He hums and breaks off the final bite of banana and gives it to me.
“I want to be a better friend.” I don’t say what I really want, which is to feel close to him again.
“Youarea good friend, Frankie.”
“Then why do you keep pulling away from me?” The question flies out of my mouth, surprising us both. I pop the banana in my mouth and look anywhere but into George’s eyes.
But he steps closer, ducking down so I’m forced to meet his stare. “Is that what you think?”
“I think you feel a sense of duty to me because of our history. I think that’s why you’re here now.”
“It’s incredible.” He cups my cheeks.
I blink because George never touches me like this. “What is?”
“Just how wrong you are.”
He laughs, then lets go of me. “I’m going to shower and then we’ll leave.”
“Where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise.”
“I hate surprises.”
“I’ll give you a hint.” He looks at me over his shoulder. “This is your day to indulge.”
Chapter Nineteen
The town of Tofino sits high above Clayoquot Sound, overlooking blue water, evergreen-studded mountains, and deep valleys. Mist encircles the peaks like a diaphanous belt. Even in the summer, Tofino isn’t unbearably hot. The beaches are gorgeous, but the water is chilly year-round, and the weather can change in seconds. Its vibe is less cabana and tiki drinks and more bonfires and granola. The main drag is bustling with tourists dipping in and out of art galleries, gift shops, and surfing outfitters. Rhino Coffee House is clearly the hotspot—the line is well out the door.
“The goal today is to take care of yourself,” George says, pulling into the parking lot next to a large timber building with a sign that readsTOFINO RESORT + MARINA. “To not worry about anyone else”—he casts me a look—“myself included, but to focus on what you need to feel well.”
“Are you mansplaining self-care to me?”
“No.” George frowns. “I’m explaining.”
“I know you might not know this about me, but I’m a human woman, and as such I have a thorough understanding of the fundamentals of self-care.”
“Do you really?”
“Sure,” I say flatly. “I just haven’t felt like treating myself to a manicure recently.”
George maneuvers into a space and shuts off the engine, tapping the steering wheel. He’s trying not to argue, but I know it’s coming inthree,two,one…
“Self-care isn’t about nail polish,” he says. “It’s about prioritizing yourself in simple yet often ignored ways so you can better manage stress and trauma. It requires listening to your body and your mind. It means going easy on yourself, being kind to yourself, eating well.”
“So we’re not going for his-and-hers facials?”
He shoots me a perturbed look. “I know it sounds cliché, but this stuffisimportant. You don’t exactly have the best track record of taking care of yourself. I don’t mean that as a criticism,” he adds when I narrow my eyes. “But you tend to put your own health and well-being low on your priority list, especially when things are tough. Iknowyou.”
I hate it when he’s right. “It’s possible.”
He smirks. “I’ll take that as a win.”
We get out of the car, and I scowl at a sandwich board advertising whale-watching expeditions.
“Don’t worry,” George says. “No whales today. But there is a boat.”
