“I never used that as an excuse,” I say into my steering wheel. 

Then I lay my forehead on top of my hands and let the tears come.

For a minute because this is making me feel stupidly pathetic, and I can’t stand it.

I pick my head up and look at myself in the mirror. Looking back at me is a hot mess.

The hard knock against the driver’s side window makes me jump a foot in the air. Oh, God, it’s him. He came to apologize and caught me crying. My heart soars with relief...then crashes back down to earth when I turn my head. Then it soars again. What a roller coaster.

“Hey,” says Honey, her forehead wrinkled with concern. “Why are you crying in there? Are you overheating? You should come out!” She has a big grin on her face and looks for all the world like a supermodel who stepped off a photoshoot and into downtown Lakewood.

“You’re back!” I shriek, and she barely has time to jump out of the way and avoid my car door. I jump out and throw my arms around her. This is how I felt after a long vacation away back in school. I bet it’s like reuniting with a favorite sister. I only have a brother. “You didn’t tell me you were coming back.”

“I might not make it out of this hug alive,” she says, pretending to be strangled. I let her go and she steps back to take me in. “What’s going on, Ellie? Rough day at the shop?”

“More than that,” I tell her, and I can feel the floodgates opening.

“Whoa,” says Honey, patting my shoulder. “This is not a parking lot conversation, clearly. Where’s your wine?”

I laugh in spite of myself. “Not in the car, if that’s what you’re asking.”

She surveys me once more. “You need a shower and a drink. Your place or mine?” Then she laughs out loud. “Kidding! Mine is still rented. You’re driving. Pull yourself together.”

* * *

At my house, Honey rushes me into the shower and says she’ll be right back. I lose track of time a little bit. Showers are good for thinking. They’re also good for sulking. But eventually I smell chocolate chip cookies. That, and the hot water runs out.

I throw on shorts and a tank and wander into the kitchen still toweling my hair. Honey is pulling a tray of warm cookies from the oven using an oven mitt shaped like a fox that I keep hanging on a peg near the stove.

One glance and she nods. “That’s better.”

“Oh, thanks.” She puts the tray on top of the stove and flips the cookies onto a clean plate with a spatula. She knows me. There is no good reason on earth to keep cookies waiting, even if you have to eat them with a spoon.

“You don’t have any plans this evening, do you?” Honey picks up the plate and brushes past me, leading the way into the living room. “Ha! These are your plans. Get used to it.”

In the living room, my coffee table has been transformed. She’s thrown a folded-in-half tablecloth over all of it, lending it an air of sophistication. She’s popped popcorn into a classy serving bowl I got at a thrift store. Perched on either side are two glasses of wine. It hasn’t touched my lips yet, and I’m already starting to relax. Heartbreak will hit me later. For now, cookies, wine, and popcorn.

Honey puts the plate down on the table with a flourish and falls onto the couch, tucking her feet beneath her. She picks up a wine glass, waits for me to pick up mine, and holds hers out between us. “Cheers.”

“For what?”

“Friendship,” she says, wearing her signature grin. “Now put a cookie in your mouth. And tell me everything.”

* * *

I tell her about the cold mornings of the springtime when the frost would cover my car and make it a real bitch to leave the driveway. I tell her about the way Medium Roast is constantly out of shit. I tell her about the regulars who I’m in a love/hate relationship with. I tell her about the day Dash came to town. I tell her about twerking. I leave nothing out.

We drink one glass of wine, then two, and then the bottle is gone.

Honey looks at me sagely from across the couch when I’m finished talking, twirling her wine glass between her fingers. She’s been more careful than I have. She still has some left. “I don’t think he meant it, El.”

“He meant it,” I say it with passion. I might be slightly drunk.

“I don’t think he meant it that way.” Honey leans forward on the sofa. “What I’m saying is, you don’t have to write him off because you had one argument.”

Hurt bubbles up again, pure and strong. It’s more than a match for the wine. I’m not sure if it’s a match for the cookies. I put another one into my mouth and savor it before I answer her. “You know, it wasn’t meant to be. We’re on opposite sides of this thing. Literal opposite sides of the street.” It’s a really good cookie. “He knew what he was doing when he opened the store, and he knows what he’s doing now. If Medium Roast closes because of him...” I shake my head. “I couldn’t forgive that.”

“Ellie, be rational.”

“I’m being so fucking rational. The most rational person in the world,” I tell her. An idea is dawning. “I don’t need him, Honey. I was fine before he showed up and I’ll be fine when I wake up in the morning. But before I wake up...” I’m going to tackle this. I’m going to go all-in on Medium Roast. So what if my aunt was mean to me on the phone? This is about more than a bad mood. “I have some plans to make.”

“Plans for right now?”

“I’m not going down without—” my wine glass slips from my grasp. 

Honey gasps out loud.

I catch it just in time. Heart racing, I look her in the eye and say it as clearly as I can manage. “I’m not going down without a fight.”