Page 12 of Hale Yeah, It’s You

"Holy crap. So he thinks that you and Clay—why would he assume that?

How does he look? I absolutely wish I could have been a fly on the wall for that reunion!

" She twists a napkin in her fingers, her whole body buzzing with the kind of drama-high only Sarah could enjoy. "How are you doing with all of this?"

I laugh before downing half the mojito. "He looks…" I swallow hard.

Sarah’s red lips turn down in a dramatic frown. "He looks what? Frumpy? Old? Did he get one of those pregnant man bellies? Maybe glasses?"

"Worse," I scoff. "He looks even better than he did in high school. He was always too good-looking for his own good, but now… now he’s all big and broad and manly. And he wears fancy suits and gels his hair. It’s downright rude."

"Figures. Why couldn’t he be hideous? Premature balding or something." She laughs, loud and unapologetic.

Even completely bald, that man would be beautiful.

"Yeah, it’s weird. He looks like Roman, and he sounds like Roman, but we’re complete strangers now.

And we certainly didn’t mend any fences talking to each other the other night.

If anything, we’re more messed up now than when we were not talking at all. "

"Is that what you want then? To mend fences?" Sarah takes another long drink, eyes flicking sideways at me.

Is that what I want?

"I don’t know. Maybe?" It’s not a lie. I don’t know exactly what I want.

It’s not the whole truth either, because when I think of Roman, I immediately wonder if his lips still taste the same.

How they would feel pressed against my neck, or anywhere else on my body.

It’s strange to look at someone you used to be intimate with and no longer know in that way.

It’s confusing to all the parts of my body, but mostly my head .

"I wish you would have snapped a picture of him. That’s going to drive me crazy. What are the odds I’ll run into him while I’m home this weekend?" She wiggles her eyebrows.

"What would you even say to him? I had a hard enough time forming coherent words."

"Hmm. I don’t know what I’d say. We don’t have a history like you two do." Sarah leans into the bar, resting her chin on one hand. "If I had the chance to talk to Trevor again, I think I’d probably kick him in the balls and that would be that."

I tap my lips with my fingers, remembering Sarah’s ex. "You and Trevor didn’t shy away from saying everything you wanted to when you finalized the divorce. I’m surprised one of you didn’t set the other one on fire to be honest."

Sarah’s eyes blaze. "I did consider it, but I’m not going to jail for that knucklehead.

We rushed into getting married before we knew each other well enough.

I won’t ever make that mistake again. Besides, that was more than two years ago now.

I’m mostly over it. Actually, I heard last week that he’s dating Jarrod. "

I cover my mouth to keep from spitting out my drink. "Jarrod, as in his boss, Jarrod? His very male boss?"

"Yep. Explains so much really. I’m kind of happy for him, dang it." She smiles and I know she means it. Even though they weren’t right for each other, neither of them were bad people.

"I still hate that he stole you away and now you’re not local anymore. If you’d never met him, maybe you would still be here in town with me."

Sarah laughs. "He did steal me, and I would have come back, but you know I love my job too much to leave the city now. I don’t think there are enough people in this stuck-up town to keep me in business. At least not enough people with taste. Present company excluded, of course."

"Which reminds me, when are you going to design me a tattoo? "

"You hate needles. I’m not putting you through that. When you get your own place, I’ll paint you a mural."

When you get your own place.

She’s been telling me to do that for years.

As much as she supports the close relationship I have with my niece, she is not a Clay fan.

She’s convinced that he’s holding me back from starting my own life and my own family.

After all, playing house with another man doesn’t go over well with potential boyfriends.

"Yeah, yeah, I know how you feel about me living at Clay’s."

"You get zero benefits from that. You need your own space. I cannot stand that he’s okay with you holding Tasha’s place."

"I am not holding Tasha’s place." I don’t even try to hide the grimace on my face as my sister’s name leaves my lips.

Sarah glares at me. "Call it whatever you want, but that man has ulterior motives, and you’re too blind to see them."

"Wouldn’t be the first time I misread a man." I throw my hands up. "I’m apparently an idiot."

"You’re not an idiot, Frankie, but you are too nice."

"Well, you’re not going to like my other news then."

She motions for the bartender to bring her another drink, even though she still has half a drink left. "You have more news and you’re just now telling me? Why do I think I need to be more drunk to hear it?"

I rub my hands over my pants, suddenly nervous about sharing. "A few nights ago Clay told me he has feelings for me. That he wants to see if we could be more to each other than friends."

