"Who?"
"Brendon's little sister and his girlfriend."
"Doesn't help." Her lips curl into a smile. "But thanks. I'll consider that."
"What else is on the list?"
"Figuring out your goals and going after them. I'm good on that one. School." Her posture relaxes. Like she's sinking into the conversation.
"You have anything else?"
"Not right now." Her eyes meet mine. "What about you?"
Just keeping Sabrina out of my life. And making sure she doesn't OD in some shady motel.
Yeah, they're contradictory goals.
But that's life.
"It's something." She leans in. "Something you don't want to tell me."
"It's nothing."
She cocks her head to one side, deciding if she believes me. "I know you're easy, breezy surfer boy, but you must have something."
"No. My life is exactly how I want it." Except for shit with my sister, it's perfect.
"Exactly? You wouldn't change a single thing?"
"I'd take more money, yeah. But otherwise, no. I'm happy." In theory. In reality, everything feels stale. I need different. Fresh. Her.
"Wow."
"Wow?"
She leans back. Presses her lips together. "That's… impressive. Or bullshit. I'm not sure."
My shrug doesn't come as easily as it usually does.
The server interrupts my train of thought.
She drops off our dishes. Salmon and sautéed vegetables for Iris. Steak and greens for me.
"See." She picks up her fork. "Eating right."
"I have enough game to know not to comment on that."
"You sure?" She stabs a square of yellow squash and brings it to her lips.
"I am." I pick up my fork and knife. "Anything else on the list?"
"Reading."
"When did you start this?"
"Officially?"
"Yeah." I bring a slice of steak to my mouth. It's good. Rare. Salty. But it doesn't satisfy. I don't want food. I want to have her again.
"I guess I haven't. Not officially."
"Are you going to?"
"I don't know. That's even more cheesy."
"It suits you."
"Hey." She laughs as she flips me off.
My lips curl into a smile. She has a cute laugh. And a cute don't fuck with me look. "What else?"
"Journaling. Trying new things. Why are you so interested?"
"I've never met someone so methodical about getting over a breakup."
Her lips press together. Her eyes turn down. "How else are you supposed to get over anything?"
"Feel it out."
She shakes her head. "Then how do you know when you're there? "
"How you feel."
"I'd rather have metrics. It's easier to know if I'm making progress. Like the way you lift weights."
"You have no idea how I lift weights."
"Okay. How some people lift weights. You have numbers. How many pounds you can lift or how many pull-ups you can do or whatever. That's how you keep track of progress."
"And by how strong I feel."
She sticks her tongue out. "Numbers are a better measurement."
"According to who?"
"Me."
"Not everything fits into numbers."
"Yeah. But most things do." She scoops veggies into her mouth. "You were right. This place is good. Romantic. But good."
"Orgasms per fuck?"
Her cheeks flush. "Yeah. But you have to define what a fuck is."
"How do you?"
"Um. Well. One session. Where you stay in the same place. Start to finish."
"How am I doing?"
"Excellent marks."
"I feel judged."
"Then why'd you ask?"
I stare back into her eyes. I don't know what to make of her. This whole methodical attempt at self-improvement is the opposite of the way I approach my life.
I know better than to write off shit.
If it works, it works.
But why does her life need this much fixing?
"How do you feel?" I cut a slice of steak. "You never said."
She presses her lips together. Her eyes go to the table. "Listen, Walker, I like you and I really do want to be friends. But this is kinda personal."
"I get that." If there's anything I understand, it's keeping shit that bothers me locked up somewhere safe.
"This… um… this breakup." She fumbles over the word. "It's been hard. All my old friends are on his side. And um, everything is just different. You know? I feel different. And I spend my time differently. And I'm trying to do all the things I used to love, but they feel different. I don't love them as much as I used to and I don't know why or how to change it and… And it's just a lot. Okay?"
"Yeah."
"So, can we talk about something else?"
"A breakup did all this?"
Her brow furrows. Like she's thinking of an explanation. Or maybe a lie. "It doesn't matter. I want my life to change. So I'm changing it."
"That's admirable."
"Thanks." Her eyes go to her tattoo. You are not your mistakes. "What, um, what do you do for fun? When you aren't doing this? Or surfing?"
"I read a lot. Watch a lot of movies. Go out with Dean. Or with the other guys. Work out. Go hiking."
She nods. "Nature. I think that's one of them."
"We're going on a hike next weekend. You want to join?"
"Oh. Maybe. I don't want to impose."
"Nah. You're welcome."
"You and…"
"And Dean. We're both working until early afternoon. We're all working all the time. It's a whole thing. We're supposed to hire another artist, but Ryan hates everyone."
"Is that his thing?"
"Yeah. He hates everything. He was never a jolly guy, but he's been especially miserable since his ex walked out on him. You two could commiserate on that front." If the breakup thing isn't bullshit.
Tension spreads through my upper back.
I don't like her lying to me.
But I shouldn't care.
This is casual. There's nothing about full disclosure in our agreement. I don't have any rights to her secrets.
So why the fuck do I want them this badly?
"You're really into this whole ten step thing," she says.
"Told you. It's different. Interesting."
"I get that. But I don't need anyone walking me through it. I'm a grown-up. I can find my own new things to do and make my own friends."
"Iris, you have me all wrong."
"Do I?"
"My motives are far less pure."
She raises a brow.
"It's not about helping you find yourself."
"It's not?"
"No. It's about checking out your ass in yoga pants."
"What if I hike in sweat pants?"
"Fuck. Didn't consider that possibility."