Chapter Fourteen

Julia

The groundskeeper is an older man with a silver beard named Han. His gentle stoking of the bonfire has turned it from a whimpering, spitting bit of embers to a roaring blaze in the time since I stormed out here to get some space. I take a sip of my beer, some local brew that's extra hoppy, as I watch the flame eat through a branch.

The word love coming out of Piper's mouth sent me reeling. Love is a special occasion , she always said. Like a diamond necklace, like the best restaurant in town for Valentine's Day. With Piper, love was something to bring out as a contrast to the mundane, not a normal, everyday thing. Those tarot cards may indicate our breakup was a turning point, but nothing could move the needle enough for me. She could be reborn as the girlfriend of the millennium, and I still wouldn't want to dip back into her shark-infested waters.

"Hey." Speak of the devil.

I take another swig. Piper sits down, near enough that I can smell her perfume even with the fire burning. There was a time when the scent of bergamot and clove drove me crazy in the very best way.

"Remember Big Sur?" she asks.

"I remember you threw up on the drive," I reply. The windy roads of PCH did a number on her motion sickness.

"You held my hair back."

"Because you refused to put it up." She didn't want a crease in her hair, so she needed me to stand behind her instead. I didn't mind doing the job of a scrunchie—I was in love with her. Tenderness and affection made me take care of her, but those are traits she managed to snuff out of me in the course of our relationship.

The tug-of-war for power in our relationship led me to hold on even tighter everywhere else in my life. I could never win with Piper, but I could win at work. I could micromanage weddings and staff and my own self until there was no wiggle room at all.

"That was our first vacation together." She gives her hair an aggressive toss over her shoulder. "You told me you loved me."

There's that word again. I said I loved her and she just smiled back.

"Sure, that happened," I say, turning to look her right in the eyes. "Then you called me your friend on the phone to your mom."

"You were my friend." Her cheeks flush pink, flaring up in her own defense. "I wasn't going to say girlfriend over the phone. I wasn't going to just drop it on her like that."

"Then when they visited, after I'd moved in with you, you made me stay in a hotel. Hid all my shit, asked me to make myself scarce."

"I said to act normal."

"You meant act straight ."

Her lips pinch.

"I gave you two years," I say; now that I'm talking it's hard to stop. "You shoved me back in the closet every chance you got." I stand, she reaches for me. Piper gets this look when she's called out. All emotion drains from her face; the expression drops into a low gear, like the tank just emptied. She clasps her hands on her lap.

"That's an exaggeration." She barely inflects. "But I understand why you would feel that way."

There's no exaggeration. We could quietly be a couple in the few spaces she was out, but if I acted too gay, looked too much like a woman who didn't play by the misogynistic rules, she would clench up. Tighten her hand around my heart until I softened into a palatable shape.

"You don't get that it isn't an exaggeration at all—but how could you? That would require empathy."

She gives stunned deer on dark road at night better than anyone. "I understand what it's like to feel trapped, and I'm sorry I treated you the way that I did, but I wasn't ready—"

"As you said, all the time, and if it had just been that then maybe I could have stuck it out until you were ready, but you know that wasn't even the worst of it."

I want to drop it, but every word out of her mouth is like Han's poker stoking the bonfire. Only it's my anger flaming up instead. Also, I'm a little bit buzzed from the beer (possibly that cacao, who knows) so I keep unloading.

"You made me question the things I value—my own value, actually. You wanted me docile, malleable, so I became clay." I tap the now empty beer bottle against my thigh in frustration. "And you didn't flinch as you molded me." Tears prick in my eyes.

"You can't deny how much I helped you." Her jaw clenches. She stands, getting in my path. "You can't deny the growth in your career, the acceptability of you as a person—"

"Do you hear yourself?" I snarl.

Too bad she's also not wrong.

Piper Cunningham's touch is Midas. She shaped me into a ladder-climber. I became sought-after, the best at my agency, with success written all over me. I became what everyone expected me to be. I became the obvious choice to make the most important day in a couple's life a dream-come-true event. I'm still rigidly adhering to the mold, only now I'm beginning to wonder if the success within my reach would still be here if I weren't stamped with Piper's seal of approval, if there were more Julia Kelley essence left on my skin.

"I don't want to do that anymore. I want you to be you and I want to be with you."

She's reaching for me like that's it. Like one sentence of affirming my worth makes up for years of pushing me to question it.

"Not. On. Your. Life."

I hear the sound of laughter from the bachelorette party roaring over the dusty expanse behind me, and I whirl away for another beer.

?The bonfire warms the air; glowing orange embers jump into the darkness near the farm-style table. It's lit by shallow lamps, set with a woven cream runner, and decorated with bouquets of wildflowers. The crew has dwindled down to just the bachelorette party, and Kit and me—Millie's honorary working guests—and the Glamp-Out overnight staff. The chefs have created a light, fresh, inclusively vegan and gluten-free menu, and I almost feel guilty for taking Millie up on her offer to eat. This wasn't a cheap excursion; it wouldn't have been easy to coordinate. It really should have been handled by her bridal party, even if the cumulative energy of this group is more in the vein of cacophony of wild birds than reliable team players .