Sarah’s drink sprays from her mouth, garnering us some nasty looks from the bartender and a few people down the bar. "Excuse me, what now?" She attempts to mop up the mess with a drink coaster. The bartender practically growls as he throws a stack of napkins toward us.

"His exact words were ‘My heart knows what it wants, Frankie, and it wants you.’ "

She stares at me, mess forgotten, pressing her lips together as she takes it all in.

"But now that Roman’s back…" I pause, fingers tightening around my glass. "I keep wondering if I’ll ever get my own happily-ever-after. And Clay… I trust him. At this point, I probably know him better than anyone. Would it really be so awful to see where that could go?"

I glance at Sarah. She doesn’t interrupt, but her brow twitches, her eyes sharp with barely-contained opinion.

"He’s been through hell, too. He knows what it’s like to be left behind, to hurt. And I know—deep down—I know he respects me more than that." My voice drops into something softer, more uncertain. "You really think he treats me like a placeholder?"

The air between us hangs heavy until Sarah slaps napkins down onto the bar top with more force than necessary. "Listen," she says, each word clipped and vibrating with restraint. "I am trying very hard not to say something I’ll regret."

Her jaw tightens. "I am not now, nor have I ever been, a fan of Clay Phillips."

I wince. "I know. You think he’s holding me back—"

She holds up one hand, silencing me with a single finger. "But," she sighs, eyes flicking away and then back again, "he’s not someone I think would hurt you. Not on purpose."

"Okay…" I shift in my seat, suddenly wishing the barstool had armrests. "So… should I hear him out? Maybe consider a date?"

Sarah shakes her head slowly, like she’s trying to dislodge something stubborn from her thoughts.

"I don’t think it’s a good idea. Not because I think he’ll break your heart—but because I think you won’t let yourself dream past him.

So if you have to try this—if you need to get it out of your system—fine.

Take him for a spin. But promise me this: if it doesn’t work, you’ll finally get your own place.

Spread those wings. You love your niece, I get it.

But you deserve a life that’s yours, too. "

I nod, but it’s hollow. The warmth of Alayna’s laugh, the weight of her delicate hand in mine—those things have shaped me more than I ever expected.

I can’t imagine mornings without her sarcasm over coffee and sing-a-longs on the way to school.

But if things ever fell apart between me and Clay, she wouldn’t be mine to keep.

I have no legal ties, no claim. If he cut me off, that would be it.

After eleven years of knowing every freckle on her nose…

that kind of heartbreak might just unmake me.

I trail a finger down the side of my glass, watching the condensation slide and gather. Maybe I’ve lost it—entertaining the idea of romance while everything teeters so precariously. Roman’s return, Clay’s confession… all of it a dare from the universe. But what if I bet wrong?

"You could always try dating them both." Sarah’s voice breaks the spiral of thoughts, her tone light, teasing, as a fresh margarita lands in front of her with a dramatic clink.

I blink. "Date them both?"

Frankie Hale does not date two people at once. That’s not how I’m wired.

Roman isn’t even speaking to me. And it’s not like he’s lining up for a second chance. So why do I keep picturing his lips on mine? Why does the thought of him not caring twist like a blade beneath my ribs?

I press the mojito to my lips and drown the ache. "Or maybe I should join a convent," I mutter with a laugh.

Sarah snorts. "We do not have the best taste in men, do we?"

I raise my glass. "To…swearing off men."

She clinks hers against mine. “I’ll stick to tortured geniuses with emotional repression issues—preferably painted, dead, and in a museum, and you can binge watch all the best episodes of Suits ; I know you have a thing for Harvey Specter.”

I laugh with her, grateful for the break in the tension. But under it all, I know the truth—I’m still thinking about Roman’s mouth and Clay’s quiet longing and whether I’m about to blow everything up just to see what sparks .

I’m not worried about Clay. He seems content to let me keep my distance for now. Though, Sarah’s confession that I’m only a placeholder for Tasha clings to me like a bad cold.

My biggest fear is still Roman… he lingers in my thoughts like an unanswered question.

And the worst part?

I want him to be the one asking.

Before I can spiral again, I knock back the last of my drink, the sweetness turning bitter at the end.

“Yes,” I say, but it’s more breath than word.

Sarah nods like we’ve made a pact, but my eyes drift to the door—half-hoping, half-dreading.

Because no matter what I say, the truth is this: I don’t want to keep them far away. I want one of them to fight for me.