“She was in one of my advanced classes, so we knew each other a little. Why?”
“Did you…like each other?”
I’m getting pissed, but I try to rein it in. “We weren’t friends, Cole, but I never had any reason to dislike her, and as far as I know, she never had any reason to dislike me.”
He doesn’t look appeased, his brow almost painfully furrowed. Part of me wants to smooth it with my fingers, and another part of me would like to upend a pint over his head. Or maybe a full pitcher. There’s only one reason he can be asking me about this.
“What, your in-laws said Millie hated me?”
He doesn’t respond, which I take as a yes. I should probably tell him that Millie didn’t, that it would be impossible for her to have hated me from our minimal interactions, which probably boiled down to one or the other of us asking to borrow a pencil (let’s be honest, it was probably me asking). But it’s possible. Maybe she disliked me for the way I spoke to Cole, or maybe she sensed what I’ve only just consciously realized—that I’ve always carried a flame for him. That I’ve always wanted him. Even if I’d realized it back then, I would never have tried to take him away…but she may have still sensed it and hated me. It’s possible. It may even be likely.
“Maybe she did,” I say, steeling myself, holding back those tears, because fuck, I will. Not. Cry. “Maybe she knew…” I don’t want to finish. I don’t want to tell him how I felt…how Ifeel, but I’ve spent years lying to myself. Isn’t that long enough? If he’s going to push me away, if he’s going to throw me out, shouldn’t I at least know that I tried? “Maybe she knew how I’ve always felt about you,” I finish, forcing myself to look at him. “That I only went out of my way to annoy you because…” I don’t want to end that statement. I don’t want to hand him my bleeding heart on a platter so he can saw pieces off it, but is there any other way to make a real connection with someone? Besides, whether I tell him or not, it’ll still be true.
“I’m in love with you,” I say. “I think part of me always has been.” There, fuck. I did it. I communicated like a goddamn adult. “But you need to know that I never would have disrespected your relationship with Millie. No matter how she might have felt about me, I always respected her.”
His jaw works, and he stops and starts a couple of times before saying, “We’ve really rushed into this, Holly. You mean a lot to me, but I think we need to put things on pause. The timing’s not great for me. You know there’s a lot going on.”
Bloody heart, meet plate.
Up until this very afternoon I was helping him with all of that. Sure, it could be argued that roping Horacio back in to help us wasn’t my most shining moment of brilliance, but the cut still burrows deep. If not for me, he probably wouldn’t have even Googled Deacon yet.
I remember Jane looking at me with twisted lips, telling me her father needs more help than he realizes, but it doesn’t matter, does it? I told him I love him, and he said we need to take step back. Crystal fucking clear.
It looks like Rowan was right all along.
We both know he’s not interested in you.
But I have a whole closetful of Big Girl Panties, and I mentally pull on a pair. Dozens of quippy parting phrases come to mind—“Well, I could say it’s been real, but we both know that I faked every orgasm” or maybe “I’ve changed my mind. You’re at least three-quarters as much of an asshole as I’ve always thought.”
Instead, I find myself saying, “Goodbye, Cole.”
I’m proud that my voice only came out a little shaky, because inside I feel like a bowl of Jello someone just dropped. I turn and leave, hoping that he’ll grab my shoulder and stop me. That he’ll kiss me and apologize and tell me that the last fucking person he’ll let stand between us is Evelyn Labelle. Except…maybe it’s not Evelyn standing between us. Maybe, in some strange way, it’s Millie, and there’s nothing I can do about that. He doesn’t stop me, though. He doesn’t even call my name.
Hot tears are pressing against my eyes as I step back out into the tasting room. Before I leave, I walk over to Jane and Brittany, who are talking in lowered voices while Jane sips on a drink filled with a delightful number of cherries. The second Brittany sees me, her eyes widen and she steps away, close enough that she’s there for Jane if she’s needed but far enough away to give us some privacy.
“What did he do?” Jane says in a dark tone, hopping down from her chair.
“Nothing,” I say, but my voice betrays me. “Relationships between adults can be complicated, Short Stack. I just want you to know that I meant what I said earlier.”
“That you’re a bad teacher?” Jane asks, angling her head. “Because Eloise is full of crap.”
It’s a fun realization that I can still laugh, at least. Shitty love hasn’t stolen that from me. “No, I meant it when I said that I’m your friend. I’ll always be your friend, okay? No matter what happens between me and your dad.”
“You also said friends always have each other’s backs,” she says, giving me a serious look. “I have yours.”
I smile and chuck her chin. “Yeah, you do. You gave Eloise a talking-to. Not that I’m condoning yelling at other kids, obviously, but thank you. I’ll see you next week. Have a good Thanksgiving.”
“This isn’t over,” she says darkly, and I have a feeling Cole has quite a night ahead of him. Then again, he’s nothing if not stubborn. If he’s decided something, then he won’t let other people sway him. Not even his daughter. Besides, part of me is sick of being a decision he doesn’t want to make—of being the girl he’ll be wonderful to under a canopy in the woods or inside of his apartment or somewhere else where no one can see, but not the woman he wants to walk through life beside. Fuck that.
I’d rather be alone.
I’d rather talk to strangers on the Matchmake Me app, although I seriously hope Roger Rabbit doesn’t have as much of an aversion to hot wings as Hot Rod did.
“No, you and I aren’t over. In fact, maybe we can keep doing an afterschool thing after Tech Time ends. I’ve been thinking it might be fun if we developed a game together.”
“Really, Holly?” she asks.
“Really,” I say, forcing a smile. And then I say that phrase that Cole said to me all those years ago, except I actually mean it. “I’ll be seeing you, Jane Garrison.”
And then I leave.
