“Hmm, lemme see.” Monroe hooks her finger under my chin and turns my head to face her. “I see a definite pink tinge.”
“I’m just thinking about steamy Parisian sex,” I joke, pulling away and doing my best to stop the blushing. “I have always wanted to fuck someone under the Eiffel tower.”
Roxanne snorts. “I think you would get arrested. Although now that you mention it, maybe Cole will be down to give it a try.”
“Please do not get sent to French prison,” Monroe scolds in her most motherly voice. “Every cent I own has been invested in the bar, and I won’t be able to bail you out.”
“Fine, fine,” Roxanne agrees. “So, who’s DeeDee screwing?”
“Who says I’m screwing anyone?”
Both of them stare at me with cut-the-bullshit looks on their faces.
“I don’t want to talk about it.” I slump back on the couch. “Can we move on?”
The two of them share one of those special best friend looks that seems to get a whole conversation across in two seconds. Normally it doesn’t bother me that they’re so much closer with each other, but today it annoys me enough that I’m digging my fingers into the couch just to keep from snapping at them.
Whatever secret message they shared seems to have made up their minds to give in and change the subject.
“How are things at Taverne Toulouse?” Roxanne asks. “Is the management situation finally settling down?”
“Finally.” Monroe presses her hands together and looks up like she’s giving thanks to heaven. “Taverne Toulouse is a well-oiled machine of functionality once more. I actually had a really interesting conversation with Zach a couple days ago.”
I try to keep my cool, but I’m sure my whole body must turn stiff enough for Monroe to notice. The whole ‘secret dating’ thing is getting harder and harder to hide, and part of me is sure everyone must know already, but I’m not ready to tell them.
What would it take for you to be ready?
That’s what Zach asked me a few nights ago, when we were curled up together under his blankets in the dark. He didn’t sound mad, just curious, but I still freaked out so bad we shut the conversation down.
I want to be normal. I want to be a normal girl who can have a conversation about being a normal girlfriend, but every time we touch the subject, it’s like hitting a nerve. I panic. My fear and pain start flailing around like a patient thrashing on a dentist’s chair while somebody pokes and prods at all the sore spots in their teeth.
I want him, but I’m scared to want him too much. I’m scared that pulling him in too tight will only push him away. I’m scared I’ll always be the crazy girl who panics about everyone leaving her, and all the maudit fear is an itch under my skin driving me crazier by the day.
“It turns out he’s really good at online marketing—like, really good,” Monroe continues. “I asked him for help on a couple things, and I felt like I was taking a master class. I thought I was doing all right on my own, but I know next to nothing compared to him.”
“Not to rag on all our chosen careers,” Roxanne replies, “but what’s he doing working at a bar if he’s that good?”
“He’s building an ecommerce empire from home,” Monroe explains. “He’s down to part time at Taverne Toulouse...or at least he should be. The guy never says no to anyone, and we’ve all been asking for way too many favors.”
You’re asking too much from him.
My stupid brain won’t shut up today.
“After seeing what he can do, I came up with an idea, and I’m pretty sure I’ve got him on board. He needs more time at home, and I need more results from the internet. Taverne Toulouse is growing faster than I can keep up with, and I want to take advantage of that momentum. I’d like to make him our online marketing manager. He’d have to give up his job at the actual bar, but—”
“What?” I don’t realize I’ve jumped to my feet until I see Monroe looking up at me. “He’s leaving?”
“He’s not leaving,” Monroe says slowly, watching me with her wise woman eyes. “I was just going to say he’d still be in once a week to meet with me, and I haven’t even officially offered him the job yet.”
“Oh.”
I try to slow my thoughts down, but they’re already getting carried away.
“Where did DeeDee go?” Roxanne’s voice calls out from the laptop.
“I’m, uh, getting more tea.”
I grab my mug off the table and head into the kitchen. I can hear the two of them chatting as I stand there with my hands braced on the counter, breathing hard. Their voices sound like they’re coming from much farther away than the living room.
I start twisting my ring around my finger. I’m being insane. Zach working a different job doesn’t change anything. He’ll still be around. He’ll be around less, but we spend so many hours together outside of work now that we’ll probably have more time together than before we started—
Dating? Are we dating?
I don’t know how this works. I usually just start calling someone my boyfriend after we’ve been sleeping together long enough that the word makes sense.
Then I stop calling them boyfriend when we aren’t sleeping together anymore. Simple. Uncomplicated. Easy come, easy go. It’s what I always do. It’s what always happens. It’s a pattern I can’t stop.
As I stand there with my stomach rolling, holding the edge of Monroe’s counter so hard my knuckles turn white, I’ve never hated that part of myself more.
Nineteen
DeeDee
SHAKE: combining the ingredients of a drink by rapidly agitating them together, most often in a cocktail shaker
Zach drops my hand and jogs a few feet ahead of me up the sidewalk. I watch him squat down to pull a yellow dandelion from where it’s growing out of a crack in the concrete.
“For you, Mademoiselle Beausoleil.” I catch up with him, and he bows as he holds the dandelion out. “A May flower.”
I pretend to hold up a long skirt with one hand as I curtsy. “It is beautiful, Monsieur Hastings.”
I take the flower and hold it up to my face, breathing deep. I end up getting a nose full of pollen and sneezing a record number of times in a row.
Zach laughs and motions for me to give the flower back. “Here. Let me put it in your hair.”
I watch his face crease with concentration as he comes close and tucks my hair behind my ear before trying to do the same thing with the flower. It takes him a few tries, and when he finally gets the stem to stay in place, he beams and drops his blue eyes to mine.
“Hey.” He moves his hand to cup my cheek, his smile fading. “You okay?”
I force a grin. “Ouais. Just a little tired.”
“We don’t have to go.”
“No, no, no.” I pull away and grab his hand to start heading up the street again. “I want to go. It’s going to be fun. I haven’t been to the Old Port in forever.”
Zach suggested we head down there to spend our afternoon off work together. We make our way through the cobblestone streets of Old Montreal, still holding hands. It’s just past noon, and the streets are already starting to fill with tourists here to see all the old-fashioned buildings. We pass fancy restaurants and shops selling souvenirs covered in maple leaves and beavers.