Finding Mr. Write (Business of Love #5) - Ali Parker Page 0,75

“Let’s go.”

Much to the dismay of her friends, Briar grabbed her coat and scarf, pulled on a pair of boots, and stepped out into the hall with me.

One of the girls, the one with the darker hair, swung around the doorframe and stared incredulously at Briar. “Are you actually going to go? You just got here. I thought we were going to stay in tonight and catch up. We haven’t seen you in two weeks and you’re going to blow us off just like that?”

She spoke like I wasn’t even there, like I blended in with the puke-green color of the hallway walls.

Briar swept her fingers through her red hair and let it fall over her right shoulder. “I’m sorry, guys. But this is important. Wes and I have a lot we need to talk about. Maybe…” She trailed off. “You know how I feel about this. I need to talk to him.”

The girls stared after us as Briar turned her back on them and made her way down the hall. I followed hot on her heels, wondering how many unspoken things had just been exchanged between the women that went right over my head.

You probably missed thirteen conversations they just had with their eyes, I thought to myself.

The cold air outside bit into my cheeks and I bunched my shoulders up against the chill. Briar kept walking to the end of the lane her apartment building sat on before she turned to me and asked if I had a car.

“I rented one at the airport.” I nodded down the lane a half a block. “The black sedan there.”

“Not really your style.” She smirked.

Was she already joking around with me? Certainly, that meant she wasn’t all that angry with me. Or perhaps she was waiting until she had me alone in the car before she laid into me.

“They didn’t have a lot of options,” I said as we walked toward the car.

“No chrome, no flashy accents, no bumper sticker that says ‘Caution, Writer behind the wheel,’” she mused. “Very incognito.”

I clicked the button in my pocket to unlock the car doors. The headlights winked and the doors unlocked with a soft click. “Are you having a go at me?”

Briar walked around to the passenger side and opened her door. “Having a go at you? Never.”

I didn’t believe her. Not for a second.

The first couple of minutes of the drive were quiet to the point of being uncomfortable. I wanted to break the silence but I didn’t have a clue what I should say. Driving to the restaurant, wherever said restaurant was, hardly seemed like the right time or place to bring everything up and start working through our issues. I had to wait.

I hated waiting.

We drove down several residential streets before emerging on a two-lane road with gentle S-bends. It took us into town, where Briar pointed out the place we’d be going for dinner in the historic and quaint downtown core. The place reminded me of something out of a movie set in a small town that was historic even in the eighties. I imagined kids grew up riding bicycles across town to meet up with their friends, where they’d likely have adventures in the surrounding forests or play in the backyards of one of their parents’ houses. This place definitely had more space than New York City.

The restaurant matched the town with its own rustic charm. Lights were strung up in the rafters overhead and mason jars filled with water boasted floating candles in the shape of flowers. Briar and I weren’t greeted by a hostess and instead were able to choose our own table.

Briar picked one by the window. She kept her jacket and scarf on and smiled at the waiter who arrived with waters. I wondered for a moment if she knew him. Everyone always knew everyone in small towns like this when it came to movies and books, which were my only experiences with such small places.

She ordered herself a spiked cider and I asked for the same. After the waiter left, we sat across from each other like two people on a first date who were afraid to make the first move and get the conversation-ball rolling.

“So,” she said slowly.

“So.”

“This was unexpected.”

“I don’t think your friends like me.”

“I don’t think they do either,” she admitted. “But to be fair, I don’t think they like anyone or anything that doesn’t align with their wants and needs.”

I frowned, puzzled. “That doesn’t sound like a good quality