Thirteen
To girls’ night!” I raise my margarita to the center of the table, waiting for Harley and Gemma to clink glasses before taking a large sip of my frozen beverage.
“I can’t believe you convinced us to come out for drinks on a Tuesday night.” Gemma pouts, but it doesn’t stop her from sucking down half of her margarita in one gulp.
“I’m sorry, guys, the weekends have been crazy for me. Besides, you have a half day tomorrow.” I dip a chip in salsa and shovel it in my mouth. I didn’t have time to eat lunch today and I’m starving.
“You do know that means I still have to see teenagers in the early hours of the morning, right? And then I have to sit through staff development, which, nine times out of ten, is worse than teenagers.” She raises her hand to signal for our server, ordering another drink before Harley and I are even halfway through our first round.
“Well, if you’d like to make a career change, I may have a spot as a floral assistant opening up soon.” My offer is mostly a joke, since I know Gemma doesn’t actually want a new job. Though I am basically working from sunup to sundown, and it might be starting to take a toll on me both mentally and physically.
Harley takes a dainty sip of her drink, which will probably last her the entire meal. She’s such a grown-up. “That’s awesome, Sade! I can’t believe how things exploded overnight.” She pops a chip in her mouth. “Actually, that’s not true. I can totally believe it, because you kick ass at everything you attempt.”
“Aw, thanks, friend.” I take a swig of margarita. “That’s so not true, but I appreciate your confidence in me.”
“So should I be interested in a career change, what are we looking at? Pay? Benefits? Hit me.” Gemma folds her arms and leans across the polished wooden table.
“Um, minimum wage and my undying love?” I lick some salt from the rim of my glass before taking another long drink. Damn, that’s good. It’s been a while since I took some time to meet up with just the girls. And it’s been a while since I actually sat down to eat. Usually I’m shoving food in my mouth whenever I can find a second to spare.
Gemma starts in on drink number two. “Sadie. You’re a millennial businesswoman. You’re supposed to care more about your employees than minimum wage and no health care. Should we even touch maternity leave yet?”
“Dude. It’s been six months, you gotta give me a little time.” I poke her in the arm with my unused straw. “Also, I can’t tell if you’re joking right now.”
“Yeah, are you actually thinking about looking for another job?” Harley shoots me a look like this is the first she’s hearing of it too.
Gemma shrugs. “I don’t know, honestly. I love teaching, I adore my students. Even when they’re hormonal assholes. But everything that happens outside of the classroom is just exhausting, you know?”
Harley pats her arm. “We know, Gem. Did something specific happen?”
“No. Just more of the same. I just keep waiting for things to get better, get easier, but it seems like every year is worse. Higher, more unrealistic expectations. Less support. Always less money.” She bites her lip. “It’s just a lot.”
“You’re doing the lord’s work, Gem. I would’ve killed twenty teenagers on the first day.” Signaling to the waiter, I order us all another round. At least one of us is going to really need it. And what kind of friend would I be if I left Gemma to drink alone in her time of need?
She gives me a sad smile. “They’re far and away the best part of my job.”
“Well, should Bridge and Blooms explode into celebrity florist status, I’ll happily offer you a job with double minimum wage.” I drain the dregs of margarita number one and move on to number two.
“And benefits.”
“Sheesh, you drive a hard bargain for someone who doesn’t even know if she wants the job or not.” I throw a chip at her. “But I suppose I can give you benefits too. Because I’m a giver.”
“Speaking of givers . . .” Harley raises one eyebrow at me, and I’m regretting ever teaching her how to perfect that move.
I raise one eyebrow right back. I’m not giving them an inch in this conversation. If they want the deets, they’re going to have to come right out and ask.
“You and Jack fucked yet?” Leave it to Gemma.
Pursing my lips, I hold back the sigh threatening to spill from deep within. “No, we have not fucked yet. As I’ve said many times, it’s not like that. Also, since when do we come right out and ask about fucking?”
“Um, when have we not done that?” Harley asks.
“Okay, you and Nick fucked yet?”
Harley swirls her straw around in her still-on-round-one margarita. “Obviously.”
Gemma covers her ears with her hands. “I don’t want to hear this.” A second later she drops them and leans closer to Harley. “Just kidding, I totally want to hear this.”
“How’d we go from Sadie and Jack to me and Nick?”
