Page 11 of Best Friends for Never

If I were reading a script, that’s precisely what it would say about my current predicament.

After my stellar improvised performance, David trusted me to do more of that for the rest of the shoot, which led to us wrapping two days early.

Usually, I’d take that time to rest and recuperate, maybe catch up with friends, have a fancy dinner, or hit up my favorite theater in LA that only shows old movies. I certainly would have had time to prepare for returning to my hometown. But one call from my grandmother with the promise of banana nut bread, and I knew I was going back to Emerald Grove early.

I know it’s a small town—entirely too fucking small, if you ask me—and our seeing each other was inevitable, but the last thing I expected on my very first night back was this.

Parker stumbles backward, her mouth agape, and reflexively, I reach out to steady her. My fingers curl around her bare arms, and we’re standing so close that the scent of freshly brewed coffee the owner always keeps going is long gone. All that’s hitting my senses now is her perfume—a mix of honey and wildflowers.

Her hazel eyes, which I haven’t seen in so long yet still feel so familiar, seem darker and brighter all at once, and that smattering of freckles across her nose is more pronounced than it was all those years ago. There are a few traces of aging, a new line here and there, and an air of wisdom has replaced that innocence she always carried. Her cheeks are less full, and she no longer wears those damn Mickey Mouse earrings she never took off. Her auburn hair is as haphazard as ever, in a chaotic bun atop her head, and she’s in the same overalls that I swear were a staple when we were teens.

Despite all that and the years that have passed, she still looks like the same Parker she’s always been.

It’s like I’ve been sucked back in time and we’re standing in the halls of our high school by our lockers, and she’s telling me about the latest mean thing Axel Cooke has said or how she swears she’s going to fail her math test, even though she always had the highest grade in the class.

“Dick.”

The word tumbles from her lips so smoothly, like she’s said it a thousand times before, and it takes me a moment to catch up.

Did Parker, the woman I have never, ever heard cuss before, call me adick?

More than that, how amIthe dick in this situation? Last I remembered, she was the one who turned me down, not the other way around.

I open my mouth to remind her, to let all the words I’ve been holding over the years finally tumble free, when a shadow falls over us.

“Good evening, Parker. How are you?”

I’d know that rumbling voice anywhere.

I turn and look right into the eyes of my old high school principal.

Parker wasn’t calling me a dick. She was talking to him. Relief floods through me at the realization.

“Mr. Dick. I mean, Dick. I mean, Principal McMichaels.” I stumble over my words.

Christ. It really is like I’m back in high school.

Parker snickers beside me, and I ignore her, straightening my back and tipping my chin up.

The old principal laughs, waving his hand. “Please, Noel. Dick is fine. You’re not my student anymore. But wow. This sure gives me flashbacks, seeing the two of you together like this again. It’s been a long time since that’s happened.” He drops his eyes to the space between us. “I’d always hoped you’d find your way back together.”

I follow his gaze, and only then do I realize I’m still holding on to Parker.

I didn’t even notice I was still touching her, and I don’t want to think aboutwhyI didn’t notice.

Instead, I drop her arm, putting as much space between us as possible, even knocking into the next shelf in my haste to get away.

If Dick notices, he doesn’t say anything.

“How is Mrs. McMichaels doing?” Parker asks, her voice as sugary as the maple syrup she loves to drown her waffles in.

“Oh, you know my wife. Can’t keep her down for long, not even for a knee replacement. I meant to tell you how much we appreciated the cupcakes you sent. They were incredible. Very kind of you.”

“Bah. It’s nothing. And really, it was all my partner’s doing, not mine. I just sat by and snuck about six cupcakes as he made them.”

Dick laughs. I don’t.

I don’t because all I can focus on are two words.

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