She looked up at me as if she’d never seen me before. Fuck if I didn’t wish that were true. Maybe if we were meeting for the first time, I’d say the right things or make the right moves and she’d forget all about Douchebag Dan and hang out with me tonight instead. Naked.
Not that I wanted to trade our past or anything—I loved our friendship. Natalie was like my favorite book, which is Catch 22. It’s always there on my shelf, and even if I go a year or so without reading it, every time I pick it up, I’m reminded of why I connected with it so much in the first place. It’s smart and different and always makes me laugh.
“Am I supposed to call you Edward now?” She gave me an amused smirk and went back to her chicken thing, adding spices and salt and pepper before giving it another stir.
“No. It’s my dad’s name, and I don’t really want to share anything more than DNA with him.”
She nodded, understanding. “What are your parents up to?”
“The usual, since the divorce. Dad jetting off around the globe with the new wife and Mom medicating herself so she doesn’t have to think about her life too hard, which is pretty much the same thing she did even when they were married.”
“I’m sorry.”
I shrugged. “Eh, I’m used to it.”
“So you’re staying at the house?”
“Yeah. My mother usually spends summers up here, but she just decided to go on some quack spiritual journey in northern California, which I think is code for ‘I’m having so much work done I’ll need several months to recover before anyone can see me.’”
Natalie shook her head. “I don’t get it. Your mom is so beautiful.”
“She doesn’t see that. She never has.” It struck me as I watched Natalie work that I could be talking about her, too. I don’t think she ever realized how beautiful she was. I don’t even think I realized it until that last summer I spent up here. But by then it was too late—she’d had a boyfriend, and I’d been dating a couple different girls, and by “dating” I mean fucking them in the back of my car or in their basement or in a bedroom at somebody’s party whose parents were out of town. If I couldn’t have her, I might as well have fun, right?
But I had said some pretty serious stuff to her that last night before I left. Did she remember that?
Natalie shook her head. “Yeah, some women are like that, never satisfied with their appearance and panicking more and more as they get older, trying to erase every wrinkle and fill every line.” She moved briskly, covering the big bowl of chicken salad with plastic wrap and pulling out several bags of green leaf lettuce. “I hope I don’t get that way.”
“I don’t see that happening.” I crossed my arms. “So tell me what’s new with you.”
She smiled at me, and my chest got tight. “I bought a house.”
“You did? With Douchebag Dan?”
She rolled her eyes. “No, you big jerk. On my own. A woman can own property these days, you know.”
“They can?”
She stomped lightly on my sneaker before moving to the sink, where she began rinsing the lettuce. “Yes.”
“Well, congratulations. Where is it? I want to see it.”
“It’s on State Street. It needs some work, but it has a picket fence,” she said gleefully, rising up on her toes. “And cozy alcove bedrooms and a huge clawfoot tub and a huge herb garden in the backyard.”
“Sounds perfect for you.” Too bad the Douchebag will probably move in. I couldn’t believe she was still with that guy. She was way too good for him. Jealousy flared unexpectedly in my gut, a hot ball of fire. The kitchen will probably smell like this every morning—fucking awesome, like sticky buns are in the oven. Haha, sticky buns. I could give her sticky buns. Oh, shit. I adjusted myself a little in my jeans.
She glanced down at what I was doing, and her eyes flicked up to mine. “Nice.”
“Sorry. Anyway, I’m only around for a few days, so as soon as you’re ready, let me know. I can’t wait to see it.”
“A few days?” She turned off the water and dried her hands. “That’s a short trip.”
“Yeah, I just wanted to check out that asylum and catch up with you a little.” Because I’ve missed you. You’ve been on my mind a lot lately.
But I wouldn’t say that to her. Clearly her life was going exactly the way she wanted it to, and the last thing I wanted to do was fuck up our friendship, which sometimes felt like the one constant in my life. If only she wasn’t so hot. It was distracting as fuck.
The timer went off, and she pulled the muffins from the oven. They were puffy and golden, sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar, smelling like heaven. My mouth watered. “Oh God, those look good.”
“You can have one. Let them cool first, though.”
