Just My Type (The Boston Hearts #3)

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Page 40 of Just My Type (The Boston Hearts #3)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

HANNAH

SOS there’s a mom situation.

Hallie

Ugh times a million. What did she do now?

She’s making me care about napkins.

Hallie

Napkins for the wedding?

Yep. Do you know how many different shades of off-white there are?

You will be shocked to know that I don’t.

Well, let me tell you exactly how many there are. Too fucking many, and they’re all stupidly ugly. I’ve told her one million times that I don’t want boring, ugly white napkins, no matter how “classy” they are.

Didn’t you and Pam pick napkins already? I swear I remember something about purple.

We sure did. Mom said, and I quote, “I thought you were kidding with the purple napkins.”

The wedding is in two weeks. Why would she think you hadn’t chosen napkins?

Ours is not to reason why, Hans. Ours is to tell mom to stop having so many fucking opinions.

Hallie

Let me handle it. I’ll give her a job to distract her. I think maybe the twins just grew out of all their clothes and they need an entirely new wardrobe.

Wait, did they really? I just bought them the cutest bathing suits on the planet that I was about to mail you. Should I exchange them for bigger sizes?

Hallie

No, not really. I’m sure the sizes you got are fine. But that will keep mom distracted long enough for you to make all your final plans so by the time she comes up for air there won’t be any wedding stuff left for her to fuck around with.

Hal, you don’t have to do that. I would never foist mom on you.

Hallie

You’re not foisting her on me. You’re foisting her on all of Pittsburgh’s retail establishments.

I don’t want to do that to them either, but thank you.

I need her out of all things wedding for the next two weeks.

We really should have just gotten married in Vegas.

Jordan was totally up for it, but I had to be all, I want a big party and blah blah blah.

I’m regretting all my life choices right now.

Two more weeks, Jo Jo. You’re almost there.

Ugh, I know. But two weeks is two weeks too long. Distract me. What’s going on with Noah? Give me all the sexy details.

I literally had breakfast with you this morning. What do you think changed between then and now?

Listen, the man literally walked you down two flights of stairs from his apartment to mine because “this is how my girl gets treated.” And breakfast with me was actually second breakfast because he made you coffee and baked you muffins. From scratch. I mean, fucking swoon, Hans.

He makes muffins every day.

For you. Like I said, fucking swoon.

Hallie

HOLD THE FUCK ON.

I walk away for two minutes to get my kids up from naptime and this happens?

How is it possible there’s a Noah thing going on and NO ONE BOTHERED TO TELL ME?? I knew I saw something between you guys in Vegas.

There wasn’t much to tell.

If you think sleepovers, him making her coffee and muffins every morning, and them spending a fuck ton of time together not much to tell.

Hallie

That is the opposite of not much to tell, and I’m not sure I like the two of you living there while I’m here. I miss all the good stuff.

You didn’t miss it. I just wasn’t sure what to say about it all. It started off as a fun little game. A way to help me with my writing. I told you I was struggling with it.

Hallie

And now?

Now we’re…an us, I guess. In a defined but still not entirely defined way. It’s all very complicated.

It’s really not. Or at least, it doesn’t have to be. You look happy, Hans. Happier than I’ve seen you in a long, long time.

Hallie

Are you happy, Hans?

I am. He makes me happy.

Hallie

Then it doesn’t have to be any more complicated than that.

Hal, are you sure we can’t convince you to move to Boston? It’s wrong to be this far apart.

Hallie

You couldn’t pay Ben to leave Pittsburgh. That man was made to be here. This is our place.

I know it. I just miss you.

Same.

Hallie

What about you, Hans? You thinking about making Boston your place now?

I haven’t wanted to say anything because I don’t want to put any pressure on you but PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE NEVER LEAVE ME.

I really don’t know. I always thought Boston was temporary.

Hallie

And now?

Now, I think my head is still in a weird place. I’m not sure if I should be making life-changing decisions of the permanent, deciding where to live my life variety right now.

Hallie

Fair. Just let me ask you this. Does Boston make you happy?

It sure does.

Hallie

Then I think that’s something to think about too.