I'm now three crab cakes in, one more beer down, and too intimidated to ask Kit if she's ready to head back to Celestial Sands. In my head, there's no way to pose the question that doesn't immediately make it provocative.

Coco drops down in the empty space beside me. Cupped in her gloriously long fingers are two shots of clear liquor, one of which she hands to me.

"Oh, no—" I set it on the table. "I'm heading out soon."

She picks it back up. "Not."

She presses the shot back into my hand, closing my fingers around the glass before she releases. "We have a whole thing planned. You can't miss it."

"As her wedding planner, I'm glad to hear you've come through on the planning."

"Wow, you're kind of a judgy bitch," she says, but her tone is kindhearted. I sputter out the beginning of an argument—but she quickly brushes my offense away. "Oh, fuck off, I don't care—we've been discussing you in the group chat and we all agree."

That isn't a complete thought, but okay. "On?"

"You need to cut loose."

"I don't." I balk, unsure if I should feel offended or charmed by them discussing me in this way. "I'm working the wedding, not attending it."

"You need to get laid."

"That would be incredibly inappropriate while on the clock."

She cocks a brow. "Just a ballpark guess, it's been what, over a year—thirteen months?"

Her ballpark must be small, because she's practically on the field.

"That's none of your business." This is really getting away from me.

"So I'm close?" She grins, and I expel a sharp huff through my nostrils. "What's your flavor?"

"Do you mean like what kind of person am I attracted to?" I am too stunned to be offended. Coco has this way of disarming through shock that most people would get canceled for, but that she seems to exploit to her advantage.

"You're giving strong Cate Blanchett in Ocean's 8 plus a little Alanis on that Jagged Little Pill ."

"In what way?" I look down at my pin-striped / leather bomber combo in confusion.

"Energetically."

"So my soul is intimidatingly queer-shaped?"

"As is mine." She winks at me. "Look, half the chicks here are some kinda gay, and I know for a fact at least one of Sean's sisters is full-on butch, but she passes as lipstick for the 'rents if you're not into that vibe."

"Please stop talking."

"We like you—you've done a baller job on Millie's nuptials so far," she says, her voice softening to something almost gentle. She nudges me with her elbow.

"The wedding events don't begin until tomorrow." I counter her compliment with my skepticism.

"None of us will judge you if you let your freak flag fly." She lifts her shot glass toward me. "Bottoms up, bitch." When I don't comply, she pouts out her bottom lip, begging with giant storm-cloud-gray puppy dog eyes.

"Fine." Clink , we down them in unison. It's a lukewarm tequila shot in the middle of the desert, no chaser. Absolutely disgusting. I cough, to which she responds by smacking me on the back like she's burping a baby.

"Okay, so, Mission Sexy Times ," she starts.

"We're not giving it a name. It's not a thing," I spit, eyes watering from the booze. "I didn't agree to this so it's not happening."

"Anyone in the group you're into? Not Jenni—I'm working a multistep plan to get her to forgive me."

"Do I even want to know?"

"Unlikely." She turns her attention back out, eyes roving.

Mine betray me, ever so briefly, without even trying, by landing on Kit. Thankfully, Coco doesn't let on that she notices.

There is a bright, clear sound of a fork tapping glass as Natalie stands in her spot near Millie. "Everybody, everybody."

"Everybawdy," Heather sings in her bright, clear soprano tones. The rest of the women follow with "Backstreet's back, all right" before crumbling into a fit of laughter as one of them stands up to mime the moves from the music video. The tequila shot Coco gave me has settled in my stomach like one of the fire embers. The alcohol now buzzes through my veins, a little worker bee in Coco's Sexy Times mission.

It's not safe to watch Kit, but it's all I want to do. Sitting across the table diagonally from me, she sips a glass of chardonnay. She's twisted her hair into a loose braid, the other smaller braids that were already woven through adding texture to the plaits. A few strands tipped in pink whip around her face in the gently moving gust of wind.

"Seriously, though, I'm trying to make an announcement." Natalie raises her voice, the pitch sharp with annoyance. She waves the half-full glass of champagne in the air. "Hello-o."

"Is it time for strip poker?" Jenni calls out.

"I brought pin the pee-pee on Timothée Chalamet," Maddie, the fitness influencer, says.

"You can call it a dick, Mads. Jesus Christ, are we twelve?" Lisa says, yanking Maddie to her side and planting a kiss on her cheek. She blushes, likely because of the kiss and the callout. Of the whole crew, Maddie seems to be the most vanilla, easily the quietest, both in appearance and career choice.

"Timothée Chalamet?" I question.

"Millie has a thing for gaunt guys."

"Sean is a triathlete."

"Variety is the spice of life." Coco shoots up. This announcement of Natalie's must be the thing they have planned. "Pipe down and let our babe speak."