A few minutes later, an employee arrived, a college student named Hailey, and the two of them went into full prep mode. I could tell I was in the way in the kitchen, so I went out to my car, got my laptop, and chose a table in the back to work at. Natalie brought my coffee cup out, refilled, and set down a plate with a muffin and a cinnamon bun on it, glaze dripping down the sides.
I looked up at her, unable to resist. “I really want to make a joke right now about glazing your buns, but I’m afraid you’ll take this away from me.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I will.”
“How about buttering your muffin?”
She put her hand back on the plate and I grabbed her wrist.
“No! I promise I’ll be good. A perfect gentleman.”
“Ha. I’ll believe that when I see it. Can I have my arm back please?”
I looked down at my fingers wrapped around her slender wrist, and felt my dick coming to life again. Letting her go, I sat back and smiled. “You can have anything you want.” Especially if it’s in my pants.
She sighed. “You know what I really want?”
“What? Sit on my lap. Tell me.”
She glared at me. “Do you have to be such a flirt? What happened to the gentleman?”
He got hard. I sighed. “Fine, a chair.”
“I can’t sit anywhere. That’s the thing—I’d really like a day off. A day of just doing nothing but relaxing. I haven’t had one of those in a long time.”
“So take one.”
“I can’t, silly. Not everyone works from wherever they want to. I have to be here every day; that’s what being a business owner is.”
“Are you open every day?”
“During the summer, I am.”
“Can’t you delegate? What about a manager?”
She shrugged. “Not that I’m good at delegating, but I do have an assistant manager. I can’t afford to pay him for more hours or responsibilities right now, though. I have a pretty big house payment. And I’m still paying back loans I took out to open this place.”
“What’s a loan?”
She looked confused for a second and then she slapped my shoulder. “You trust fund babies. So out of touch with the real world.”
“Kidding, kidding.” I pulled the plate closer to me and looked up at her. “I do work for a living, you know. But is there something I can help you with? Do you need a loan from me to pay off the bank?”
“No.” She shook her head vehemently. “Thanks, but it’s kind of a source of pride for me that I’m doing this all on my own.”
“Amorous Dan isn’t helping?”
“Not at the moment.”
Was it my imagination or had her jaw clenched a little before she answered? I decided to redirect. “How’s your interest rate?”
She winced slightly. “It’s OK.”
“Well then, there’s pride and there’s being stubborn.”
Something flitted across her face that I couldn’t read—surprise? Anger? Whatever it was, it was gone a second later. “Thanks, but I’m OK.”
“Suit yourself. I’m happy to help out a friend in need.”
“I’ll remember that.” She patted my head like a puppy’s. “Enjoy. I better get back to work.”
“Do you mind if I stick around awhile? I don’t want to monopolize this table if you need it, but I have some writing to do.”
She gave me a smile soft and sweet as the cotton candy we used to share. “Stay as long as you like.”
• • •
A couple hours later, I could see why she wanted a day off. She was all over the place, doing everything from preparing food to serving it to pouring coffee to ringing people up, and she always had a smile on her face. As busy as she was, she made it a point to say hello to regulars and newcomers alike, and often stopped to chat with people she knew or someone with a question.
I finished my breakfast and tried to work on the novel I was writing, but I was distracted and tired. Just go home and get some sleep. You’ve been up all fucking night. But home up here was a huge empty house, and although I liked its creaky old floors and wraparound porch and the view of the Nixon cherry orchard next door from my bedroom window, something about being there alone saddened me. I liked it in here better. I liked the happy, caffeinated mood, the hum of conversation, the Billie Holiday playing in the background, the smell of muffins in the oven and coffee in the pot.
Besides, Natalie was here, and if I was honest with myself, I’d admit the real reason I came up North was to figure out why I couldn’t get her out of my head. It made no sense—I wasn’t looking for a relationship, I knew she was still with Dan, and I had no reason to believe she’d be interested in me even if neither of those things were true. And yet for months now, maybe even the last year, the thought of her just wouldn’t quit me. Why the hell was that?
I’d told her I was up here researching sex in haunted places, and that was true enough. But the only ghost in my head was her.
I mentioned I’d fuck a ghost, right?