Page 29 of Until Next Time
“Well, then I guess you’re getting an age appropriate breakfast from me this morning. With some actual protein.” I teased her as I start grabbing the bacon and eggs from the fridge.
She grabs the package of bacon and starts inspecting it.
“You get the good stuff!”
“Life’s too short for bad bacon, Birdie.” I reply, as I grab the coffee pot and start pouring the hot liquid into her mug.
“I wholeheartedly agree.” She says, smiling as she brings her cup to her lips, letting the steam fill her face, like she’s giving herself a coffee facial.
“So, how was the date?” I hate myself for asking, but I’ve not made any other smart decisions today, so why stop now.
Her eyes dart up to mine and I can see her brows pinch together just slightly. She sets her mug down, rubbing her finger up and down the small ceramic handle. She let’s out a soft, tired sigh.
“I can’t actually give you any sane or good reason why I didn’t necessarily enjoy it.” My heart swells at her admission. I’m aware of how fucked it is that I’m actually happy that she didn’t enjoy her time with him.
She pauses before continuing, “He is just very… city. And let’s just say that my experience with city men leaves something to be desired. But I don’t know. Maybe I’m not giving him a fair shot. He’s going to come to the concert tonight, so I guess we’ll just see how it goes.” I practically wince at that sliver of information she just shared. And just like that, the good feeling is gone and my gut churns at the thought of seeing him with her tonight. I want to plead with her and tell her that he’s not worth it, that she should tell him not to come and that she should hang out with me all night instead. But of course, I’m a coward and don’t say any of that. I just nod and smile and act like that wasn’t the worst thing I’ve heard all week.
I was able to regain my bearings and act like a civilized human while I finished making Birdie breakfast. Once the spread of bacon, eggs and toast was complete, I sidled up on the bar stool next to hers. We ate, or I should say that I ate while she told me all about her job in the city and how she got fired, and how humiliated she felt. From there she told me about her life in the city; what she loved about it—which had everything to do with the proximity to her favorite coffee shop, and the feeling of progressing in her career there, which obviously ended abruptly, so she came to the realization that maybe the only thing she liked there was in fact, her proximity to the coffee shop. She was adorably upset when she came to that conclusion.
I let her vent and carry on about how even the friendships she had while she was there were built on sinking sand. We finished an entire pot of coffee and scraped our plates clean while I watched this precious, smart, incredible woman work through a“pre-mid life crisis”as she coined it.
I wanted to pull her into me. To bring her face to my chest while I kissed her hair and let her know how incredible she is. That all of these things are just part of her story. That she’s got so much ahead of her. That her talent can’t be snuffed out by anything or anyone, and that she doesn’t need those people because she has River. She has Casey, but most of all because she hasme.
I wanted to keep a lid on my feelings for her as she bore her heart to me, but I couldn’t do it—well, not completely.
I pulled her into me, rubbing my hand up and down her arm for a beat before I released her, looking into her big doe eyes, and told her, “you’re exactly where you need to be.”
She smiled a smile laced with self-pity as she joked, “in your kitchen, crying about how much of a failure I am?”
“Well, not exactly—but I do love your being here, for the record.” I chuffed out a laugh before I elaborated.
“You’re home.”
* * *
It’s about 8:45 and I’ve just parked in the lot of Echo Hall. I lean my head back against the headrest and listen to the hum of the engine as I contemplate throwing this thing in drive and heading back home.
The thought of spending all night in such close quarters with Birdie and Max on a date is probably one of the most miserable ways I could think to spend my night. I think I would almost rather be forced to watch infomercials while sitting in an ice bath than watch him drool all over her. Although I don’t know if it’d be more miserable going home and picturing that—which is why I’m about to quit being a little bitch and face the music.
21
Birdie
Echo Hall is one of my favorite parts of Saddlebrooke, and probably one of the things I missed most when I was living in the city. The venue is in a historic warehouse just on the outskirts of town. For a warehouse, they’ve made it feel intimate and warm with draped string lights that line the whole room, mismatched chairs and tables are spread across the space, with an ornate wooden bar that lines the entire side with floor to ceiling shelving that stores old books, records and liquor bottles. The walls are covered in picture frames and old newspapers used as wallpaper. It used to be Saddlebrooke’s newspaper printing press so you can feel the history there. Every single romantic bone in my body is in love with this place.
After my run in with Dawsen this morning, I’m even more conflicted about having invited Max to join us at the concert. I mean, we had a nice time together, and he did and said all theright things, it just felt like I was having to force it. I’ve been going back and forth since I got home about this date and if I was being honest with myself, had I met Max when I was living in the city, far away from Dawsen being in my life, I’d probably would have had a great time, would have been excited about a second and a third date, but since my current reality is working for Dawsen and being in close proximity to all six feet, four inches of him almost every single day, well, it’s safe to say that he’s been taking up the better part of all my thoughts.
I usually look forward to getting dressed and doing my hair and makeup for a night out like this. I love putting together a playlist to set the tone for the night and get lost in creating the perfect outfit and makeup look, but I was distracted the whole time. I even had to wipe off my eyeliner and reapply because I kept messing up the wings, which shows how distracted I am because I can usually apply winged liner with my eyes closed. It’s like muscle memory for me. I just kept thinking about my interactions with Dawsen in his apartment this morning. I know he doesn’t look at me as anything other than River’s little sister, and he’s always charming with little flirty banter, but that’s just how he is. I know he doesn’t mean anything by it, but I can’t help but question if maybe he does. Like, that happens sometimes right? Sometimes your brother’s best friend ends up falling for the little sister… I mean, I’ve seen movies and I’ve read books with that plot line. I shake the thought because I am not the kind of girl Dawsen is into. And I have over a decade of his track record that speaks to that. Even if he was, I royally fucked that up by spewing all my emotional baggage on him after he made me breakfast and the best coffee I think I’ve ever had.
Somehow I managed to pull my look together, even with the Dawsen haze that was overtaking my entire prefrontal cortex. I’m wearing my favorite leopard print skinny jeans with my redwestern boots, and my favorite blouse that dips quite low and leather jacket.
Casey pulls up to my house exactly when she said she would, not a minute later because she’s Casey. My truest and most favorite punctual best friend.
Max was going to pick me up, but I got a text from him earlier today letting me know that he was going to have to stay a bit longer at work for a meeting with some investment group.
I run down the steps and straight into the car because it’s freaking cold out. I buckled in and Casey hands me her flask almost immediately. A mint green Stanley flask. I tilt my head at her and roll my eyes, “what is this for?” She nudges it towards me again so I take it, “You need to pregame for this. You’re about to be at a concert with your new boyfriend, your lifelong crush, and your lifelong crush’s flavor of the week.” She says it like that’s obvious. I feel my stomach twinge.
“Wait, what did you just say?” I just stare at her, clutching the flask.
