Chapter 16

chapter

sixteen

ADDIE

"I need a sixteen-ounce Fall in a Cup, please, plus all the iced pumpkin cookies you have left." I fold my elbows onto the narrow counter at Cream and Sugar, the breeze sweeping through the damp hair at the back of my neck.

It was so hot in the gym today, I couldn't stop sweating. It was totally because of the AC wheezing like it was on life support. It was not because the PE teacher was frequently running in sweatpants, which lit me on fire from the inside out.

My currently flustered state has nothing to do with the latter. Absolutely nothing .

Except I'm not even fooling myself.

Maren pokes her head out of the window, her cheek dusted with a flour fingerprint. "I don't have many cookies, but those left are all yours."

I rise onto my tiptoes and swipe my thumb across her cheek. "Don't know how long that's been there."

"Probably since this morning." Her sigh is weary, and I can relate. Aren't we a match made in heaven this Monday afternoon? "You're the only person ever looking out for me, so thank you. Take all the cookies."

One by one, she packs up a few treats and slides the lavender box my way. Then she fires up the espresso machine for my coffee with the kind of ease and precision only learned through years of practice. At this point, I imagine every step of baking and brewing is a habitual sequence for her, unless she's trying new recipes.

I carry my box of goodies toward a picnic table, my back aching from the stress of today and launching a new era for my classroom—literature and critical discussions against the backdrop of dodgeball and screeching sneakers along the gym floor.

Stray tree limbs and gobs of leaves litter the park grounds as far as I can see. The walking path is obstructed by the debris, and the end of the seesaw on the playground is broken. Of course, the seesaw's demise might not be a new occurrence, but still. Together with the dark, heavy clouds still swirling the sky, it's an ominous day, for sure.

Seems like the storm touched us all in one way or another. Out here, there might be a few leaves, but they were going to fall eventually, anyway. The storm didn't ruin their lives like it did mine by destroying my classroom and tossing me into a ridiculous situationship with my enemy, who's not really my enemy and who's trying to be the opposite of my enemy.

And the truth of the matter is that I wish I could believe him.

"Order up," Maren chirps as she sets a cup in front of me, then slides onto the bench on the opposite side.

"Bless you and those magnificently talented and giving hands." I pop the lid off and inhale a whiff, gathering the notes of cinnamon like I'm hoarding them for later. My first sip consists mostly of foam, but it's enough to relax my tense muscles. It warms my hands and my insides like a relaxing bath.

"Long day?" She arches a brow.

"That's putting it lightly."

"Did it have anything to do with the storm? Because the few people who have come by today all had some wild story." She scoots forward as I blow on my coffee to cool it. "Old Gus tripped over a big branch in his driveway, and he rolled into the street, from what his neighbor Octavia said."

I clutch my chest. "Is he all right?"

"Actually, according to his brother Karl, he's never been better. It's like his fall knocked his bad hip back into place. No limp or anything."

"You're kidding." I gape.

Old Gus benefitted in the strangest way from this storm—the lucky son of a gun.

She snaps her fingers. "Then there's Tanner Thomas. He found a whole mailbox on his front porch. It had been ripped right out of the ground, soil and all, but it wasn't his."

"Is that a bad sign or an omen?" I ask around the mouthful of cookie I devour.

"Not sure yet." She snorts. "He found out the mailbox belonged to a woman who just moved in down the street. From what I hear, they really hit it off. They're going out tomorrow night, so it could be a great thing, or it could scar them both for life."

"So cynical." I tsk.

"I just meant any undercooked meat at dinner can scar them, not love. I'm not a monster." She shrugs, but it's not so innocent. The small curve in her mouth confesses plenty. "Besides, I'm not the most cynical one sitting at this table."

I glance around, iced pumpkin cookie crumbs decorating the table like confetti. "Did I bring my imaginary anti-love friend again? For Pete's sake. I thought I left Patricia at home."

Maren's shoulders tremble as we both burst into laughter.