“There’s nothing happening between me and Jack, so it’s your turn.” I don’t mention how badly I want there to be something to report between me and Jack. Since the night he gifted me with the studio, nothing much has changed. There have been a few more long looks and hand brushes and he sits closer to me on the couch now, but it’s still super G-rated all up in the brownstone.
Harley takes a long sip of her drink. “It’s good.”
“The margarita or the sex?” Gemma asks.
“Both.” Harley can’t hold back her grin, the cheeky minx.
I hold my glass in the air once again. “To Harley, out here proving you can have a good man and a good job, all at the same time.”
“Don’t forget good sex, lucky bitch.” Gemma bashes her glass against mine a little too hard.
I shoot her a look, but she’s gone back to drinking margarita number three. Harley nudges me under the table, and we exchange a glance. Gemma has had plenty of moments of career dissatisfaction since she started teaching, but never to the point where she might want to quit. Gemma is brilliant, and I have no doubt she could find success at any career she tried. But hopefully this is just a phase and she’ll find the joy in teaching once again.
“Now that I’ve passed my interrogation, I do actually want to know what’s going on with you and Jack.” Harley diverts attention away from Gemma’s career angst like the best best friend she is. She can always tell when we’ve hit our limit with sharing and need to move on to a new topic.
And, only because I love Gemma and want to help take her mind off her shitty job sitch, I give in. “Ugh. Fine. Still no fucking. What else do you want to know?”
“Any kissing at least?” Gemma perks up now that the conversation is back to titillating territory.
I attempt to shake my head while also going for my margarita straw, which doesn’t work out how I want it to. “No kissing. Some subtle touches, and some even subtler eye fucking, but that’s all she wrote.”
“What is he waiting for?” Gemma raises her hand like one of her students, ready to order another drink.
Instead Harley hands off her as-yet-untouched second round. “More importantly, how are you feeling about everything?”
Bleh. It’d probably do me some good to talk about all this. In fact, I know it’d do me some good to talk about all this. But I also have no idea how to approach this conversation, even with my best friends. Alas, not knowing exactly what to say sure as hell never stopped me before. “I think I really like him. Like, not just in an I-want-to-bang-you way, but in an oh-shit-there’s-actually-some-feelings-in-there kind of way. He makes my stomach flip. And he gives me these little chest aches. And every time he does something nice for me—which is, like, all the fucking time—I just want to squeeze him.” I stab the ice in my drink with my straw. “Guys, I haven’t flirted with another guy since I moved into the brownstone. I didn’t even realize that until recently. And like, I don’t feel like I’m missing out on anything, you know?”
“You’re not, trust me on that.” Gemma holds out her fist and I give her a half-hearted bump. “So what’s his problem?”
I purse my lips, not wanting to divulge too many of Jack’s secrets without his permission. “I think he still hasn’t fully dealt with his parents’ deaths. And he’s been alone for a long time. Not just single alone. Like actually alone. I can’t imagine going through what he did without you guys there to support me.”
“You’ll never have to find out.” Harley pats my hand. “I imagine a lot of his hesitation comes from not wanting to end up alone again. You blew into his life, brought all of us with you, and he wants to make sure he’s ready so he doesn’t mess it up. I know it’s frustrating for you, but I think it’s actually a really smart way to go about things.”
“Yeah, I get it.” I break a chip into tiny pieces. “Not going to lie though, I definitely feel like the longer we wait, the more likely it is he’ll never want to take things to the next level.”
“Why would you say that?” Gemma has slowed down on her alcohol consumption and is now shoveling chips in her mouth, probably with the hope of soaking up some of the booze.
“I mean, you can only live with me for so long before growing to hate me.”
Harley and Gemma exchange a look, and Harley opens her mouth, I’m sure with the intention of saying something calm and measured.
“Why the fuck would you say that?” Gemma blurts out before Harley can even start her sentence.
I ignore the looks of horror on their faces, knowing they’re my friends and will try to placate me no matter how much they agree with the sentiment. “Come on, guys, you know me better than anyone, you know what an asshole I can be.”
“We do know you better than anyone, Sadie. You and I lived together for years and I’ve never come anywhere near hating you.” Harley crosses her arms over her chest, leaning back in her chair and studying me like she’s my therapist.
Whom I should probably make an appointment with. Since I started Bridge and Blooms and moved in with Jack, the feelings of inadequacy that always live in the back of my mind have been much more vocal.
“You’re my friends, so you have to say that.” I cross my own arms over my chest, giving her a pointed look.
