Page 118 of Mess With Me

That led to some incredibly delicious morning sex in the shower, where Griffin had me up against the wall losing it as he gently thrust his big length into me, still whispering those sweet reassurances into my ear.

Now, after I run to the shop to give him a lingering kiss goodbye before heading out to the truck, I think about how it would be a great day to work on the deck. But I’m off to a shift at Bijou. I work at the shop two afternoons a week and one morning. I’m not upset about it—I like spending time around my favorite mode of artistic expression. Best of all, most of my shifts cross over with Glo. Behind her hand, Vivian says it’s because Glo needs more training. But I’m not sure what Vivian’s smoking, because Glo is amazing. She works hard, and we work well together, restocking and reorganizing the store for the winter season while helping customers as they come in.

On our first shift together, I learned she used to be the CEO for some marketing firm in San Francisco.

“What on earth are you doing way over here working in a clothing store?” I asked, slightly incredulous, when she told me that.

She hadn’t looked me in the eye. She just gave a quick smile and said, “I needed a change of pace.”

There has to be more to her story. But I don’t press it, because I have my secrets, too. But I’m grateful for Glo. Our friendship might be in its infancy, but my first instincts about her were on point. She’s an amazing person. She’s smart and funny, and unlike lots of people I’ve worked with at high-end clothing shops, she’s down to earth, too.

While we’ve only been friends for a few weeks, we mesh so easily it feels like we’ve known each other for years. We talk through our whole shifts as we work, pausing only when customers come in or Vivian stops by on her way to see her sister. We’ve been out for drinks a couple of times, and she’s been over for dinner twice now, too.

It’s not until we meet for coffee like we have been and stumble into the topic of what our plans are for the future—and we both kind of trail off—that I decide if there’s anyone I can open up to besides Griff, it’s Glo. And I’ve been desperate to open up to a friend.

Surprisingly Betsey’s is almost empty. It’s nearly unheard of, even on a late weekday morning.

I decide, spontaneously, to tell a version of the truth.

“Well, the truth is, I can’t make any plans right now. I’m kind of hiding out here.”

Glo’s shapely brown eyebrows go up, but her expression is encouraging. So, heart pattering, I forge ahead with something close enough to the truth that my feelings are honest.

“I had an…overzealous ex-boyfriend who wouldn’t take no for an answer,” I tell her. While it makes me ill to call Vincent an ex, even if it’s a lie, it’s a bit less alarming than “criminal stalker.”

“Griffin and I were…seeing each other,” I say, trying to remember the wording I used with Griff’s family. “He suggested we come back here for a bit to put some distance between me and my ex.”

Of course, I don’t go into the fact that we fled New York City. But I try to describe how scared I was and say we left quickly enough that I walked out on everything there.

It’s only when I finish talking, feeling like a huge weight has been lifted off my chest, that I notice Glo looks kind of wobbly. She’s holding her banana bread wrapper so tightly her knuckles are white.

“Sasha,” she says. “I’m so sorry.”

Regret hits me instantly. I said too much. “It’s fine,” I say, even though it’s not fine.

But to my surprise, she chews her lip, then says, “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course.” I haven’t scared her off at least.

“I’m hiding, too.”

I’m shocked, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t relieved to have someone who understands. Then concern overtakes everything else. I wouldn’t wish this kind of anxiety on anyone.

She looks over my shoulder toward the window behind me, as if the danger is still out there. Then back at me, her voice lowered. “It’s my ex-husband. I found out he was into some stuff he shouldn’t have been while we were together. Some really bad stuff.”

I lean forward, taking her hand.

Glo waves, her eyes welling. “It’s fine. But I can’t really talk about it yet.”

“I understand.”

She shrugs. “I just feel kind of rootless, you know? This town, it’s so pretty, but it feels like I didn’t get far enough away from him. From everything.”

“Do you think you’ll settle here or keep going?”

She sips her coffee. “I don’t know. What about you? I guess that’s a discussion between you and Griffin.”

I swallow, looking down. It is. Or it might not be. Maybe we’ll just shake hands at the end of all this and speak to each other through lawyers and divorce papers. The thought is so depressing I ask for a piece of Glo’s banana bread.

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