“Breadsticks, Wren!”
“It’s been noted, Foster! Noted!”
His laughter follows me through the dining room.
Slice Four
Foster
“Do you want the good or bad news first?”
“Hit me with the good. I could use it after that date.”
“Good: at least she wasn’t a teenager. Bad: I’m fairly certain she has a teenager.”
I laugh, because Wren isn’t wrong. She does, and she talked about him a lot. I don’t have an issue dating an older woman, but seeing as she was sixteen years my senior, that piece of information would have been nice to know.
Wren reaches for another French fry, dipping it into the famous house buffalo ranch Simon mixes up fresh every day.
“At least that was the only major issue.”
“Right, but it was a major issue. I think I’m closer in age to her son than I am her.”
She winces. “You’re not wrong there.”
I sigh, scrubbing a hand over my face, defeat starting to settle in. “This dating shit is hard.”
“It is.” She wrinkles her nose. “I was really good at it once upon a time, though.”
There’s a familiar pinch in my chest.
Just like every other time I’ve heard about Wren’s dating life or witnessed it firsthand, that ugly thing called jealousy tries to rear its head.
I push it away. I have no right to be jealous, not when I can’t even muster up the courage to properly tell her how I feel.
“Are you seeing anyone now?” I punish myself like the moron I am.
She snorts. “As if I have the time for that.”
“No time? How many hours a week do you work here?”
She laughs mockingly. “Just here? At least twenty-five.”
“Where else do you work?”
“Oh!” She jerks forward, waving the fry that’s pinched between her fingers. “I almost forgot you were gone for forever so you don’t know. I have my own salon.”
“What? You do?”
She nods. “I converted my shed to a salon.”
“Back up.” I hold out my hand. “A shed? What shed?”
Her mouth drops open. “Did Winston not tell you anything over the years?”
“Apparently not,” I snap, annoyed.
Well, to be fair, not only did Winston and I not talk often while I was gone—which is entirely my fault—the last person I asked about when we did chat was Wren. I couldn’t bring myself to ask him about her. I didn’t want the reminder of what I left behind.
“Yep. I’ve been renting that house off Western.”
“The little blue one?”
“That one.”
I grin at her. “I told you so.”
Her cheeks tint an adorable shade of pink. “Braggart.”
Wren used to talk about that house all the time. It was exactly everything she ever wanted, she’d say, which I always had to laugh at because she had no idea what the inside looked like. She just liked it because it perfectly matched the color of her eyes.
“Mr. Carlton will never sell it to me. He’s old and grouchy and I’m pretty sure he hates me because I always confuse him by changing my hair color.”
“He likes that you keep him on his toes.”
“He hates me. It’ll never happen.”
“Not if you keep being negative it won’t. Power of positive thinking, Birdie.”
“I’m positive your ‘power of positive thinking’ bit is annoying. Does that count?”
Looks like I was right all along.
I’m just pissed I wasn’t here to see it happen.
Pushing away the sting, I beam her way. “I’m proud of you. I always knew you’d do it. Pow—”
“—er of positive thinking.” She waves her hand. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Guess you had enough good juju for both of us.”
“You’re welcome.” I take a sip of my beer, my second for the night. Wren notices, and not just because she was my waitress.
She tips her head toward my bottle. “That’s new for you.”
“The drinking?” She nods. “Yeah, it’s a habit I picked up during the divorce. They sure as shit don’t warn you when you get married how stressful a divorce will be. Or how expensive.”
The reality of my mistake settles in again and I try to push it away, not wanting to dwell on the past. Well, it’s technically my present too, but whatever.
“Anyway, this”—I shake the bottle—“is nothing. It got pretty…dark for a few months there. I was lucky enough that my friend Porter out in Cali recognized what was up and stepped in before shit got too bad.”
“I don’t know this Porter character, but I like him already.”
“He’s good people. I kept trying to persuade him to move out here with me, but he wouldn’t do it. Still trying to talk him into it, though. I’m convinced it’ll be the best move for him and his daughter. They need a fresh start as bad as I do.”
“Is that why you’re back? For a fresh start?”
“Yep.”
“And how does that work?” She purses her rosy lips, and I try my best not to stare at them for an inappropriate amount of time. “Moving back home to ‘start over’?”
I know I need to choose my words carefully because if I don’t, Wren will start asking questions I’m not looking to answer just yet.
“I guess in the technical sense, it doesn’t, but I never felt like me on the West Coast. Everything out there felt…fake. Forced. Here I don’t have to pretend. I can just be me. Which, after living like that for four years…it feels fresh.”
“You were never good at pretending,” she says.
I want to laugh because the only thing I’ve done with her since I was eighteen is pretend.
Pretend I didn’t feel anything for her.
Pretend it didn’t kill me every time she started dating some jerk who was no fucking good for her.
Pretend she wasn’t everything to me.
Pretend it didn’t gut me to leave her.
Pretend I’m over her.
Pretend, pretend, pretend.