“No, we don’t. And just for the record, I fully agree with the asshole part. In the most loving of ways, of course.” Gemma opens a new straw with the sole intention of shooting the wrapper at me. Which she does, the thin paper landing in my untouched glass of water.
“How did you get back here, Sadie? I thought you dealt with all of this dad stuff in college.” Harley was the one who originally encouraged me to visit the mental health clinic on campus, and I’ll forever be in her debt for that.
“Daddy issues never truly go away, do they?” It’s a bratty answer, but I’m in a bratty mood. This is the second time I’ve had this conversation lately, and that’s two times too many if you ask me, which no one has bothered to do.
“Ah, so now that you have the prospect of a new man, a good man, and a real relationship on the horizon, all the self-doubt is coming back?”
“I don’t need you to psychoanalyze me, Harley.”
“I think you kind of do, Sade. Because she’s totally right. Selfish people don’t offer to help their friends grade grammar quizzes.” Gemma reaches over and fishes the soggy paper out of my water glass.
“And selfish people don’t stay up late listening to their friends freak out about their new relationships.” Harley nudges my elbow with hers.
Damn them both for zeroing in on my trigger word without my even mentioning it. “Okay, so I’ve done two nice things recently. Big whoop.” Seriously, why can’t anyone just leave this alone? Why do I have to continue to have this discussion with people?
Gemma sways a little in her seat and I’m thinking she might be calling in sick tomorrow. “You do nice things for people all the time. Just shut up and accept it. Fuck, your whole career is doing nice things for people. Either bringing them flowers or serving them drinks. Nice things.”
“I don’t think it counts if I get paid for doing the nice things. But anyway, can we get back to the real topic at hand?” That’s how desperate I am to never have to hear about how nice I am again; I’ll willingly change the subject back to me and Jack. “I thought you both cared so much about how much I like Jack and how much he doesn’t want to kiss me.”
Gemma rolls her eyes. “He so wants to kiss you.”
“I think that has been well established at this point, Sadie. I think the real question is, will just a kiss be enough, for either of you?”
I know it won’t be for me. I don’t even have to think about it or consider Harley’s question. I want more than just a kiss from Jack. More than just a one- or two-night bang sesh. But saying it out loud is a totally different animal.
Gemma hands me her remaining margarita. “Drink this and then answer.”
I chug the remainder of her cocktail, even though it’s mostly melted ice at this point. Whatever. Liquid courage is liquid courage. “I don’t want to just kiss him. I want him to be my— Fuck, I’ve literally never even had a real one. Not once.”
“You want him to be your boyfriend!” Gemma squeals, punching both arms in the air triumphantly.
I bury my hands in my hair. “I want him to be my boyfriend.”
Harley claps her hands, and I’m pretty sure the entire restaurant is staring at us. “This is so exciting!”
“It’s not exciting at all. It’s nauseating. And terrifying. Why do you people put yourselves through this?” My head falls onto my arms, crossed on top of the sticky table.
Harley runs a soothing hand through my hair. “It’s worth it.”
“What if he thinks I’m not worth it?” I mutter into the crook of my arms, mostly hoping they don’t hear my question.
“Then he’s an idiot and we’ll kick his ass.” Gemma could do it too.
I sit up and look at each of them. “I don’t deserve you guys. And I’m scared I don’t deserve him either.” That’s the sentiment I was trying to convey to Jack the night of the studio surprise. I don’t feel like I deserve him, and I don’t know what I could possibly bring to the table, to a man like him.
Harley grabs my right hand, holding it tight in hers. “You absolutely deserve him. He’d be lucky to have you, Sadie.”
Gemma takes my other hand. “And you deserve us. And we know how fucking lucky we are to have you.”
“You guys are the best, and I love you.” That blasted wetness springs up in my eyes again, but at least this time I can blame it on the margaritas.
I wake up the next morning, not not with a hangover. It’s a weird haze of too much emotional conversation combined with too much tequila and not enough water. My head aches, but not so much as to be debilitating. I’ll be able to function, but movements will be slow today.
The weather is starting to cool down as we head further into October, so I pull on my favorite jeans and a light sweater before heading out the door and straight to Bagel World for the biggest breakfast sandwich they make and coffee for me and Jack. The air is crisp and cool on the walk back home, and the long cleansing breaths I take help further clear the alcohol-and-emotion fug from my brain.
