Page 7 of A Little Too Forward

“Okay.” She blinks at me innocently. Taking a big gulp of her wine, she gives me a quick recap of everything in her life. “Not that you know about my exciting and glamorous life, I’ll let you know that she’s outside getting some air.”

Jackpot. I knew she wouldn’t be able to resist.

“I don’t think she wants to see me, Suzie. And this isn’t the place to—”

“I think you should at least go say hi. She’s not herself today, and maybe seeing you will get her spark back.”

I didn’t like the sound of that. Instantly, I go into protector mode.

“Is she okay? Did something happen to her that—”

“Stop.” Suzie holds up her free hand. “She’s fine, but she’s quiet today. And you know what a quiet Sabrina means.”

Nothing good.

I stand there, debating whether it’s a good idea or not to go see her. In the end, there’s no stopping me. If Sabrina is going through something, even if I’m enemy number one to her, I want to be there for her.

She may have pushed me away all those years ago, but I never stopped checking in on her.

Finding the drinks table, I grab a bottle of water and start making my way through the crowd. A couple of people try to stop me to talk, but I dodge them with an excuse about leaving. I’ve just circled one of the food tables when I spot something that may act as a peace offering with Sabrina.

Grabbing the plate, I rush for the front door. As soon as I’m outside on the porch, I spot her. You honestly can’t miss her rioting curls of red hair. She’s a beacon wherever she goes.

Getting a look at her face in real life for the first time in a decade is staggering. She was beautiful the last time we were friends, but now…she’s grown into a stunning woman. Seeing her on TV doesn’t do her justice.

“You hiding out here, Bean?”

I have no idea why I say it, but the casual comment doesn’t put her on alert immediately. Her lips twist into a smile, but as she turns toward my voice, understanding dawns on her.

The soft look on her face turns to a hard glare, and both her hands ball up into fists. I brace myself, ready for her to yell and tear me apart. But it doesn’t come. Instead, she sighs and turns away.

“No. Not today. I can’t handle whatever you’ve come outside for.”

I hate the dejection I hear in her voice. She sounds tired and sad, two emotions that are rare for a woman of her exuberance. Slowly, still clutching my water under my arm and the peace offering, I slide into the chair beside her.

For a couple of minutes, we both just sit in silence. When she doesn’t say anything more or ask me to leave, I pass the plate of deep-fried pickles over to rest on the arm of my chair. Her head tilts to see what I’m doing.

“You took a whole plate of pickles?”

“The appetizer plates were too small, so I commandeered one that was more my size.”

“You’re still such an idiot,” she says, grabbing a deep-friend pickle.

I shrug, happy that she’s feeling herself enough to call me names.

“I saw an opportunity, and I took it. Deep-fried pickles aren’t usually on my nutritionist’s meal plan.”

She makes a rude noise at my comment, but I let it go. I know what she’s thinking.

Another minute passes in silence as we pick at the plate. I try to ignore the sounds she makes when she bites into each pickle. The little moans of satisfaction.

Needing to get her to stop making that noise, I ask her the question that’s been weighing on my mind since I talked to her sister.

“You okay?”

She doesn’t say anything for a long while. I don’t think she’s actually going to talk to me or acknowledge me again when suddenly she opens up.

“I quit my job today,” she says, still not looking at me. “With no backup plan.”

---