Summer Breeze Kisses - Addison Moore Page 0,59

you were kissing that girl the night of the engagement party.” She lifts her glass as if she were toasting me.

“I sort of thought you were bringing someone, too.” Baya shoots me the stink eye.

Annie pops up from behind and signs, Where’s Izzy?

“I don’t know.” I sign the words as well, and it feels just as lousy declaring it in two languages. “I’ll probably catch up with her later.”

I thought she’d be here. Her features sag. Annie looks downright crestfallen that Izzy’s not with me. I told her I was cooking something special. I guess I’ll have to wait to show off my culinary skills. She makes a face.

Crap. Izzy knew about the party. No wonder her mood downshifted when I told her it wasn’t anything important. She knew it was.

A young blonde appears next to Annie.

This is my friend, Marley. Annie gives her a half-hug. She’s my new roommate at Whitney Briggs. We move in the day after the wedding.

“Nice to meet you.”

Annie used to tutor kids in sign language after school, so she rarely drops the syntax when signing. She’s always been a stickler for going the extra mile in everything she does, including expanding her social circle.

“I know you!” The blonde bounces on her heels. “You’re that hot bartender at the Black Bear.”

“No, that’s him.” I mock shoot Bryson.

“Nope, it’s you.” She gives a little wink, and now I’m really wishing Izzy was by my side. Maybe it’s not too late to text her. But then it’s dark as hell and almost impossible to get here unless you know the way. Maybe I’ll surprise her and stop by her place tonight, bring some whiskey and my tail between my legs.

Annie herds us all to the table, and Marley lands across from me with a dreamy look in her eyes.

Perfect.

Baya and Bryson fill the conversation with talk of their wedding. Still can’t believe he’s getting hitched in just a couple of weeks.

“How about you, Holt?” Mom waves her fork in my direction before taking a bite. “You think you’ll be taking the plunge anytime soon?” She tilts her head as if demanding an answer.

“Don’t know. I always thought I’d sort of be the forever bachelor.” And that’s the truth.

“Give him a break.” Bryson wads up his napkin and tosses it at me. “He needs to sink his teeth into a relationship first.”

“He’s just a late bloomer.” Mom comes to my defense. “Besides, there are still plenty of options out there for him.” She raises her brows in Marley’s direction.

Nope. Not going there. I’ve got all of my options narrowed down to one—the perfect one. I don’t need anyone else. I just need Izzy.

“Speaking of relationships, I have an announcement.” Mom leans in like a giddy schoolgirl. “I’m back in the dating pool.”

Bryson growls at the news. “Tell ‘em you got two buff dudes looking out for you.”

Baya leans in. “I think it’s great. I hope you have a good time.”

I lift a glass. “To Mom on what I predict to be the best half of her life.” Everyone joins in on the toast. “And to Bryson and Baya. Here’s to the happily ever after you both deserve.”

We touch glasses and knock back our drinks.

“To happily ever after,” Mom chimes.

Sounds like Mom is ready to move on. Grief coats me like lead from the inside out.

My mood plummets, and, as soon as we have cake, I make up an excuse about the bar and hightail it out of there.

Someday soon I’ll have to let go of all this bullshit.

Too bad I can’t figure out how.

All of Me

Izzy

Hi Daddy,

Just when I thought I had my life squared away, the bottom falls out again. That’s what I get for leaping into the oily black lie that is love. I loved you. I leaped in your arms every day screaming those very words, and, now, all that’s left is a void—dead empty space, brokenness, and whiskey, and my splintered heart. It’s a shame I ever trusted anyone—beginning with you.

Maybe I’m not the screw up—maybe you are,

~Elizabeth

Spending Saturday night with my mother has never really bothered me—until now. I’ve got the ritualistic chick flick going. We’ve each washed and set our hair in rollers. I’ve plied both our faces with enough avocado and raw egg to make any omelet jealous. Our fingers and toes are freshly painted a raucous shade of fuchsia as we watch a waning romantic comedy we’ve seen at least a dozen times before, but, deep down, I still wish