Page 17 of Best Friends for Never

“Oh, this is bad. This issobad.”

I step back from the wall I’ve been working on for the last six hours, and there is one thing I am absolutely certain of ...

I hate it.

I was trying to create something different and eye-catching by alternating vertical slats of dark and light wood of different lengths, but it’s not turning out how I wanted it to. It definitely draws the eye, but not in the way I intended. It’s ... flat. I need something that wows. Not this.

“It’s hideous,” I say out loud to nobody but myself. “Why did I think this was a good idea?”

“Because it is.”

I jump, my wet paintbrush flying out of my hand, and gray paint splashes against the floor, splattering out for at least two feet. Thankfully, I was of sound enough mind in the wee hours of the morning to cover the newly laid hardwood, or else that would be a whole other project we’d have to take on today.

“Axel! What the heck?” I glower at the man standing in the doorway of Rossi Café. I carefully step out of the way of the mess I’ve made so I don’t track the paint anywhere else. “I didn’t even hear you come in.”

“Clearly not, which is saying something because that bell is loud as shit.”

I ignore his statement. “What are you doing here?”

“Um, working?” he answers, sauntering inside like he owns the place, which he most certainly does not. “I think the better question is, What areyoudoing here? You’re never in this early.”

“No, thetruebetter question is, What’s in that container you got there? It looks an awful lot like leftovers. Did you bring me leftovers?” I clap my hands, bouncing on my heels. I’m unsure if my reaction is purely based on excitement for the world’s best lasagna or because I’m so tired I’m a little delirious at this point.

Oh, who am I kidding?Of courseit’s because of the lasagna.

“Why, yes, Parker, thisislasagna.”

I race toward him, but when he holds up a beefy hand, I screech to a halt—literally, my shoes skid across the shiny new floors, emitting a piercing noise.

“Ew. That was terrible,” I mutter.

“Want to know what else is terrible? You didn’t bring my wine. You’re lucky I found a bottle stashed deep in the fridge, but I still want answers.” His brows pull tightly together. “Where were you last night? You are never a no-show. What gives?”

There’s no mistaking the worry in his gaze, which makes me feel ten times worse than I already do for bailing. But after that horrible encounter with Noel, there was no way I was going to be able to go over to Axel’s and pretend everything was fine in front of him, his wife, and his kids. I wouldn’t have been able to play Auntie Parker and dream up stories about princesses who find their happily ever after when mine was ripped away from me. And it would have taken just one look from my best friend, and he would have been asking—

“Whose ass do I have to kick?”

That. He’d have been asking that.

Just like I didn’t want to deal with it last night, I don’t want to deal with it now. Truthfully, I feel ridiculous even being upset aboutthe whole thing. From bumping into Noel to laughing like I’d lost my mind to getting upset over a silly nickname. It all seems absurd in the light of day.

“It’s nothing.”

“Right. Tell that to the tears welling up in your eyes. Either you tell me who I owe a beatdown to or I promise I’ll not only eat this lasagna in front of you but also tell Mary you hate her cooking, and she’ll never invite you over for dinner again.”

I gasp, my hand going to my chest. “You wouldn’t dare!”

“Oh, I wouldsodare.” He tries to cross his big arms, but he’s still holding the leftovers, so he fumbles a few times before finally giving up.

It’s just comical enough to cause a laugh to bubble out of me, the noise so sudden and foreign feeling it surprises me, which makes me sad, and then suddenly the tears that were stinging my eyes begin to drip down my face, and I feel ridiculous all over again.

Ihatefeeling ridiculous.

But I love that my big lug of a best friend doesn’t hesitate to cross the café and circle his arms around me.

“Dammit, Park,” he mutters, his chin bumping against the top of my head as he pats my back. “What’s going on? I haven’t seen you like this in a long, long time.”

I know what he’s referring to, and I find it funny that the reason I’m crying now is the same reason I was crying then—Noel.

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