She groans. “Why are you just as annoying as an adult as you were as a teenager? I thought men were supposed to grow out of their obnoxious phase.”
“Most do. I chose to grow into mine.”
I find it interesting (and disappointing) that June still hasn’t realized that I only teased her so much back then as a way of flirting. More than once I contemplated confessing my feelings for her, but her hatred felt like an insurmountable obstacle. There was no use telling her I was wild for her, because I’m fairly certain she was wild for my blood—spilled all over the pavement with a chalk drawing outlining it.
“Ryan…” says June. “Do me a favor? Eat glass, will you?”
“Oh, come on, June Bug. Can’t take the heat of a few get-to-know-you questions? Fine. You could always just come out and get your clothes yourself.”
There’s a long pause followed by the sound of her forehead banging against the stall door. “What’s question number one?”
I grin. “Number one. How much have you missed me on a scale of one to ten?”
“Negative fifteen. Next question.”
I toss one of her socks over the door. “Number two. What’s your biggest fear?”
“That I’ll have to see you again tomorrow.”
I put my hand over my heart even though she can’t see me. “Wow. That one hurt.”
Her fingers raise above the stall’s wall and she wiggles them. “My other sock, please.”
After throwing it over, I lean back against the wall and fold my arms, preparing my next question. “If I had asked you out in high school, would you have said yes?”
This should be a movie moment. One of those scenes where she laughs and admits that she would have said yes in a heartbeat. Needless to say, that doesn’t happen.
Instead, she lets out a bark of laughter and says, “Absolutely not. Because number one, it would have ended up being another one of your pranks. And two, I was too good for you back then.” I can hear the smile in her voice and imagine her sticking her nose up at me.
I toss her shirt over. “Then tell me this, June Bug. If you’re so much better than me, why are you still single?” I’m smiling in the silence, waiting for her zingy comeback, but the more time that passes, the more my smile fades. “June?” Shitt. I’m not totally sure, but I think June is sniffling in there. I press my ear against the side of the stall to listen closer. “Are you…crying?”
A sharp sniffle. “NO. Just…” She’s definitely talking through tears. “Ugh, Ryan, can you for once do something nice for me and just give me my damn clothes?!”
The urgency in her voice shocks me. June—the bold, give-it-right-back woman—has a tremble in her voice that I’m pretty sure is because of tears streaming down her cheeks. I feel horrible. The worst of the worst. What I thought was good-natured teasing is making her full-on cry. I didn’t mean the question seriously. If anything, I was just trying to fish around and find out about her dating history. Somehow, I managed to strike a very sensitive nerve—one I would have never intentionally hit.
Without hesitation, I toss June’s jeans into the stall. Neither of us speaks during the time it takes for her to dress, because I’m not sure what to say, and I don’t think she wants to say anything. But I do manage to run this scenario over again and again in my mind at least fifteen times and wonder how it tore her up so quickly. I would have expected June to march out in her underwear and kick me in the crotch for saying something that hurt her feelings before I expected her to cry. But it’s becoming more and more clear that June is not the same girl I used to know. She’s a woman who has a history I might never get to learn about.
A moment later, the door to the stall flies open, and June barrels out—more representative of the woman I was anticipating than who she was in that changing room. Gone is the vulnerable June from a moment ago. She squares her shoulders and levels me with white-hot anger.
“I told you not to mess with me, Ryan, and I meant it. We’re grown adults now, and you need to start acting like it!” She pokes me hard in the chest, but I don’t sway. I wonder if she’d be mad if I ran my finger across the bridge of her nose, drawing a line through her freckles. The blaze in her eyes tells me I shouldn’t try it unless I want to lose a finger. “But you know what else? My worth isn’t tied to whether I’m in a relationship or not! Even all on my own, I’m still better than you.”
She’s throwing tough words at me now, but I can still hear the same shake in her voice from earlier. She’s like a kid trying to convince her friend that she’s not afraid of monsters anymore while still sleeping with all the lights on. And it’s the tremble in her voice that makes me think there’s more to June’s story—more to those tears and hatred—than just me.
I look down into her bright-green eyes and realize I need to change my tactic. She meets my gaze and lifts that defiant chin of hers into the air, but her façade is no use—I can clearly see the hurt now. It’s hurt I didn’t put there, and I want to find out who did.
She pokes my chest firmly again. “And one more thing! If you think—”
I interrupt her by gently wrapping my hand around her wrist, preventing her from stabbing me with her finger another time. “You’re right. I’m sorry about all that just now. I shouldn’t have acted like we were still teenagers. It won’t happen again.” My truth must shock her, because I see June’s shoulders drop. My grip on her wrist is featherlight, giving her all the chances in the world to move away, but she doesn’t even try.
I really shouldn’t be this concerned about winning June over, though. I should be giving all my attention to considering Noah’s restaurant and whether I want to be a part of it. But I’m not. I can’t bring myself to spare it even a second of my thoughts. Last night, I fell asleep thinking of ways to make June smile. I just want one aimed at me. Just one and I’ll be happy. I’ve never been on the receiving end of one of her smiles, but I’m determined to get one by the end of this week. It’s not that I’m head over heels in love with the woman already, but I feel a pull to her. A need to spend time with her. Be close to her. I can’t shake it.
I look in June’s eyes and see a million conflicting emotions flying through them. She’s a human slot machine right now, and her eyes are rotating emoji icons. Daggers, hearts, crying face, smile, purple devil.
She blinks her long dark lashes. “Just leave me alone from now on, Ryan.”
A second later, the door chimes, and June and I both swivel our heads to see Stacy storm into the shop. She shoves her phone into her pocket and huffs out a sigh. “You’re never going to believe who I just got off the phone with.” She pauses when she sees us standing so closely.
June immediately rips her hand back and steps away. “My earlier sentiments still apply. Eat glass.”
Stacy blinks. “What did I miss?” She then shakes her head and waves her hand. “No, you know what? I don’t want to know, because my whole life is falling apart and I can’t deal with your bickering right now. My caterer and most of her staff for the rehearsal dinner just came down with the flu! There’s no way they’ll be over it by Friday night.”
I lift my hat up off my head and scrape my hand through my hair before replacing it. That’s my way of preparing to say no to what I’m sure Stacy is about to ask me.
“What! No way,” says June. “Is there anyone else we can hire?”
Stacy shakes her head no, but I doubt she’s even tried to hire anyone else. “Not on this short notice. Everyone else I’ve reached out to is booked solid.”
I narrow my eyes. “Who else have you tried?”
She shrugs a shoulder but doesn’t meet my eye. “Just some locals. Doesn’t matter. You’ve never heard of them.” Beep. Beep. Beep. My lie detector is going off. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter because I know who I want to have cater it.”
I shut my eyes tight, bracing for impact.
“Please, Ryan. Please, please, please. You’re pretty much the best chef in the country! It will be such a treat for everyone if you make the food.”
I don’t bother hiding my groan. “It’s so last minute. I don’t even have a kitchen.”
Stacy is tugging on my arm now. “Oh, come on. There’s only going to be about fifty people there. A chef as good as you doesn’t need much time to prep, right? And you can use my kitchen. Or June’s!” She’s just trying to butter me up.