Even after talking things out with Harley and Gemma, I still can’t piece together the puzzle that is me and Jack. I know I like him. I’m pretty sure he likes me. I know we both have some serious mental blockages due to our unfortunate parental situations. I think these are things we could work out, and work on, together.
I’ve never wanted to work on anything with anyone, together or not, so this thought alone should be a good indicator of just how deep I’m in. But knowing this frisson with Jack isn’t just some lust-fueled fling doesn’t do much for me in terms of filling in the blanks. I’m still left wondering if he feels the same way. If he’ll ever be able to get past his hang-ups.
The not knowing, and the living in a constant state of What the fuck is happening here, is a lot. It’d probably be a hell of a lot easier to just cut my losses and bail now, but the whole living-together situation kind of makes that impossible. Unless I want to move out. Which I definitely don’t.
So I guess I just have to hang in there and wait, see whether he returns my feelings and whether he eventually wants to be with me too. And I just have to hope he’s worth the wait.
Actually, that’s the one thing I don’t need to bother to hope for. I know he is.
I leave Jack’s coffee on the kitchen counter, sending him a quick text to let him know it’s there. Climbing an additional flight of stairs multiple times a day to get to the studio is hopefully doing wonders for my butt, because damn, it’s tough sometimes. I stop in my room to change into an old T-shirt I don’t mind getting dirty, kicking off my shoes in the process. One of the best parts about working from home is never having to wear uncomfortable shoes ever again.
I grab my laptop and head up to the studio space, which I have lovingly dubbed BaBs (for Bridge and Blooms). I dump all my stuff on the counter and climb onto the bar stool I found at one of the local flea markets. Going through my calendar, and emails, and DMs, I put together a to-do list for the day. Since I don’t have any deliveries scheduled, today is mostly about catching up on admin stuff, which, not going to lie, has been kicking my butt. I love spreadsheets, but I’ve fallen so far behind on inputting info, I’m going to need the whole day to catch up.
When my eyes feel like they might actually fall out of my head, I push the stool back and go for a walk around BaBs. The space is big enough for me to do a couple of laps when I need a break. Normally it’s just a quick jaunt to give my eyes a rest and get the blood flowing, but today’s jaunt brings a small surprise.
Jack’s forbidden tarp still lives in the corner of the studio, and typically I breeze on by it, continually impressed with my no-peeking restraint. But today, said tarp has been haphazardly replaced, leaving a whole corner of the hidden contents exposed.
I check over my shoulder, even though Jack rarely comes up here when I’m working and usually sends me a text beforehand to give me a heads-up. Creeping on tippy-toes, I inch my way farther into the corner, low-key expecting some serial killer–esque corkboard with red string and pictures of his victims.
But that’s not at all what I find.
My brow furrows as I take in the smallest sliver of what’s revealed. And then I throw caution to the wind and push the tarp to the floor to get the full picture.
The full picture is three paintings, of three very familiar images. Images I’d know anywhere, because I created them. I take a step closer to the one on the far left, examining every inch. It’s almost an exact replica of one of my floral arrangements, the colors and shadows and details of the flowers captured as brilliantly as my camera caught them. I move along to the middle painting, another one of my arrangement photos. Jack has transformed the image I posted to Instagram, of the arrangement posed in front of the brick wall in the living room, so painstakingly perfectly someone might mistake it for a photograph. The third painting isn’t finished yet, but I can tell by the background and the rough sketch marks it’s going to be another one of my Bridge and Blooms pics, completely brought to life by this new medium.
“What the fuck?” I mutter.
“My thoughts exactly.”
I freeze, like Jack is a T. rex and he won’t be able to see me if I don’t move. “Shit.”
“What are you doing?” He stalks across the room, covering the distance from the door to the corner in just a few steps. The anger in his voice is foreign and startling.
“Look, I didn’t purposefully go snooping, but the corner of the tarp was sliding down and I saw a sliver of the painting and I’m really sorry for peeking, but holy shit, Jack. These are incredible.”
Jack pushes past me, grabbing the tarp and throwing it over the paintings. As if covering them up will make me forget them. “They weren’t meant to be seen.”
“Why not? I’ve never seen anything like them before.” It dawns on me that that’s not entirely true. “Wait. The painting in the guest room?” And the one of the brownstone, though he doesn’t know I saw it.
He nods, yanking down the corner of the tarp, making sure everything is sufficiently hidden.
