Page 18 of Pour Decisions
I hand the woman the incense and an incense burner, then pay. We thank her again and keep wandering.
“You’re staying in JD’s bedroom?” Perrie asks, one of her eyebrows shooting up. “Alone, I’m assuming?”
I’d already told her I moved in with him and got a bunch of questioning emoji. I told her I’d spill more once we got together. She has the restraint to not bombard me with questions, but now that the door is open, she’s going to barge right through.
“Of course I’m alone in there.” My face still gets hot, though. “And he only gave it to me because he works all the time and his home office is connected to the guest bedroom.”
“Mmm-hmm.” She clearly doesn’t believe me. “Do you need to be rescued?”
“Rescued?” I snort. “That sounds a little dramatic.”
“Well, it’s not every day that someone moves in with the ex who absolutely shattered their heart.” Her tone goes flat.
Perrie is so sweet that she almost never holds a grudge—almost. But if a guy has wronged one of her friends, he’s automatically on her shit list for life. She’s never even met JD, but years ago, I told her everything that went down, from my mom’s ex-husband being an asshole to me, to JD losing his shit while coming to my defense, to JD pulling away after to focus on his job, even though he promised to do the opposite.
I bet she’d launch herself at him like a wild animal if she saw him in person back then. Or maybe even if she saw him now, based on the look on her face.
“And I’m assuming he’s still an asshole,” she adds.
My heart tugs in a way it shouldn’t, like it wants to go to battle for him. So stupid. “He was always kind of grumpy, not anasshole. He’s still that way. He was only a dick at the very end of our relationship.”
“Then he unleashed all the reserves of asshole on the planet at the same time.” She runs her fingers through her baby’s tufts of hair. “Seriously, what’s his deal? He can’t do that to you, then suddenly whip around and offer you a place to stay when you need it. It’s almost like he’s taking advantage of your situation.”
“But why would he take advantage of that, though?” I ask. “Hedumpedme. And I think he’s guilty. He apologized and has gone above and beyond to make me comfortable while living at his house.”
Way above and beyond. It’s almost like living in a hotel. Despite me telling him that I’ll clean, he’s done everything and even bought some extra things I might like. He makes coffee for us both and even gave me an “extra” breakfast sandwich he made.
He doesn’t really eat breakfast (or at least he didn’t back when we dated, and I haven’t seen any evidence that he does now), so he must have made it just for me.
“Hm…” Perrie’s green eyes narrow for a moment, like she’s trying to suss something out of me.
“But just because he apologized doesn’t meant mean anything will happen between us,” I quickly add. “I’m not going down that path.”
“Oh. Then you should torture him a little.” Perrie flashes me a grin. “Show him what he can’t have since he fucked up so bad and you’re such a babe.”
He’s already looking like he’s craving me. His intensity still makes me shiver. All that focus, right on me, is an addiction I can’t slip back into.
“That feels like a slippery slope to things that should not happen between us,” I say.
“You think he would?”
“He wants to.” That much about him hasn’t changed. He’s hard to read with everything else, but his intense attraction to me was never something I had to guess at. He channeled all that intensity he reserved in the rest of his life into that, and being with him was like a drug. “But obviously I won’t. I’m not trying to be messy. I’m just trying to get my shit back together.”
“Good. Just tell me if you’re feeling weak, and I’ll spray you in the face with a water bottle.” She pauses. “Maybe you should adopt a cat or something when you get your own place. There’s a new animal shelter in town.”
“I have Bubba for now.” Bubba is one hundred percent friendliness, which doesn’t leave a lot of brain space for much else. I love him for it. “We’re besties. But I think he’d be besties with anyone who snuck him snacks.”
Just the idea of snacks has my stomach growling, and I spot a booth with an array of baked goods that look delicious even from a distance. An older woman is surveying the treats too. She’s tall and sturdy, so I’m surprised when she glances at me and seems much older than she appears. Not in a frail way—just in a ‘I’ve lived a lot of life and had fun’ way. Smile lines, sunspots, and a big smile.
“These are the best pastries,” the woman says to us.
“Nana.” The young woman behind the table—who I assume is Sarah Jane, based on the nameSarah Jane’son the booth—flushes, then she looks to me. “She’s just saying that because she’s my grandmother.”
“Damn, Sarah Jane, I was trying to be your hype woman.” The older woman sighs and rests a hand on her ample hip. “Well, her pastries are very good. She wouldn’t be here selling them if they weren’t.”
“It’s my first week here.” Sarah Jane shrugs, her cheeks flushing even more pink. Her hair is a pretty strawberry blondethat makes her blush more prominent. “I’m Sarah Jane, hence the creatively named business, and that’s Nana.”
“Just call me Nana. Everyone else does, even if they aren’t my grand baby.” Nana gives my shoulder a firm squeeze and smiles at me like she genuinely knows me. My own grandmother passed away when I was in college, and we were fairly close. Nana’s grandmotherly energy is soothing a spot I didn’t know was raw.