“Hannah Evans, just the person I was hoping to see!”

I stop on the sidewalk and look up from my group chat with my sisters, relieved for the momentary reprieve from having to think about my life choices.

Cece is sitting on the front stoop of her brownstone, eyes full of fun behind her purple-framed glasses and her face lit by the late afternoon sun.

Her bright red sundress is spread out around her, and she has some kind of bright pink cocktail in one hand and is petting Elliot’s dog, Killer, with the other.

I want to be her when I grow up.

I look up at her, bringing a hand up to shield my eyes from the sun. “Hey, Cece, what’s up?”

She grins down at me. “What’s up is that I’ve been sitting up here waiting for you to walk by and it’s a good thing you’re here now, because your drink is still cold, but it won’t stay that way for long in this heat.”

“My drink?”

She gestures to a second glass full of the same pink cocktail she’s drinking that I somehow missed. The movement wakes the dog up, and she jumps off Cece’s lap and bounds inside the open front door of the brownstone. “You were waiting out here with a drink for me?”

“I mean, it’s not for one of my boys. They’re not really pink cocktail types, except for Cooper—that man loves himself a fruity drink but he’s working late for a change.

” She rolls her eyes, but the look on her face is all affection for her youngest grandson.

“I can’t be too mad about that, though, because the rest of his life is going to start at that law firm, and he needs to be there for that to happen.

Jo and Amelia would definitely drink a pink cocktail, but I happen to know that they went to a yoga class, so they’re not around.

But you?” Cece smiles at me, but her eyes are sharp behind her glasses.

“You’re usually a margarita girl, but you’ve mostly sworn off them since Vegas, so I thought you’d like this instead and look—you’re right here to enjoy it. ”

I stare at Cece, probably a little slack-jawed, trying to absorb the sheer quantity of information she just unloaded and unable to grasp any of it except for one single thing. “You know I swore off margaritas after Vegas?”

Cece smiles serenely. “I surmised. When a person gets drunk on margaritas and accidentally gets married in Vegas, it stands to reason that they would swear off that drink for a while. Come sit down, Hannah.”

Cece’s voice is a soft command that I heed immediately.

It’s a good thing Noah told me Cece figured out what happened in Vegas, because I’m almost positive that little revelation right now would put me right over the edge.

Climbing the six stairs, I prop my tote down against her front door and take the drink she hands me.

She clinks her glass to mine. “Cheers, Hannah.”

I take a sip of my drink, but evidently Cece isn’t finished.

“Congratulations on all the writing today.”

I splutter and choke at her words, stopping myself just short of spraying this excellent cocktail all over her. “How did you know I was writing today?” I manage, grabbing my water bottle out of my bag and taking a long sip.

She chuckles. “I just know what I know. Is it presumptuous of me to ask how the book is coming?”

I give her a wry smile. “Would it matter if I said yes?”

She pats my hand and smiles. “Nope, it sure wouldn’t.”

I sigh, taking another sip of my drink. I glance around and decide there’s something kind of special about sitting on a front stoop on a quiet Boston street on a late July afternoon, drink in hand.

It makes me want to tell Cece all my secrets.

At least the ones that she hasn’t already figured out.

“The book is going well. Really well. Too well.”

Cece tilts her head and studies me. “You’re afraid you’ll lose it again. Your writing.”

“Give the woman an award,” I mumble into my glass.

She grins at me. “I accept any and all awards.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“So why are you worried you’ll lose it again?”

I sigh, setting my drink down and leaning back against the railing.

“I lost it for so long, and it feels so precarious. Like, what if Noah and I stop hanging out or something, and it all goes away again? I mean, last night we went on a walking ghost tour of the city and then ate diner pancakes at midnight, and today I sat in a coffee shop for hours and wrote eight thousand words. It’s been like that for weeks and weeks.

I spend time with him, and then I can write.

It’s like I need him so I can do my job and that feels… scary.”

“Do you really need him to write or do you just…need him?”

I open my mouth to answer her and then snap it shut as I turn her words over and over again in my brain, realizing the truth of them. “Shit,” I mutter.

Page 40 of Just My Type (The Boston Hearts #3)

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