"Fine," I manage and inhale a steadying breath. "It's not that I'm cynical. I just haven't found the right guy who checks all my boxes."

"Oh, God. Don't tell me you have an actual checklist."

"I don't, and if I did, my mother would've burned it in a ritual in the woods to rid me of suppressing restrictions. Then she'd burn incense and ask the universe to drop several strapping young men into my lap because resigning myself to one guy is just too boring."

"Sounds like a fun Friday night," Maren jokes as she reaches behind her head to tighten her ponytail.

I put my own hair up around lunch. It reminded me of Rain gushing over how similar we look with my hair so long, and instantly, my stomach rolled.

But I had to tie up the strands. I couldn't take the heat any longer, but the relief was minimal and short-lived. I could breathe more easily once Owen disappeared into the classroom for Health. Without his eyes following me, I cooled off almost instantly.

The ass .

"We should get out there."

I blink toward Maren.

She toys with a piece of wood sticking up from the table, dangerously close to getting a splinter. "You haven't gone out with anyone since Stewart, and I haven't dated since like, the last swarm of cicadas took over Sapphire Creek."

"Do you think those bastards altered some kind of cosmic energy? At this point, such a ridiculous notion might be the only explanation as to why I haven't felt inclined to date anyone." I roll my eyes. "I mean, it's not a priority, but it's just… no one's made me feel all squirrelly and tingly."

"Or hot. No one's made me feel hot and bothered."

"Me neither, except for—" I swallow his name to the depths of my soul.

Owen's name nearly fell from my mouth, and I swear the sky grows darker, as if to warn me against such a colossal mistake.

"Except for Stewart?" she ventures, a doubtful arch in her brow. "There's no way he did much for you."

"He did nothing for me, if you catch my drift." I lift the coffee cup for a sip. I need to wet my suddenly dry throat, and it's a good thing this drink has cooled. The way I gulp it down could've really done some damage to my esophagus had it been scorching hot. "The guy was so selfish in bed. There was one time after happy hour when he was particularly frisky for some afternoon delight, and I literally didn't feel a thing."

If Maren were drinking anything, there's a good chance it'd be sprayed all over me. "How is that possible?"

"You tell me." I grimace.

That's how it was with Stewart. In hindsight, we weren't a good match for many reasons, but I ignored them all because I was tired of being alone. I especially overlooked our physical connection—or lack thereof.

We didn't connect on any level, and it took me six months to come to terms with that, although he did help matters. It was what he said the last day I spoke to him that sent me over the edge, and for that, in a way, I'm thankful.

I could've dedicated another six months to him, and what a tragic way to waste more of my precious twenties.

"Like I said, we need to get out there," Maren asserts. "I fear for my health. I'm experiencing the lady version of blue balls. Purple ovaries."

I snort into my cup and nearly sneeze with the assault of the cinnamon on my nostrils.

"Nate's moving back to town."

I freeze. "There's no way I heard you correctly…"

"That's what he wanted to talk to me about the other night." She breaks off the wooden piece from the table and turns it over between her fingers like a baton. "He wasn't just in town for the reunion. Evidently, he was here to arrange his return to Sapphire Creek later this month. He closed on a house—his parents' house." She flicks her dark gaze up to meet mine, and the gravity registers with a force of a shower of bricks falling over us.

"But that's next door to your house." I gape.

"Exactly." She blows out a heavy breath and chucks the miniature wood spear over her shoulder. "He and his daughter are going to be my new neighbors. Isn't that just as sweet as pie?" Sarcasm drips from her tone.

"What about his ex-wife?"

"I didn't ask, but even if I had, I wouldn't have heard his answer, given how loudly my ears were ringing."

"Maybe it'll be good for you? Somehow? Perhaps?" I offer with a wince.

"That's like saying stepping on knives would be good for me," she deadpans. "He is going to be right next door in all his dark, manly glory, and I can't be single. I'll be too tempted to fall into old patterns, and I just can't. I need to distract myself with someone— anyone —else."

