She looked up at me as if she’d never seen me before. Fuck if I didn’t wish that were true. Maybe if we were meeting for the first time, I’d say the right things or make the right moves and she’d forget all about Douchebag Dan and hang out with me tonight instead. Naked.
Not that I wanted to trade our past or anything—I loved our friendship. Natalie was like my favorite book, which is Catch 22. It’s always there on my shelf, and even if I go a year or so without reading it, every time I pick it up, I’m reminded of why I connected with it so much in the first place. It’s smart and different and always makes me laugh.
“Am I supposed to call you Edward now?” She gave me an amused smirk and went back to her chicken thing, adding spices and salt and pepper before giving it another stir.
“No. It’s my dad’s name, and I don’t really want to share anything more than DNA with him.”
She nodded, understanding. “What are your parents up to?”
“The usual, since the divorce. Dad jetting off around the globe with the new wife and Mom medicating herself so she doesn’t have to think about her life too hard, which is pretty much the same thing she did even when they were married.”
“I’m sorry.”
I shrugged. “Eh, I’m used to it.”
“So you’re staying at the house?”
“Yeah. My mother usually spends summers up here, but she just decided to go on some quack spiritual journey in northern California, which I think is code for ‘I’m having so much work done I’ll need several months to recover before anyone can see me.’”
Natalie shook her head. “I don’t get it. Your mom is so beautiful.”
“She doesn’t see that. She never has.” It struck me as I watched Natalie work that I could be talking about her, too. I don’t think she ever realized how beautiful she was. I don’t even think I realized it until that last summer I spent up here. But by then it was too late—she’d had a boyfriend, and I’d been dating a couple different girls, and by “dating” I mean fucking them in the back of my car or in their basement or in a bedroom at somebody’s party whose parents were out of town. If I couldn’t have her, I might as well have fun, right?
But I had said some pretty serious stuff to her that last night before I left. Did she remember that?
Natalie shook her head. “Yeah, some women are like that, never satisfied with their appearance and panicking more and more as they get older, trying to erase every wrinkle and fill every line.” She moved briskly, covering the big bowl of chicken salad with plastic wrap and pulling out several bags of green leaf lettuce. “I hope I don’t get that way.”
“I don’t see that happening.” I crossed my arms. “So tell me what’s new with you.”
She smiled at me, and my chest got tight. “I bought a house.”
“You did? With Douchebag Dan?”
She rolled her eyes. “No, you big jerk. On my own. A woman can own property these days, you know.”
“They can?”
She stomped lightly on my sneaker before moving to the sink, where she began rinsing the lettuce. “Yes.”
“Well, congratulations. Where is it? I want to see it.”
“It’s on State Street. It needs some work, but it has a picket fence,” she said gleefully, rising up on her toes. “And cozy alcove bedrooms and a huge clawfoot tub and a huge herb garden in the backyard.”
“Sounds perfect for you.” Too bad the Douchebag will probably move in. I couldn’t believe she was still with that guy. She was way too good for him. Jealousy flared unexpectedly in my gut, a hot ball of fire. The kitchen will probably smell like this every morning—fucking awesome, like sticky buns are in the oven. Haha, sticky buns. I could give her sticky buns. Oh, shit. I adjusted myself a little in my jeans.
She glanced down at what I was doing, and her eyes flicked up to mine. “Nice.”
“Sorry. Anyway, I’m only around for a few days, so as soon as you’re ready, let me know. I can’t wait to see it.”
“A few days?” She turned off the water and dried her hands. “That’s a short trip.”
“Yeah, I just wanted to check out that asylum and catch up with you a little.” Because I’ve missed you. You’ve been on my mind a lot lately.
But I wouldn’t say that to her. Clearly her life was going exactly the way she wanted it to, and the last thing I wanted to do was fuck up our friendship, which sometimes felt like the one constant in my life. If only she wasn’t so hot. It was distracting as fuck.
The timer went off, and she pulled the muffins from the oven. They were puffy and golden, sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar, smelling like heaven. My mouth watered. “Oh God, those look good.”