Well, that would be convenient, actually. If Angel’s still working, we can discuss our plans for the weekend in person instead of through texts. Maybe I’m old-fashioned, but I don’t like trying to decipher combinations of emojis and strange abbreviations and acronyms. Just come out and tell me what you mean.
I think she’s still working, though. It’s only half-past one, and Angel said she doesn’t usually leave until around three, giving her enough time to get home before Haley gets off the bus. Unless it’s art club day, that is, or Haley’s going over to afriend’s after school. Then Angel gets a little breather to do some cleaning or laundry or work on one of the many projects around the house.
How do I know all this? She told me while we were watching the end ofRudolphthe other night; our voices pitched low so we didn’t wake up Haley, who, as Angel predicted, had hit the wall after the excitement of creating Mount Nilsson.
In the three days since, I haven’t stopped thinking about it. Not just that conversation, but all of it—helping with the mini mountain, the hot chocolate topping buffet, the issue of ski club and the sad look Angel got when Haley brought it up, sitting next to Angel on the couch while we watched the movie, our legs brushing each other while we talked…
It’s been hard to stop thinking about Angel, period.
I forced myself to while I was meeting with the client in Maine—and yes, she’s officially our client now, based on the information she gave me. Alec’s working up a plan for the investigation, and Knox and I are heading back to Maine next week to set up surveillance at the client’s house, just in case the half-sister gets it into her head to try anything funny.
So I managed to keep my head in the game long enough to do my job. But during the off times, Angel was never far from my mind.
I’d be sitting in my hotel room, idly flipping through the channels, and I’d wonder what she was doing. Was she watching another Christmas movie with Haley? Or were they watching the newest episode ofThe Great British Bake Off?
Did Angel still smell like cupcakes, just like she did the last two times I saw her?
Were the bruises from her fall from the ladder fading? Was she still sore? Was she pushing herself to do things around the house that were too much for her?
Had the helmet Angel said she was going to order arrived? Did Haley try going down mini Mount Nilsson yet? Did she like it?
Offering to teach Haley to ski was one of the last things I could have imagined when I decided to swing by Angel’s house that day. But then again, I hadn’t planned on spending the evening with Angel and Haley, helping them build a mini mountain and drinking hot chocolate and watchingRudolphlike I was a character in one of those Hallmark movies Winter and Lark love to watch around the holidays.
But, shit. How could I just stand there andnotsay something? I totally get why Haley would want to join the ski club, especially if all her friends are doing it.
And Angel. She just looked so sad. Like it was physically hurting her not to be able to give her daughter something she wanted.
That’s when it came to me.Icould fix things. I could take away the disappointed slump of Haley’s shoulders and the regret in Angel’s eyes. It wouldn’t take much. And really, what else would I do on a day off? Putter around my house, working on more projects no one but me ever sees? Watch another show about people being dumped in the middle of nowhere and hear them complain about how hard it is instead of actually buckling down and doing something about it?
Anyway, it’s not like spending the day at Stowe with Angel and her daughter means we’re dating. I’m just helping out a friend.
Just friends,I repeat like a mantra as I drive through downtown Bliss, looking for a place to park.We’re just friends.
And then, as I hurry down the sidewalk, breath puffing out in billowing, silvery clouds and my eyes watering from the cold—just friends.
As the entrance for Blissful Brews comes into sight, marked by a colorful awning decorated with clouds in the shape of hops, I remind myself again,We’re just friends.And friends help each other. Just like I’d help Enzo or Gage or any of my teammates. Just like I would—and have—for any of their partners.
My jaw sets in determination.
I’m not looking for a relationship. Been there, done that, not interested in trying it again.
Anger flares hot at the unwelcome memory.
A bitter taste comes to my mouth.
It’s nearly enough to make me turn back around. To go home and have my frozen pizza in front of the TV while trying to come up with an excuse not to go through with this whole ski lesson idea.
The urge to flee is so powerful, I actually freeze with my hand on the handle of the door.
A small, cowardly part of me whispers,Go home. Text Angel later and tell her you’re sick. The flu or food poisoning or something. Arrange for lessons with one of the instructors at the mountain so Haley isn’t disappointed. Make up something about a scholarship or some shit, so Angel doesn’t have to pay for them. And then extricate yourself from Angel’s life before you’re in too deep. Before she gets a chance to screw you over, just like Gwen did.
I’m ashamed to admit I almost do it.
During the seconds I hesitate in front of the door, the memories I’ve shoved down deep resurface. And with them, the anger. The hurt. The betrayal. The vow afterwards of never giving my heart to anyone again.
Then a raucous burst of laughter from inside the pub brings me back to the present.
Wrenching control of the memories, I shove them back into the steel-trap box I’ve stored them in and lock it securely shut.