My heart sinks a fraction. As much as I'd like to see Maren and Nate rekindle their romance in one of the greatest love stories in Sapphire Creek history, she doesn't believe it would be good for her, and I respect her resolve.

In fact, I agree, but it doesn't stop me from asking myself—why do we want the ones who are so damn bad for us?

"I kissed Owen at the reunion," I blurt.

Maren nearly leaps off the bench in rather dramatic fashion.

"I mean, it was this really stupid moment where I was like, really stupid." My heart races as I attempt to gather my thoughts—and fail.

She covers her mouth with one hand, but her smiling eyes give her away. Her clear enjoyment of my insanity scrapes a nerve.

"What are you laughing at? It was a horrendous mistake, and you find it hilarious?" I practically shriek.

"I knew it!" She drops her hands back to the table, flashing me a wide, satisfied grin. "I knew there was something between you two."

I scoff. "How dare you? I don't like him."

"Babe, you talk about Owen Conrad more than you do Taylor Swift or Shark Tank . You like him, even if you hate that you like him. Why else would you kiss him?"

"Because… because… there was probably something in the champagne, like freaking… delusion pills." I stumble over my words, further embarrassing myself, and my cheeks flame.

"Delusion pills?" She arches a brow. "I think the only delusional one here is you."

I slump in my seat with a huff.

"Is he a good kisser?" she asks in a hushed tone, the smile she wears still smug and irritating.

I can't lie to my friend. "He was phenomenal," I mumble. "I floated outside my body, Mar. I mean, I don't believe in magic, but his kiss may have altered my whole belief system."

She squeals.

I do a double take, since it's not something I've often witnessed or heard myself, but it's true. Maren Clayton actually squealed.

"That's bad," I state. "It's bad for me to entertain anything with him."

"Why? You said yourself that no one's given you any feels lately. Bond didn't do it for you, and he was a perfect gentleman. Maybe you need the opposite." She wiggles her brows. "Owen might not check your boxes, but he could show you a good time. Why not pursue it?"

Because I might like him .

I swallow that admission down. I'm not ready to confess as much to her—or to myself.

"I'm not fun." I frown.

"What are you talking about? You're fun as hell."

"I don't possess his level of fun. I don't wear tiny shorts and cheer from the stands at baseball games. I don't even watch baseball at home. I don't watch any sports."

"So?" This gorgeous, normally insightful human doesn't get it.

"We have nothing in common, Mar, and besides, he and I work together. There are too many reasons not to get involved, including the fact that the storm launched a freaking tree into my classroom like a rocket from Hell. He and I have to share the gym for weeks ."

"Everything you just said makes all this that much more delicious ," she says, hissing the final s with far more enthusiasm than I feel.

"It's beyond complicated, and I don't do complicated. I can't like him," I assert, but it doesn't come out as strongly as I intend. I lose my nerve halfway through, as I did the time I explained to my mother why I started dance lessons.

I told her it was because my father's new wife basically made me, but it was a lie. I started lessons in part because I simply wanted to, but also because I knew my mother would hate it.

And I eventually had to come clean, especially after she called my father in an outrage over how his new bimbo was treating me. What a fun ordeal that was for me— not .

But here I am, lying again, as if I didn't learn my lesson back then.

"What does Owen think about the kiss?" Maren asks, flipping her switch from amused to "let's get down to business."

"You leave me no choice but to show you how perfect we could be together."

Owen made a promise to win a challenge I never introduced.

And yet, the second he voiced his acceptance, I had to squeeze my freaking thighs together. My entire lower body clenched as if attached to the end of a string only he controlled.

The truth is, he does something to me. He makes me feel things I haven't felt in a long time, if ever. Kissing him made me realize I might not have felt true arousal in my boring adult life.

"What does Owen think about our kiss?" I repeat the question in rhetorical fashion. "Let's just say, if he's being honest, it's not something he'll be forgetting anytime soon." I chew on the inside of my cheek, a burst of undeniable excitement sizzling through my lower stomach. "And I can't confidently say I'll be forgetting about it, either."