“How does that even happen?” Trista questions through tears. “Accidently challenging someone to seduce you?”
“It’s a skill. You should put that down on your resume,” Zoe chimes in, barely able to speak through her mirth.
“Screw you both. I’m leaving,” I declare, moving to shut the lid of my laptop.
“No, stop, and sit your ass down,” Trista instructs, rolling her eyes as Zoe shakes her head in amusement.
“This is serious,” I grumble, resuming my seat and taking a gulp of my water.
“Why? Sounds like Andy’s finally starting to open up and get back to his old self, and faster than anticipated. Isn’t that what you wanted?” Zoe wonders, and I open my mouth to answer, then close it with a frown.
Trista observes me through the screen. “What were you expecting?”
“I wasn’t expecting that. I didn’t want that,” I state with more alarm than I knew I felt.
“Did you tell Andy to back off?” Trista inquires, and I once again find myself mimicking a fish.
“No,” I finally answer with a defiant tone. “We kept shopping in the market and then had a picnic on the central lawn.”
“So, riddle me this, Miss Hotshot Lawyer. If you don’t want Andy, why not just say so?” Trista looks at me pointedly, and I shake my head.
“We were having fun. I didn’t want to ruin it.”
“If you honestly just want to be his friend, tell him now, before he gets his hopes up,” Zoe offers, and I nod, fast at first, but then my nod slows until I’m staring at the floor in thought.
“But…” I start voicing my inner dilemma and stop, not sure if I’m ready to say it out loud.
“But what if part of you doesn’t want him to back off?” Trista finishes the thought for me in a soft voice. “Then let the story unfold, babe.”
“The past two weeks in New York, we managed to stay on friendly-professional grounds, but since we came back to the Grove… I don’t know, it’s like it went from twelve miles per hour to sixty within twenty-four hours. I need more time to figure out what I want, what I’m ready for.” I spill it all in rapid speech, not even stopping to breathe.
“You don’t have to decide anything until you’re ready, Phoebs. Andy will respect that,” Zoe tries to assure me.
“Andy isn’t the problem, I am,” I confess, pushing back the tears threatening to emerge. “I don’t know if what I’m feeling is real or just the teenage girl that remembers how good we used to be together.”
“It’ll haunt you forever if you don’t find out for certain,” Zoe opines. “And you’ll drive yourself crazy talking circles around this. You won’t know until you try.”
“You’re right,” I agree. “I need to figure out what’s real and what isn’t. It terrifies me, though, the prospect of Andy breaking my heart again. It hurt too much the first time.”
“We’re always here for you.” Trista smiles, and all three of us touch the screen.
“Even from the other side of the world.” I laugh fondly.
“Oh! We got tickets back for your birthday!” Trista bounces in her seat. “We’re all coming to Glassmont Grove to celebrate.”
“Yay!” I bounce and clap with her. “Oh, wait. Is B still hell-bent on punching Andy in the face?”
“Yeah, you’re just going to have to let that happen,” Trista replies with a grimace. “Men.”
“Seriously, though,” Zoe agrees with a snort and shakes her head with a sigh.
“And on that note…” I wave, and we all log off. I sit a few minutes longer, staring at my darkened reflection in my laptop screen.
“What do you want, Phoebe?” I ask myself but can’t seem to find an answer.
Andy
Phoebe and I spent all morning together. She left about an hour ago to finish unpacking, but I didn’t feel like going home yet, so I made my way to the Blue Ghost Bar and Grill, owned by none other than Lola Walsh, best friend to my mom and mother to Gabriel and Nathanial Walsh, Glassmont Grove’s very own golden boys. Whether it be behind the bar or a random fixer-upper, Lola always needs a helping hand, and I often need something to keep my hands and mind occupied.
“Double-A!” I can’t stop the grin at the deep voice hollering at me from the door.
“Double P!” I hop off the table I was using to change bulbs in the lamps hanging low from the ceiling and walk over to Jonah Peak, my brother-in-arms, who became as close to a real brother as I ever had.
“That still isn’t a thing.” He heads my way, a slight limp in his right leg, reminisce of the reason I now have a Medal of Honor. I look him over as we approach each other, Jonah’s onyx eyes seem fatigued even with the smile crinkles at their corners, his chestnut hair grown out to a neat undercut, and his physique is finally starting to go back to what it was before his injury.
Still not perfect but getting better. I sigh with relief.
“Sure it is,” I reply, rejecting his assertion, giving him a tight hug and a clap on the back and receiving one in return. “Paramedic Peak.”
“You and Sawyer are the only people who think that’s a thing,” Jonah points out, taking a seat on one of the bar stools as I hop over the counter and pour us each a draft. “It’s barely 2 PM, Andrew.”
“Yeah, that’s why I made it a half-pint.” I take a sip, and Jonah just shrugs, following suit.
“I thought you didn’t drink,” he observes.
“I don’t get drunk. This…” I say, gesturing my beer, “This isn’t really drinking.”
“So, I heard your girl’s back.” Jonah jumps straight to it, and I inspect him for a few moments before replying.
“I take it Gabe called you?” I speculate, and Jonah nods.
“Said you were a mess. You don’t seem a mess.”
“I got a solid piece of advice,” I explain.
“That simple, huh?” Jonah scoffs and takes another sip from his beer. “And the insomnia?”
“Comes and goes.” I tap my glass in thought. “The dreams are getting weirder, but also less frequent.”
“I guess that’s good.” Jonah’s brow crinkles. “So, what’s the deal with Phoebe?”
“I’m not entirely sure, but earlier today when we were in the market I basically told her I was going to try and win her back, and I’m still alive, so I guess she doesn’t totally hate the idea.”
“You’re a super soldier, Lieutenant Atkins. Are you scared of a girl?” Jonah glares at me with amusement.
“A woman,” I correct. “One who earned two additional black belts in the five years since I’ve seen her and is working her way toward another.”
“What do you mean ‘additional?’” He looks at me with a blank stare.
“She already had one in Jiu-Jitsu when I met her at seventeen, and we both earned our black belt in Shotokan karate together at nineteen,” I say. “She volunteers in women’s shelters and teaches them self-defense.”