Maybe I’ll just have to find some way to go back. So I can see Mason again, somehow. Like I promised him I would.
It’s not that far.
Though with the ferry, it’s at least a four-hour trip—on a good traffic day—from my apartment to his front door. I don’t know how often I could feasibly make it work when I’m hustling all over the GVRD from one pop-up to another.
And meanwhile ... plenty of eager, horny tourists will be lining up at his bar.
I work the key in my lock on that depressing mental image. When I throw open my apartment door, arms loaded down withgrocery bags, there’s a man sitting in my living room. I startle, dropping a couple of my bags.
“Jesus Christ.What the hell.”
“Hey. Sorry. Did I scare you?” He gets to his feet. Five-foot-eleven, broad shoulders, wavy, honey-brown hair. Wearing a suit on a Monday afternoon; he probably dipped out of work.
“Uh, yeah, Kyle. What are you doing here?”
“You said we could talk.” He picks up the bags I dropped, takes them to the fridge. Starts unpacking and putting all the cold stuff away.
Honestly, he was never this considerate when we were dating.
I hand him the rest of the bags, sigh, and shut the door.
“Right now? I just got back.”
“I know.” He gives me an almost sheepish look. “When you said you were on the early ferry, I just figured I’d come by today. And when I texted, you said you were at the grocery store. So I let myself in with my key.”
Right. His key. The one I really need to get back from him.
“Well, while you’re here, you can collect your records.” I take one of the now-empty grocery bags, head into the living room, and start packing them up. When I told him I was getting groceries, I thought I made it clear I’m busy today.
Guess not.
He follows me. “I kind of took the key as a sign.”
I look at him blankly.
“That maybe the door wasn’t totally closed between us ...”
What the hell?
“I forgot you had a key. I was in Orchard Cove. I’ve been busy.”
“Yeah. I know.” He takes a step closer. “And I want you to know ... I’m proud of you, for the way you picked yourself up after what happened and kept going.”
I laugh bitterly. “What did you expect me to do? Curl up in a ball on my couch and cry into my ice cream for the rest of the summer? Hide away, so I wouldn’t have to run into you and Estella groping each other at the bar?”
He swallows, actually looking regretful. “I wish you didn’t have to see that.”
I laugh shortly. “I’m glad I saw it. That night taught me a lot about you that I might’ve refused to see otherwise.” I finish sorting out his albums from mine and get to my feet.
I grab another grocery bag from the kitchen and go into the bedroom, start stuffing it with the clothes he left here. Once again, he follows me, and it grates.
How I would’ve loved to have his attention back then, even just another hour or two of his time, to talk things out face-to-face without arguing in circles. But he wouldn’t even give me that.
“I didn’t want you to find out like that, Sierra,” he says lamely.
“Then why were you in public?” I shoot back. “I may not have as many friends as you, but at least I have damn good ones.” I refuse to look at him. Or get upset about it all over again.
But I can remember that night so clearly, sitting right here, alone on my couch just three days after he broke up with me, still hurting, still hoping we were salvageable, still trying. Calling him and getting no answer. Texting him and getting no reply. Instead, I got a text from Pete. He’d just walked into a bar and happened to see Kyle and Estella there—all over each other.
