Page 5 of That Friendzone Feeling
Walker’sright—like always, damn him.Jumpingfrom one relationship to the next, the wayIhave been these last few years, is no way to live.
Butnow, like everyone else in this room,Ialso have a fresh plan for a fresh year—all biz, all the time.Imean,Iwas always ninety-nine percent business before, or we wouldn’t be where we are now.Lordknows,Walkerloathes spreadsheets.
He’sthe creative genius, loves the brewing, developing new products and new ideas like moving into real estate and tourism with the resort.Buthe hates sitting down to run and review numbers, always has.Inbusiness school he took only the required accounting and statistics courses.Heaced them, but hated every second of it.
Ijust need to get through tonight.Startingtomorrow,Ithrow myself into the mission to get the resort completed and perfect ahead of our summer opening.Itwill be funand fulfilling—two things, ifI’mhonest with myself,Anthonynever was.
Thehuge room in front of me is subtly divided into three areas—the restaurant where servers are flying back and forth in a blur, the main bar area where there’s barely any standing room but a smile on every face, and a space we’ve set up just for tonight and calledKaraokeKorner.
Idebated long and hard withLeonover whether spelling corner with aKwas too tacky for us, but he insisted it was more fun than cheesy so, since it’s for only one night,Ilet him run with it.
Andit’s pretty popular so far.Thecrowd around the mini stage must be five or six deep and they’re all cheering on a woman murdering “IWillSurvive.”Whilemy heart appreciates the sentiment, my ears do not.Wedeliberately set the microphone and music to a low-ish volume to try to keep it contained to that part of the room, but a few people in the bar area wince and look across as her voice tests the powers of the sound limiter.
Thenight is turning out to be everythingI’dhoped, though—for the business,Imean.Obviously, being dumped and becoming homeless onNewYear’sEvewasn’t my dreamiest dream.Butit’s always fun staying withWalker, kind of like reliving our college days.Andbeing around his cheeriness and relentless teasing will help me through the getting-over-it stage.Theupside of having been through, well, a few breakups is thatIknow for certain that getting over it is possible.I’vedone it before, andIcan do it again.
Atthe opposite end of the bar from me,IspyConnorDashwoodand his girlfriend,Rose, preparing to leave.Theystopped in briefly ahead of spending a quiet evening in fortheir firstNewYear’stogether.WalkerhugsRosethen claps his cousin on the back in a half hug.
Ofthe three cousinsWalkerwas brought up with after his parents died, he’s always been closest withConnor, who, until a few months ago, was the wild child of the family.Walker’sdug him out of so many scrapes that it’s hard to believeConnorwould ever spend aNewYear’sat home rather than partying it up in a club.Amazinghow people change when they find “the one.”
Asthe couple heads for the door,Walkerbobs through the crowd towardKaraokeKorner.
It’samazing what a difference losing the beard has made to him.First, he looks about ten years younger.Butsecond, or maybe it should be first, he could have stepped right off aTimesSquarebillboard.I’dtotally forgotten that under all the fuzz he’s been sporting for about the last five years were cheekbones and a jawline as strong as his will of steel.
Eyesfollow him as he weaves his way through the crowded space, dazzling everyone he squeezes past with a smile, an “Excuseme,” and if my lipreading is up to snuff, a “Havea great night.”
Hegets to the karaoke stage asMrs. “IWillSurvive” wraps up with a final ear-splitting flourish to rapturous applause from the group of women closest to the stage.
Hejumps up next to her.That’sweird.Walker’sthe last person to willingly get up in front of people.Hehas all the charm and charisma to have a room eating out of the palm of his hand, even one as big and packed as this, but he doesn’t enjoy being the center of attention.
Hetakes the mic fromMrs. “IWillSurvive” and pushes the turned-back cuffs of his flannel shirt further up his forearms.That’llget the women at the front going—if his snug dark jeans haven’t already done the trick.It’shardly festiveparty attire, but gettingWalkerout of his plaid shirts and jeans is never going to happen, whatever the occasion.
It’ssuch a contrast to my jade-green velvet dress and silver heels you’d think we were at two different events.
“Sorryto butt in,” he tells the karaoke crowd, “but a very good friend of mine has had a pretty lousy day.”
Forthe first time in hours, my stomach turns over at something other than the thought ofAnthony.
Shit.Whatthe hell is he doing?
Theonlookers make anawwsound that’s loud enough for me to hear from all the way over here.
He’dbetter not be about to embarrass me and think it’s funny.
“She’sall smiles and everything right now.”Helooks at me over the sea of heads packing the bar area between us. “ButIknow that brave face whenIsee it.”Heholds my gaze for a second, and my pulse quickens with dread. “ButIknow one thing that never fails to put arealsmile on that beautiful face.”
Beautiful?Heis talking about me, right?
“Comehere,Em.”Hebeckons me, and every face watching him turns in my direction, searching for who he’s speaking to.
Ican’t very well ignore him, what with being the owner and all that.
Iglare at him asIpick my way through the packed crowd.
“Hereyou go,” he says whenIreach him, resting a hand on his thigh as he bends forward and holds the microphone out toward me. “I’velined upTheDreamtownBoysnext.”
“What?”Myface must be doing an impression of a shocked emoji.Myheart’s definitely doing one of an impending cardiacarrest.
Walkermust have kept his brain in his beard because he obviously doesn’t have it anymore.