“Jack, these are really remarkable. Why didn’t you tell me you were an artist?”
“I’m not.” He crosses away from me to the window, shoving his hands in his pockets.
“Clearly, you are. Why would you want to keep this talent hidden?” I take a few tentative steps toward him, but he halts me with a glare.
“It’s nothing. Forget you even saw those.” He rakes his hand through his hair.
I shut up for a minute, using the quiet to inch closer to him. When I get close enough, I reach out my hand, placing it gently on his forearm. “I’m sorry for snooping, but I’m also really not because I’m glad I saw the paintings. I wish you would’ve told me about them.”
He steps back, moving out of my reach. “Yeah, well, not everyone likes to talk about themselves twenty-four/seven.”
I freeze once again, the chill of his words an ice pick piercing my heart. My head falls, and I blink rapidly, sucking in short, rasping breaths. I force my feet to move, stumbling over to the counter to grab my laptop, abandoning my coffee and my phone, anything to get to the door as fast as possible.
“Sadie,” Jack calls, but I ignore him, bolting down the stairs and into my room, shutting and locking the door behind me.
He knocks on my door five minutes later, but I continue to ignore him, pretending to work, though how I’d be able to input numbers onto a spreadsheet when tears are blurring my vision is beyond me. His words weren’t a surprise. Anything but. I guess I’d just deluded myself into believing Jack actually liked me, maybe even cared about me as more than a friend. But of course, all along he’s been thinking I’m insufferable. Because I am.
I wait an hour before I open the door, and I only venture out because I have to pee. My phone and my coffee are waiting for me right outside the door. I scoop them up and scamper to the bathroom.
I don’t check my phone until I’m safely locked back in my room, buried under my covers for good measure.
JACK: I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that, and it was a horrible thing to say, and I’d like to apologize when you’re ready to hear it.
Ugh. Even his apologies are mature.
An hour later my phone chirps again.
JACK: If you let me talk to you, I’ll answer all your questions . . .
He already knows what to say to make me give in.
I wait another half an hour before I respond.
ME: Fine. I’m coming downstairs. Have wine ready.
I let another twenty minutes pass, taking the time to wipe under my eyes and fix my hair.
When I head downstairs, Jack is already waiting at the sofa, two glasses of wine sitting on the coffee table. I sit as far away from him as I can and drink half of the glass before turning my attention to him.
“I’m sorry, Sadie. That was a shitty thing to say. The shittiest. I never should’ve said it, and I sure as fuck didn’t mean it.” He clasps his hands together, knuckles turning white. “This is probably going to sound terrible, but I love listening to you talk about yourself and your life and your friends and your work.”
I purse my lips. “Is that all?”
His brow furrows. “Yes. I mean, I’m sorry. Again.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you could paint?”
He releases his clenched hands, wiping his palms on his jeans. “I couldn’t. Not for a long time, anyway.”
“How long?”
He meets my gaze head-on. “Seven years.”
I suck in a breath, the full impact of his words washing over me. He hadn’t painted since his parents died. “Are those the first ones you’ve done? Since?”
He nods, letting me put together the unspoken sentiment on my own.
The first thing Jack painted since the death of his parents was my flowers.
“If I hadn’t snooped, would you ever have shown them to me?” The words come out in a squeak of a whisper, my lungs barely functioning enough for me to breathe, let alone speak.
He clears his throat. “I don’t know, Sade. I wish I could give you a different answer, but I’m not going to lie to you.”
“How does it feel? To be painting again after such a long time?” There’s clearly still so much I don’t know about Jack, and his history, but this obviously isn’t just a hobby. Or wasn’t just a hobby.
“After what I said to you, you’re concerned about my feelings?” He shoves his hand through his hair, and this time the curls stay pulled back from his face.
“You were justifiably upset and said something dickish out of anger. It’s not the end of the world.” I fail to mention just how badly a comment like his actually hurts since I can see he genuinely feels bad. And it’s not his fault I’m programmed to run all insults on a loop inside my brain forever until the end of time.
He scoots closer to me on the couch, close enough to reach over and pick up my hand. “That’s not an excuse. You didn’t deserve that, even if I was upset. You shouldn’t have to suffer because I’m still an emotional disaster.”
I squeeze his hand. “You’re not an emotional disaster.”
“I am. But maybe slightly less of one since you came around.” He rubs his thumb over my knuckles. “And it feels really good to be painting again.”
