friends with benefits for a little while.”
“And you’re supposed to take over Sweetie Pies and run it until the day you die too,” she challenges as the train rattles past tall trees, with colonial homes in the distance. “And you’re not going to do that anymore. You get to decide.”
I tear at my empty croissant wrapper, shredding it into tiny pieces. “Not everything. It takes two to tango.”
“Then tango over to his place and ask him to dance,” she says before lifting her hands in surrender. “But that’s all I’m going to say about it. My lips are zipped from now on. Whatever you decide, I’m here to love and support, regardless.”
“Same,” I promise.
And I mean it, all the way to the marrow of my bones.
I mean it so much that as soon as we make our way back to Brooklyn and emerge from the subway stop in our neighborhood, I hug Gigi goodbye outside the park instead of walking with her the rest of the way to my place.
“Gotta see a mama about a pie shop,” I say.
Gigi pulls back, her eyes wide. “You’re doing it now?”
I take a bracing breath. “No time like the present.”
“You want me to come with you? Just in case you need someone to help you catch Barb when she faints?”
I force a smile. “No, she’s not going to faint. She’s going to see that I’m right. I’ll make her see.”
Or at least . . . I hope I will.
26
Jesse
The Datsun shimmers.
I step back, rag in hand, and circle my favorite car one more time.
Even the hubcaps shine.
They’d better—I’ve spent the bulk of the last forty-eight hours here in my garage prepping this beauty for a road trip across the country.
Maybe I should check the oil one more time.
I do.
It’s all good.
And the tire pressure.
Yup. That’s solid as well.
“Need anything else, you sexy silver beast?”
She’s silent.
And so is my phone.
So is my apartment.
So is my fucking garage, emptied out and waiting for the new owners to take possession next week.
I’ve heard nada from Ruby.
Not a single word since I left two days ago.
All I can do is keep myself busy, which hasn’t been easy, since my garage is already spic-and-span.
I finished packing up some books and plates and clothes in my apartment, though the movers I hired will do the rest next week.
Time is unwinding.
My chest seizes.
Grabbing my phone, I check the messages one more time.
They mock me, glaringly empty.
Nothing from the woman whose voice I’m dying to hear.
I heave a sigh, the weight of my own choices sinking me. My bones are heavy, and it’s my own damn fault.
Which means the thing I need most now is a kick in the pants.
There’s one person who’s excellent at giving those.
It doesn’t take long to catch Max up on what went down. I give him the details as we wander through his wife’s favorite wine shop so he can grab a bottle for a fancy Friday night dinner at home.
He picks up a Syrah, studies the front, then sets it down with a dismissive wave. “Boring.”
He reaches for a Merlot next, clucks his tongue, then taps the front. “Yep. This is the one. Perfect new wine. Theresa will love it.”
I furrow my brow. “How do you know?”
“Because it has ducks sword-fighting on the label.”
“That’s how you pick wine for your wife?”
He shoots me a duh look. “How else would I do it?”
Fair point. I wouldn’t know. I don’t have a wife to buy wine for. Or even a girlfriend, since I fucked that up.
“Theresa has a theory—the more interesting the illustration, the better the wine.”
“And how does that theory hold up?”
“So far it’s been on the mark. She contends that winemakers who spend time on clever labels also spend time on the vino. Ergo, the pick-by-drawing method.”
I peer at the jousting water fowl, and of course it makes me think of Ruby and all the funky things she draws.
But everything makes me think of Ruby. How could I think of anything but her? The woman I said goodbye to two days ago. The woman who went to bed alone in a hotel room I intended for the two of us. The woman I can’t get out of my head.
Instead, I’m with Max, helping him shop for a dinner he’s going to be making for his wife.
It’s so fucking domestic.
And incredibly cool. My buddy, the guy I’ve known for years, loves to do simple things like this for his woman, the mother of his child.
We head