“Now that you’re back, how do you feel?” she asks. “Better? Does it feel like you hoped it would?”
No. “Yes.”
“Good.”
She steals another fry.
“Aren’t you supposed to be working?”
“Aren’t you supposed to be at home surfing your app and trying to find another date for tomorrow?”
A grin curves my lips, and her mouth drops open.
“You’re kidding!” I shake my head. “You already have one?”
I nod. “I’m always one step ahead. Gotta be prepared for the worst.”
“What happened to the power of positive thinking?”
“I didn’t say I wasn’t still hoping for the best.”
I stand and reach for my wallet, grab enough to cover the bill and a hefty tip, and then push my chair in.
“I do need to get going though. I have another early morning with your dad.”
Her lips pull upward. “And some laundry to do.”
“I’m requesting a different waitress tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” she says.
I don’t answer her, heading toward the exit.
“Tomorrow?” she repeats to my back as I retreat. “Foster! You cannot be serious! We’ve talked about this!”
“Night, Birdie.”
“Oh my god, he’s going to be single forever!”
Not if you just open your eyes, Wren.
I bite back my response and push open the door of Slice, needing the fresh sea air.
“I see you’re leaving alone again,” Winston remarks when I step outside.
Hidden in the shadows of twilight, he’s resting against the brick building, a cigarette dangling from his lips. His hair looks like he’s been running his hands through it and he appears as if he’s worked a full twelve-hour shift, not the measly two hours he’s been here.
&n
bsp; I want to remark about how he shouldn’t be smoking, but after a second failed date, I’m about to ask for a hit of the nicotine myself.
“Strike out with the MILF?”
I nod. “Pretty sure her kid is more my age than she is.”
“Damn.” He whistles. “That sucks. She was kinda hot…for an older lady.” He holds his hands up to his chest. “Real or fake?”
“Dammit, Winston.” I shake my head, laughing. Of course he’d ask that. Typical Winston. “Real.”
He chuckles. “Knew you were lookin’.”
I shrug. “What can I say? It’s been a while.”
“You headed home?”
“Not yet. Think I might park on the beach for a bit.”
“Without Wren? She’s not gonna like that.”
While I haven’t really talked to Winston about Wren, I am nearly certain that over the four years I’ve been gone, she’s gone to our spot on her own many times.
It’s a hard place to resist. The sound of the waves crashing against the rocky shoreline, that salty scent only the ocean can provide. Being able to see the water go on for miles and the stars above on a clear night. The thrill of pissing off the local law enforcement when we’re out there laughing our asses off at three or four in the morning. Hell, even the sound of seagulls flying overhead and squawking their heads off is alluring.
Everything about that spot is perfect.
Which is why it’s exactly where I need to be tonight, Wren or no Wren.
The revelation that she’s in her dream house, running her own salon like she’s always wanted to…it stings because I didn’t know about any of it. Considering how much she talked about it over the years, I’m pissed at myself for not being there for her, for not ever asking Winston about her.
I shouldn’t have been such a pussy, shouldn’t have avoided my feelings.
I should have told her a long damn time ago how I felt, not panicked at the last moment, confessed my love, and then let her think I wasn’t serious about it before running off with some beach bunny.
But that’s exactly what I did.
Idiot.
I lift a brow his way. “Who says she has to know about it?”
“I like your style.” Winston takes another drag off his smoke, the end glowing a bright orange as he inhales deeply. “I won’t be off until after midnight, and I have a thing after my shift.”
“You can say booty call, Win. I know you.”
He grins. “That you do.” Flicking his butt away, he pushes off the building. “Guess I better get back to the grind before my old man comes searching for me. I’ll see ya in the morning. Night.”
“Winston?”
Hand on the door, he pauses and turns my way. “Yeah, man?”
Now that he’s looking at me, I choke up, scared to say what I want to say.
Again.
Fuck that. Just ask, you moron.
“What’s up?”
I don’t speak. I can’t.
He lets the door go and takes a few steps toward me, tucking his hands into his pockets and staring at me intensely.
Chocolate milk. Ant farms. Hypertension.
“What?”
“What?”
“Why are you spouting off random words? Are you doing that thing again?”
Shit. Did I say all that out loud?
“Oh fuck.” He laughs. “Wren is going to love this. She—”
“How come you never told me about her?”
“Huh?” His dark brows pinch together. “What do you mean?”
“Wren,” I say. “How come you never talked about her when I called?”
He doesn’t say anything, just keeps staring at me. Damn do I hate it when the Daniels stare at me. It’s like they can see my fucking soul, can rip right through me and see everything.
“I just realized tonight that I don’t know jack shit about her life anymore, man, and it makes me… Fuck. I’m pissed, you know? It pisses me off. I was involved in both of your lives and now I’m not and I hate it. I feel like I missed so much.”
He sighs, and I can’t tell if it’s in resignation or one of those wow, I feel bad for you kind of sighs.
“You never asked.”
“I didn’t?”