“You painted my flowers.”
“I did.”
“They’re beautiful.” I meet his gaze, my breath fluttering in my chest once again.
“You inspired me.” He leans in and brushes the softest kiss on my cheek.
But before I can fully register the sensation of his lips on my skin, he’s pulling away, rising from the couch.
“I’ll let you get back to work.” He crosses over to the basement stairs, pausing at the top. “When we do this, Sade—and for me, it’s a when, not an if—I want to be all in. I want to give you everything. I’m just not there yet. But I’m trying.” He flashes me a half smile before heading down the stairs.
Like I’m going to be able to work after that.
GEMMA: Halloween is happening at your place, yes, Sadie?
GEMMA: And Jack. Since you also live there.
JACK: And just what do we mean by “Halloween is happening”?
JACK: On a scale from kindergarten costume parade to frat party?
HARLEY: Somewhere around “drink a lot of wine and order takeout while also passing out candy to cute kids who come knocking on the door.”
NICK: You know, a guy from my office is throwing an actual Halloween party we could all go to.
ME: No.
GEMMA: Fuck no.
HARLEY: Love you, babe, but no.
ME: OMG DID YOU JUST SAY I LOVE YOU IN THE GROUP TEXT?!?!?!
HARLEY: Just an expression.
GEMMA: I can practically see your blushing cheeks from across the apartment, Harley.
JACK: Wine and takeout and passing out candy works for me, guys!
HARLEY: Now I love you too, Jack.
NICK: Whoa. Let’s take that one back several notches.
ME: Yeah, what Nicky said.
ME: Also, eff you guys for making me agree with what Nick said.
HARLEY: Oh my god, I love all of you equally, okay?
NICK: But me just a little bit more, right?
HARLEY: Obviously.
GEMMA: Me on the other hand, I hate all of you. I’m dressing as an old maid for Halloween.
ME: Gem, be serious. There might be hot single dads out there.
GEMMA: Sexy librarian it is.
“Is this going to be enough candy?” Jack holds up three bags, each the size of my upper body.
I purse my lips to keep back the smile, and yeah, I notice how his arms bulge a little, laden down with pounds and pounds of sugar. “How many did you go through last year?”
He tosses them on the kitchen peninsula. “I don’t know. I usually turn the lights off and hide in the basement.”
“Oh my god, you’re the cranky-old-man house!” Taking a few bottles of wine out of the cabinet, I also pull down five glasses and arrange them all on the counter.
“I don’t know if I’d go that far.” He frowns, his brow wrinkling in a way that’s adorable and also makes him look kind of like a little old man.
“Every neighborhood has one, buddy, and looks like you’re it for Park Slope.” I rummage around in the cabinets until I find a huge bowl. “If your old-man muscles can handle it, can you rip one of those bad boys open?”
Jack glares at me for a solid thirty seconds before grudgingly tearing open one of the bags.
I transfer the candy from the bag to the bowl, only pausing twice to take a bite of chocolate for myself. “You changing or is that your entire costume?” I wave my hand, currently holding a Twix, in his general vicinity.
He captures my wrist in his hand, biting off half of the candy bar.
And I have to grip the counter to keep myself from face-planting on the hardwood floor. Was that—is this—does that count as foreplay?
Jack releases my wrist, a smug smile tugging on his lips. He pulls a red cape from one of the bar stools, tying it around his neck. He points to his blue shirt, a big red S on the center of his chest. “Shirt, cape, Clark Kent glasses, I think I’m good to go.”
“Well, which are you, Superman or Clark Kent?” I’m arguing for argument’s sake. And because he caught me off guard with that wrist grab/bite and I don’t like it.
Things have been . . . playful . . . around the brownstone since the whole I-hadn’t-painted-for-seven-years-until-you-came-along-to-be-my-muse fiasco. We seem to have moved from easy friendship to mostly innocent flirting, though the sexual tension is still most definitely present and accounted for. Even if it never goes beyond tension. Jack’s grabbing my arm and chomping half of my chocolate bar is the most action I’ve seen in months.
Which reminds me, I need to charge my vibrator.
“As with most things in my life, Sadie”—the rumble of Jack’s voice distracts me from the needs of my sex toys—“I find myself caught somewhere in the middle.”
“How poetic.” I reach for a bottle of wine, popping it open and pouring myself a glass. A big one.
“What about you?” He takes the bottle from my hand and pours himself a glass.