My eyes drift again to Kit and I see that she's already looking at me. She blinks, flicking her gaze away, but her face twitches to indicate she's holding in a smile. It's hard to tell from the glow of the lamps if she's blushing or if it's just the light bouncing off the pink wildflowers reflecting on her skin. When her face changes to interest, I follow her gaze over to where Coco stands behind Natalie at the head of the table, lifting, as if from thin air, two Marc Jacobs tote bags in canvas and black.

"Mills forbade the giving of gifts," Natalie says, chagrined, which makes the presentation of these bags all the more confusing.

"What I said was please donate to the women's center in DTLA instead of buying me sex toys and lingerie ," Millie corrects. "Coco has already outfitted me with a custom number for the wedding night."

"Sean's more of a nude-and-crude lover anyway," Coco breaks in.

Millie rolls her eyes. "He's never mad at a crotchless pantie."

"We're straying off topic." Natalie redirects. "We all donated, blah blah blah , but this is a party and we came here to cut loose—even Mills—so Coco and I put our brains together—"

"And our unique brand connections," Coco jumps in again. Natalie death glares, clearly not enjoying Coco grandstanding alongside her.

"—to create a swag bag and a little healthy competition to kick off this wedding weekend," Natalie continues. Coco lifts the bag, parading it around the table. As a spokesmodel, she'd give young Vanna White a run for her money. "Inside is another custom Coco's Intimates design, which can fit and flatter most body types. Edible body paint from Chef Gal Doran, which tastes better than most Michelin-starred desserts. Some spa goodies from Calendula in Beverly Hills, and a little finger vibrator called Lila that works like a dream."

"Fab for on the go." Coco, again, coming in with a truly bonkers sidebar.

I know she means on the go in the sense of fits easily and discreetly in a suitcase , but I can't stop picturing someone throwing it in their purse to use while waiting in line at Starbucks, and it's really throwing me for a loop.

"Two swag bags worth a cool three K each." Chump change to someone like Natalie. "In order to win, we are challenging every reveler here—"

"Us included," Coco says.

"—to a game of flashlight hide-and-seek."

The table erupts with excitement. Even in a group of successful influencers who are used to pocketing thousands in free merch, a swag bag of goodies is an irresistible get.

Piper rolls her eyes, and I notice the moment Coco sees her do it. Her face turns slightly monstrous as if Coco would, maybe, separate Piper's head from her body given the chance. It passes quickly, gone in a flash as Millie jumps in to hug her hard around her neck.

Piper isn't winning friends with this group, and I can't help how that thought warms my heart, making me want to join them just to see how it might play out.

When I look across the table to where Kit was sitting just moments before, she's vanished.

"So…we're supposed to ride back together," Kit says from behind me. "Or we could stay."

"Is that a dare?" I fight the quaver in my voice.

"Aren't we too old for that?" Without turning to look at her, I can infer from her voice that she doesn't think so.

This is a dare in every way.

A game with countless variables that I can't control. A sexy prize package. Tasks outside my job requirements, totally out of character. It's testing my limits. It's seeing how close we can dance to the past version of us without stumbling back into each other.

This is a chance to cut loose, even if that isn't what I came here to do.

I shoot up from the table, grabbing the shot glasses Coco left behind and turning around. My eyes lock on Kit's. "Go ahead." I push past her toward the bar that's set up at the edge of this picnic area. "Ask me."

My skin prickles with electricity as the words come out. This is almost like flirting, something I haven't done since before Piper and I broke up. Something I shouldn't be doing with Kit Larson of all people.

"Two tequila shots," I say; this time there is a definite tremor in my voice. "And lime wedges." The bartender pours the shots before handing me the lime wedges folded in a napkin. Kit presses up against the bar.

"You want me to actually say the words?" She grabs the tequila shot near her. "I assume this is for me."

"One of us was always the…darer?" I can't be sure that's a word.

Her laugh is swift and breathy. "And one of us was always dragging the other along."

"I never dragged you." Not into anything. When Kit made up her mind, nothing could change it; she'd steamroll ahead, consequence be damned.

"Julia." Hearing her say my name in that breathless, urgent way makes my pulse pound rapidly, sending a bolt of heat through my center. "This whole thing—us, here—it's a Universe mindfuck." Her fingers tighten around the shot.

"It's a coincidence." I swallow because suddenly my throat has gone dry.

"There's no such thing," she almost whispers.

We hold our shots up, ready to clink. In the indigo desert light, her soft green irises are pale and a current of gray skates around the rim like a ring of polar ice. The pupils dilate the longer she looks at me. It could be an intoxicating tell of her attraction or simply a trick of the light. It could mean nothing or everything, but I can't walk away without finding out.

I cock my brow in question. Back to the subject of this discussion.

She nibbles her lip, and I wonder if they feel as good to kiss now as they did when we were eighteen.

"I triple-dog dare you to play hide-and-seek in the dark," she says.

I tap her glass with the edge of mine.

Here we go.