Winston shakes his head. “No, man. Never. I tried offering info when you first moved, but every time I’d bring her up, you’d change the subject. I stopped offering after that, figured there was a reason, thought something might have happened between you two before you left because she did the same thing.”
“She did?”
He squints at me, and I realize it’s because my voice just rose about two octaves.
Fuck.
“I mean, oh. Huh. Interesting.”
He tilts his head, studying me.
Please don’t see that I’m in love with your sister. Please don’t try to take my balls from me. I like them very much. Please, please, please.
I must play it cool, because he eventually shakes his head and gives up his intense stare-down.
“Anyway,” he continues, “that’s why. Sorry if I just assumed things, but now that you’re back, Wren can fill you in on all things her. Shit’s been kind of interesting in her life, starting with that new best friend of hers…”
He trails off, but the frustration in his voice is clear. I’m just not sure if it’s sexual frustration or the normal kind.
Interesting…
“We good, man?” he says.
Great. Now he’s worried he’s pissed me off.
I’m an idiot. I shouldn’t have opened my mouth.
I nod, shoving my own hands into my pockets, rocking back on my heels. “Yeah, we’re good. She just said some stuff tonight and it made me realize yet again what a mistake it was for me to leave, so I had to ask.”
“You left for a good reason though. You were just trying to do what’s right.”
“Sure, and look how that turned out for me.”
He winces. “The couch is yours as long as you want it.”
“I appreciate it, bro.”
And I do. I really, really fucking do. I made a spur-of-the-moment decision to head back east with no place to stay, and Winston didn’t bat an eye when I called him up.
I hitch my thumb toward my truck, the one thing I put my foot down on with Layla. It’s the same truck I’ve been driving since I was seventeen. I wasn’t giving her up.
“I’m outta here. Catch ya at home.”
He nods again, heading back inside.
I climb into my truck, turn over the engine, and head toward the one thing I need more than anything tonight.
Our spot.
* * *
“It was really nice meeting you, Brooke. I hope we can get together again soon.”
“Uh, yeah. Sure thing, Foster. I’ll…um…I’ll call you.” She gives me a smile and pushes her chair in. “Have a good night.”
Feeling damn good about my third date of the week, I retake my seat and watch her walk out the door with a smile.
I don’t think that could have gone any better than it did. Brooke isn’t a teenager, and she doesn’t have one either.
She’s smart, nice, and cute as hell.
“Scale of one to ten,” Wren says, sliding into the recently vacated chair in a move that seems to be our new normal, “how do you think that date went?”
She attempts to act nonchalant about her question, but there’s a hitch to her voice that hints at her being a little invested in the answer.
“Why?” I narrow my eyes at her.
“You’re looking awfully smug right now, and I’m curious.”
“Well, before you pranced over here with your whole ‘you look smug’ thing, I would have said a ten. Now I’m doubting myself.”
She gives me a smile that says she’s only sort of sorry about that.
“Why are you asking, Wren? Do you not think it went well? We laughed and talked a lot. I mean, the date lasted over two hours. Usually dates that aren’t
going well tend to end shortly after they’ve begun.”
Helping herself to the leftover fries in my second basket of the night—again, totally our new normal—she winces.
I shift around in my chair, my curiosity and agitation rising. “You’re worrying me here.”
“I’m just saying I wouldn’t be so quick to label that one a ten.”
“Enlighten me on where it went wrong.”
Leaning forward, she claps her hands together like she’s been waiting for this moment all night long. “Well, for starters—”
“Starters? There’s more than one reason?”
She nods, pursing her lips. “Yep. The first thing was the fact that you didn’t pick her up.”
“Stop.” I hold up my hand. “That was an agreed-upon thing. When I suggested we meet at six, she said she’d be coming straight from work. I said that was fine and that was that.”
“And you didn’t think to, oh, I don’t know, move the date back an hour, hour and a half so she could head home to change and get all pretty for you?”
“I-I…” I hesitate.
Well, shit. I didn’t even think of that. I probably could have pushed the date back an hour, giving her time to go home first, but why didn’t she respond with that when I asked? Or a time that would work for her instead of the usual Oh, I don’t care thing? I would have been more than happy to accommodate her.
Probably because you just jumped to saying it would work for you because you were eager to get to Slice and didn’t consider her, moron.
“Okay, fine. I’m a dumbass. Strike one. What was my second offense?”
“Your second offense was that you didn’t wait for her to order your drink.”
“How is that an offense? I was thirsty.”
“So you get water. You don’t move on to flavored beverages without your guest. That’s rude.”
“That’s stupid,” I argue.
She shrugs. “Stupid, but true.”
“Fine. My second strike. What’s my third?”
“This one is glaringly obvious.”
“Not to me, apparently.”
“Foster…did you listen to yourself at all during your date?”
“No, but I’m guessing you did.” I lift my brows. “Creep much?”
“Do my job much?” she mocks. “But, yes, I took some notes for you.”
A Pizza My Heart Page 5