“What about me?”
“Is this your costume?” He looks me up and down, even though there isn’t much to take in.
That doesn’t stop me from feeling every inch of his gaze as it rakes over my jeans and tight white tank top, Bridge and Blooms emblazoned across my chest in glitter letters. I open the fridge and take out the pink and lavender floral crown I crafted earlier today, settling it on top of my loose curls. My once-highlighted-into-blond-oblivion hair has faded and grown out, slowly returning to its natural brown, but I’ve been so busy I haven’t even had time to think about it. Things like regular hair appointments just don’t feel like priorities anymore.
“Wanna hand me my wings?” I gesture to the back of the bar stool where Jack is standing.
He hands over a pair of iridescent, sparkling fairy wings, which I slip over my shoulders.
“Voilà. Flower fairy.” Spinning around, I kick up my heel in a princess pose.
“Cute and promotional.” Jack holds up his wineglass.
I clink mine against his. “Happy Halloween, Jack-o’-Lantern.”
He takes a long sip of wine. “I’m pretty sure you’ve used that one before.”
“Doesn’t matter, it’s fitting for the occasion.” I pick up the bowl of candy and take it over to the entryway table, swishing my hips a little more than necessary when I feel Jack’s eyes on my ass. I’m checking my flower crown in the mirror above the table when he comes up behind me, his hand resting on my hip, the heat of his fingers burning through the denim of my jeans.
“I’m kind of hoping none of those hot single dads come by.” His breath tickles my neck, sending a shiver through me.
I meet his gaze in the mirror. “You really want to jinx Gemma like that?”
He grins at me, his fingers tightening on my waist. “No, I guess not.”
The sound of the doorbell trills through the house, and Jack leans forward to open the door, the weight of him pressing into me and stealing my breath.
“Better not be any hot single moms either,” I mutter.
His hand trails up my back, gently squeezing the nape of my neck. “It wouldn’t matter if there were.”
I lean into his touch. “You do realize when you say shit like that it makes me want to throw you up against this wall and kiss you senseless, right?”
Another knock pounds on the door and Gemma’s voice bleeds through the wood. “I’m carrying a fuck-ton of wine here, open the door, assholes!”
“She really leans into being off duty, doesn’t she?” Jack grins, reaching around me to open the door for my boisterous, chockful-of-bad-timing friends, who push right past us into the house. “I’ll take a rain check on that offer, though.” His lips brush the shell of my ear before he leaves me standing in the doorway to pass out candy to our first trick-or-treaters, while the rest of the gang heads to the kitchen to start drinking.
I drop candy bars into the bags of a princess, a pirate, and a firefighter, all while trying to stem the ache in my chest and between my legs, before closing the door and joining my friends.
We spend the evening doling out full-sized chocolate bars (because of course Jack got the good candy) and drinking wine, our sugar highs and wine buzzes keeping us laughing long after the trick-or-treaters have stopped knocking. Gemma ends up spending the night at the brownstone after Nick and Harley leave together to stumble their way back to the girls’ shared apartment.
“They’ll be banging for hours,” she confides to me and Jack, the three of us draped over the couch in the basement, Hocus Pocus playing on the TV in the background. “Seriously, I don’t know how they manage to keep their energy up.”
Jack shoots me a look, his eyes hooded, the wine-fueled lust obvious even from the opposite side of the couch. I squirm a little in my seat, my clothes suddenly feeling too tight, my skin buzzing with tension and anticipation. I bite my lip, feeling pretty sure I shouldn’t bound right over Gemma and jump on top of him, but also not totally ruling out the possibility.
Jack clears his throat and stands, adjusting his jeans before begging off for the night. He gives me a parting look that lets me know I could definitely sneak into his room later and put an end to this months-long standoff.
Apparently all I needed to do this whole time was get the man drunk on wine and chocolate.
“Oh god, not you two, too. Where the fuck am I going to sleep?” Gemma elbows me in the ribs.
I elbow her right back. “Nothing is happening tonight, calm down.”
“I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m pushing hard for this hookup, but not while I’m in the next room, yeah?”
I turn up the TV, shifting my focus to the Sanderson sisters and away from the hot piece of ass who just vacated the room. “I’m beginning to think you’re right.”
“Obviously.” She sits up straight on the couch. “About what?”
“Maybe I’m not completely selfish, because did you see what just walked out of here?”
