I bite my lip as a smile clusters in the corner of my mouth. “Thanks,” I murmur before heading up the stairs.
My palms sweatas I wipe them down the front of my thighs, taking a seat in the corner of the cafe. I wish Allie were here, but she’s taking the week off to stay with her parents up in Pacific Palisades. I know it’s not normal to be this nervous for lunch with a friend, but Chelsea has never exactly felt like my other friends.
We grew somewhat close due to the sheer number of group dates Parker and Chelsea’s boyfriend, Hayden, would drag us on, but deep down, it never felt like she and I had much in common. Yet, she’s always seemed to enjoy being around me. My first year of college when I met Parker, Chelsea knew all the best study spots, and was eager to help me find my classes. She advised me which professors to avoid and saved me seats at football games. Sometimes it felt as if I were a pet project for her. Someone to take under her wing and help her feel more elevated. Then, I would feel guilty about thinking that way of her, because she’s so damn nice. The kind of perfect that made me constantly question her motives—and the sort of kind that proved me wrong time and time again.
She’s intimidating. A year older than me, and seeminglyalwaysput together. Chelsea has perfect skin, never misses a blow out or a manicure. I have a terrible habit of shopping for jewelry but forgetting to wear it. Chelsea never fails to dawn earrings, necklaces, rings, and bracelets—she’s never not sparkling. Plus, she always smells like vanilla.
I honestly don’t know why she’s taken such an interest in getting together after I left Berkeley. She’s been checking in on me a couple times a week ever since I came home. I avoided talking about our breakup and told her I wasn’t coming back.She vowed that she didn’t care to know, she just wanted to ensure I was okay. In the months since, she hasn’t even brought up Parker’s name.
We chat about our summer plans, my job at Honeysuckle, assisting Penelope, and which schools I submitted transfer applications to. Apparently, Chelsea is attending University of Southern California for grad school, and hopes that if I stick nearby, we can get together often.
It’s been a pleasant surprise to know her interest in me went beyond her friendship with my ex, but I’m nervous to see her nonetheless.
Despite her kindness, I’ve never felt like I held a candle to her. Never felt like I could measure up to her effortless perfection.
I comb my fingers through my long, blond hair that I forgot to brush this morning, still half-crimped from the loose braid I slept in last night, ensuring my strands cover the hickey on my collarbone because I don’t trust the concealer I covered it with to hold up. When I pull my hands away, my eyes snag on the grown-out, chipped nail polish on my fingers, and the wrinkles in my sundress. I’m suddenly questioning whether or not I should’ve worn sneakers with this outfit.
My stomach lurches as the front door swings open and Chelsea floats inside. Sure enough, she’s glowing. Almost levitating around the patrons and tables, as if carried by clouds as she makes her way toward me. I stand, feeling microscopic as she beams, squealing with delight and pulling me into her arms. She towers above me, because she wore a pair of wedges that likely have her pushing six feet tall.
She smells like vanilla and some kind of delicious hair oil—the likely reason why her brunette strands are so silky when they brush over my knuckles locked around her back.
“Willow.” She squeezes me. “I am so happy to see you.”
“Me too.” A mousey sheen coats my voice, and I’m suddenly reminded why I never quite felt myself up there in Berkeley.
She pulls back, offering a glistening smile as she peers down at me. “You look beautiful. So sun-kissed and tan. You can’t even pay for a tan like this.” She runs her fingers down my arm. “I’m so jealous.”
“Please.” I snort. She’s wearing a pale pink babydoll top and a white denim skirt that perfectly hugs her hips. “You’re perfect.”
“Oh.” She playfully smacks my arm. “You’re too sweet.” Glancing around the cafe, she asks, “Have you ordered already?”
“No, I was waiting for you.”
I walk toward the front counter, beckoning her to follow. I order my regular from Stella, one of the baristas, while Chelsea requests something much more complicated that has me questioning my decision to drink whole milk.
After our coffee is ready, we take a seat back at my table as we wait. “This is the most adorable little beach town. I had no idea you were from a place so quaint.”
“Oh, yeah.” I laugh awkwardly, shuffling in my seat. “I love it here, especially in the summer.”
“And your parents own this whole thing?” She swirls her finger in the air, referencing the boardwalk, I assume.
“Well, my dad owns the boardwalk itself, but my aunt owns the cafe. My other aunt owns the bookshop next door, and my uncle owns the tattoo parlor at the end. My parents own the surf shop and the florist.” I nod to my left, in the direction of Honeysuckle.
“That issocool.” She smiles, and it seems nothing but genuine. “I’m so happy I was able to stop by on my way down to visit my grandmother.” She grabs my hands across the table, squeezing gently. “Parker will be happy to hear you’re alive and thriving.”
All of my internal organs lurch into my throat, and I erupt into a coughing fit.
Why the fuck would she say that?
Her eyes widen, face flushing. “Oh, God, Willow. I’m so sorry.” She hands me a napkin. “I was just making a joke. Perhaps that was in poor taste. I won’t tell Parker anything you’re not comfortable with me sharing.”
Heat creeps up my neck as I take the napkin and wipe my mouth. I should’ve expected Parker would come up in conversation. I’m such a fucking idiot for thinking I could get away with ignoring his existence. I’m going to have to tell hersomething. Maybe if we get it out of the way now, we can put the topic to bed and leave it alone. If I avoid it, it’ll just make her more curious.
I open my mouth, searching for a placated response that will shut down any further discussion of my ex, while offering her some kind of update to report back to him.
“Tell me about your summer instead.” Her lips quirk apologetically as she crosses one leg over the other, settling into her seat.
Fuck.
