A strange throb pounded through my body as we drew closer, until we were only inches apart, our eyes locked on each other’s.
But something interrupted us. I seem to remember that one of his ridiculously immature high school friends, Devon, came barreling over the hill and grabbed the wine bottle to chug its contents, then ripped out a massive burp. Then Cole went away to boot camp a few days later, and our relationship changed permanently. Neither one of us brought up the almost-kiss in any of our correspondence.
Part of me wondered if I simply made it all up, since it was like it never happened. But I still remembered how I felt so vividly in that moment.
There’s no way I imagined that.
But does he ever think about it?
I take another huge swig of my margarita. My cheeks are flushed for some stupid reason. He’s just a friend, I tell myself. And that’s what I need from him so desperately. Cole’s been there for me in all my darkest moments, and I’ve been there for his too.
Thank God we didn’t kiss. Because that would have fucked it all up, and I couldn’t bear to lose him as my best friend. It was hard enough letting him go to boot camp, then do his tours overseas.
I nibble on a nacho and force my mind back to the present, where my new dear friend, Emme, is flagging the bartender down for another round of margaritas. Now this is an idea I can get behind.
Cole
“So you’re back for good?” my brother asks me for the hundredth time since I arrived in Boston yesterday afternoon. From his spot behind the bar, he gives me a toothy grin. The heavy scent of cleaners fill the air as he scrubs everything down. “Don’t suppose you’re looking for a job, are you? God knows I could use the help around here, especially since Rebecca is at home now.”
“I could be talked into doing some work.” I sweep the scattered remnants of fries, nachos, and other mysterious food entities from under the tables and create a big pile. It looks like someone released a toddler in here and let him throw his dinner everywhere on the floor.
My brother thinks the bar and my father’s midlife crisis meltdown are my reasons for coming home now. Yeah, that’s part of it, of course. But deep down I know the biggest reason. There’s one person who could make me pack up my life and return to my hometown without looking back.
He and I work in silence for a bit to get the bar cleaned. Xander closed up early, since Lauren’s going to be coming by soon to show him her ideas for the bar’s redesign. Only, Lauren doesn’t know I’m here—she thinks I’m still back in Charlotte. My stomach gives a painful twist.
I can’t wait to see her eyes light up, hear her squeal in excitement, to throw her arms around me and give me one of those hugs that makes me feel like a fucking king.
I can’t wait to bury my face in her hair and breathe her scent in.
I swallow and focus my attention on the tasks at hand. Patience, I warn myself. Besides, there are other more immediate concerns I need to sort out. “So what the hell is going on with Dad?” I ask. Xander didn’t tell me much on the phone last week, other than he’s concerned about Dad and he thinks I should come home for a visit.
Our dad has been a rock. Since Mom died a few years ago, he’s kept himself busy with work, diving into the bar with more gusto than any of us expected. His way of dealing, I suppose.
But sometime over the last few weeks, Xander noticed a difference in him. Dad was distracted, forgetting to do tasks like drop off our bank deposits or reorder tortilla chips. Shit he would have ripped our asses for. Shit that has me a bit worried.
When Xander called me last weekend and said Dad took off on a cross-country road trip out of nowhere, I knew I needed to come back. I was already feeling discontentment with my life; this gave me the boost to stop fucking around and make something happen. So I loaded my truck and drove north, back home to Boston.
Xander sighs and stops scrubbing the corner of the bar. I can see the fatigue lining his eyes. It has to be hard on him, having a toddler, losing his wife’s help at the bar to watch their son at home, and now having to deal with our dad too. Guilt makes my chest tighten. I should have come home months ago, when I retired. Not left him here to handle all the shit while I searched my soul for what I wanted to do with my life now.
“I don’t know, man,” Xander says. “He’s hardly returning my calls. I wonder if this is some kind of reaction he’s belatedly having to Mom’s death or something.”
“I’ll try to call him,” I promise.
“Appreciate that, bro. He won’t talk to me. Maybe you can get him to open up.” Xander resumes cleaning the bar down, then checks on liquor stock. His back is to me, but I can hear the forced casualness in his tone. “So tell me again why Lauren doesn’t know you’re here?”
I keep my voice just as light. “I’m surprising her.”