She smacks me in the head with a pillow. “I saw a man who’d wait for you until the end of time, so take it easy over there.” Her arm drapes across my shoulders and I expect her to pull me into a headlock, but instead, she tucks us both underneath the soft blanket she’s cuddled under. “And I’m happy for you. Because you, my beautiful, giving, totally-not-selfish-but-still-kind-of-an-asshole friend, deserve nothing less.”
ME: So how do you feel about Thanksgiving?
JACK: What, like in general? As a holiday?
JACK: It’s probably a pretty shitty thing to celebrate, you know, given the mass genocide and total destruction of an entire people’s way of life.
ME: Wow. Okay. So yes, recognize all of that.
ME: Also, how do you feel about having everyone over for Thanksgiving! Yay!
JACK: Oh.
JACK: Who’s everyone?
ME: Us, obvs. Gem, Nick, Harley. Usually we have Harley’s parents too. And I guess this year possibly Nick’s parents if they’re going to do the whole one-big-happy-family bullshit.
JACK: Are they not one big happy family?
ME: Sigh. They are. Disgustingly so.
JACK: I’m not opposed to the idea, but I definitely haven’t ever hosted anything like this before.
ME: Gem and I will take care of everything.
ME: You just have to show up and look cute
JACK: That’s a lot to ask.
ME: Please. You could do that in your sleep.
ME: Oh man, I bet you’re fucking adorable when you sleep.
JACK: I definitely don’t snore as loudly as someone else who lives in this house . . .
ME: Fuck off, I hate you.
JACK: Yay Thanksgiving!
ME: OKAY SO DOES EVERYONE KNOW WHAT THEY’RE BRINGING?!?!?
GEMMA: WHY ARE YOU SHOUTING.
ME: I’m sorry, I just really want everything to go smoothly.
ME: Jack hasn’t explicitly said anything, but I’m pretty sure this is the first time he’s celebrating Thanksgiving since, you know, losing his entire family in one terrible accident, and now we’re all barging in and taking over his house and I want everything to be perfect.
NICK: Way to bring down the mood, Sade.
HARLEY: We understand, and we promise to make the day as perfect as possible.
GEMMA: I mean, I’m cooking, it’s gonna be fine.
NICK: I’m bringing a shit-ton of booze, so it’s gonna be better than fine.
HARLEY: My mom’s making mac and cheese and pie, so pretty sure all our bases are covered.
ME: And I’ve got the flowers and decor covered, obvs.
ME: So I guess we’re in good shape.
ME: If you can all promise not to be totally embarrassing.
GEMMA: I promise nothing.
NICK: Jack loves me no matter how embarrassing I am.
HARLEY: Sadie. It’s going to be fine. Now go get your orders done so you can relax.
ME: Lol. Relax.
ME: I DO NOT KNOW THE MEANING OF THE WORD.
GEMMA: Oh god, we’re back to shouting.
ME: Okay. So plan for this week: Monday I’m out picking up flowers, Tuesday I’m arranging, Wednesday morning I’m delivering, Wednesday afternoon I’m cleaning the house from top to bottom so please don’t leave anything gross lying around. Wednesday night I’m baking and arranging flowers for us. Gem will be over early Thursday morning to start cooking.
ME: I don’t know why you’d suddenly need to know my detailed schedule for the week, but some of it involves you, so there you go.
JACK: I’m around if you need help with deliveries or lugging stuff up the stairs.
JACK: I also scheduled a house cleaning for Wednesday, so you can cross that off your list.
ME: You scheduled a house cleaning?
ME: Like with people who know how to clean houses?
JACK: That’s usually who I hire to come clean the house, yes.
ME: I COULD KISS YOU RIGHT NOW.
ME: I won’t, because you haven’t given me explicit verbal consent and Harley doesn’t have time to represent me, BUT WHAT I’M TRYING TO SAY IS THANK YOU!!
JACK: Nick was right, you’re very shouty lately.
ME: Omg, you and Nick have your own text chain? Adorbs.
JACK: Will you please actually ask me for help if you need it this week?
ME: I’ll think about it
GEMMA: Kiss update?
ME: Do we seriously have to do this every day?
GEMMA: Yes.
HARLEY: Yes.
ME: There hasn’t been any kissing today or any other day, thanks so much for the reminder.
HARLEY: Hang in there, friend, it’s going to happen soon!
GEMMA: In the meantime, let me know if you need me to bring over some batteries
ME: I hate you.
