” She pauses. “I don’t even hate Wren. I just have a lot I still need to think about. When I’m ready to think about more”—she makes a vague gesture between the two of us—“I’ll let you know.”
And then she’s gone.
