“GOOD MORNING.”
Sophie’s eyes left her phone, which she’d been staring at when she’d walked into Starbucks, and her eyebrows went down when she saw me. “Hey.”
“Can you spare five minutes?” I asked, grabbing the two cups of coffee the barista had just set on the end of the pickup counter.
“For the assbag who snapped at me last night for no good reason?” Sophie said, glancing at the cups. “Is one of those an Americano?”
“With a splash of cream,” I replied, holding out the cup to her.
“Fine, then,” she said, taking the cup. “But I’m setting a timer.”
“Fair,” I said, and followed her as she walked to a table in the back. It was quiet in the way Starbucks was at six thirty in the morning, with the white noise of steaming and blending but not a lot of conversation.
She was wearing slim black pants, high heels, and a starched dress shirt, with no fewer than six strands of pearls wrapped around her neck. Something about the juxtaposition of that and her cute hair made her look like she belonged in a Ralph Lauren collection called “the businesswoman.”
She sat down, raised an eyebrow, and said into her watch, “Hey, Siri. Set a timer for five minutes.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, because I was. I’d felt like shit all night, but every time I started to text her, I couldn’t figure out any way to justify how I’d treated her without opening all of my baggage and dumping it all over the fucking floor. “I was a total asshole.”
“You were,” she said, taking the stopper out of her lid. “But why?”
I knew I was going to have to tell her, but it was hard. Things with Sophie were akin to pure sunshine, all the damn time, and I didn’t want to drag melancholy into our space. I said, “What are the odds that you’ll let me say it was about something unrelated to you and I just snapped, without going into detail?”
She shrugged. “You can say whatever you want. I’m just your friend—you don’t have to tell me everything.”
That . . . was not what I’d expected her to say. “Seriously?”
She rolled her eyes. “As long as it’s the truth, and the blowup wasn’t actually about us, you can keep your I’m-a-grumpy-jerk secret and we’ll move on.”
“I feel like this is a trick,” I said even as relief settled over me. I wasn’t sure when it’d happened, but Sophie’s opinion of me mattered a lot.
“No, I’m totally serious,” she said, and I could tell by the way her face had relaxed that she meant it. “But are you okay? Is there anything I can do about whatever made you upset?”
God, I loved her.
I rubbed a hand over my chin, still in shock that she was just going to let it go. “I’m good now. No worries.”
“Good,” she said, her eyes running all over my face as if looking for an answer.
“Is Larry pissed?” I asked, lifting my cup. “About his sister’s nephew?”
“No. I mean, he cursed Julian to hell and back at first,” she said, smiling, “but then we found a way where I can still do it but not air the bride’s dirty laundry.”
Just like that, the roaring was back in my ears. I tried being nonchalant but didn’t even sound close to it when I said, “Wait, what? What do you mean, you are going to do it?”
She raised her eyebrows, challenging me, and said, “Larry talked to his sister, and all parties agreed that I can do a whole ‘I object and have proof; can we speak in private?’ thing, like we did in Detroit.”
I set down my cup and swallowed, unable to come up with a response.
“I totally respect that it’s not something you’re comfortable with, so I’m just going to do it solo. It’s probably time for me to strike out like a big girl anyway, right?”
She was grinning, a genuine smile with no malice behind it. I knew she wasn’t saying it to get a rise out of me, but I just kept picturing Lili, and it made my gut clench.
“You can’t do it, Soph,” I said, rubbing both hands over my jaw in frustration. “Please pass on this one.”
“What is your problem with this, Max?” she asked, her voice no longer calm. “Why are you—”
“She’s my ex,” I ground out, feeling like my teeth were going to shatter because every muscle in my jaw was clenched so hard. “The bride is my ex, okay?”
Her mouth fell open and she sat back in her chair, her eyes wide. “Lilibeth is the ex? The ex that broke—”
“Yes.” I was trying my hardest not to sound like I was snapping, but for fuck’s sake, I didn’t want to go any further than that tiny detail. “So can you just pass on this one?”
She looked shell-shocked. “Do you still have feelings for her?”
“No,” I said, a little too quickly, making it sound shallow and like a knee-jerk lie.
“So . . . why can’t I do this solo, then?” She tilted her head and stared at me, quietly watching the play of emotion on my face as if she could read it. “You’re not affiliated with it, I’m not publicly shaming her, and it’s still the same principle that we always follow, so what’s the problem? She’s having an affair and her fiancé is trapped, so I will save him. Why would that bother you?”
“I know she wouldn’t cheat,” I said, fully aware of how weak my argument was. “And it just doesn’t feel right to me. Isn’t that enough?”
“Not really,” she said, resting her chin on her hand. “Why wouldn’t you want to take this piece of total cosmic karma that’s being given to you?”
“Because karma doesn’t work in this situation.”
That made her blink fast, and I could see the wheels turning. “Ohmigod, were you the cheater?”
Some part of me thought it was nice that she seemed to find that an impossible concept.
“No one cheated,” I clarified, and I could tell she was waiting for more.
I looked at my phone, unwilling to say anything else. “I have to get going.”
“So . . . ?” she said, looking irritated now as I stood. “That’s it? We’re done talking about this?”
“Soph,” I said, making sure to say it as nicely as I could. “I told you how I feel, and now you can proceed however you choose. Also, more importantly—what time is your interview?”
Yes, I was changing the subject, but I was changing it to something that actually was more important. She looked like she wanted to discuss this more, but she pushed back her chair and stood. “Two o’clock.”
“Are you ready?”
Of course she’s ready, I thought, because I’d never met anyone who took their job more seriously than Sophie.
“Yes,” she said, picking up her keys. “I just wish it was first thing.”
“The waiting’s going to kill you, isn’t it?” I asked as we headed for the doors.
“For sure.” She glanced over at me, and even though our words were normal, there was something different in her face, like a question mark as our eyes met. She said, “I might have a relapse and bludgeon Stuart to death if he looks at me wrong.”
“He’ll be your human stress ball?”
“Something like that.”
We talked about the weather as we headed to our cars—gorgeous morning though a little humid already—and I told her to call me after the interview, but things felt off.
Like things just weren’t right yet with us.
Because of course they weren’t.
Lili was suddenly between us, even though we weren’t an “us.”
“I will,” she said, climbing into her hot rod. “You’ll know it’s me because I’ll either be woo-hooing my ass off or sobbing like a toddler.”
“Crossing my fingers for Woo-hoo Sophie, then,” I replied, watching as she took off her glasses and reached for her prescription Ray-Bans.
“I probably should’ve bought booze in advance, for either scenario,” she said, her voice wry with sarcasm.
“I’ll get it the minute you call, Steinbeck.”
She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
I’d screwed things up with us.
