Page 29 of Spicy or Sweet (Wintermore #2)
NOELLE
Anon-Christmas-themed party in Wintermore is rare, and I should be enjoying myself a lot more, all things considered.
I should be celebrating with everyone else; I’ve busted my ass for weeks for this movie, and it’s finally done.
The cast and crew are leaving town, and this time next year, they’re going to help us put Wintermore back on the map when the movie comes out.
Everyone is excited. Everyone is happy. People are dancing, drinking, and laughing.
Uncle Henry is spinning around the makeshift dance floor in the middle of the town hall with Sunny in his arms while Rora watches them, her eyes glittering.
Rora at a Wintermore party is cause for celebration in and of itself.
My parents are talking to some of the crew, Felix is helping Abigail throw darts against the back wall, Shay is laughing with one of the actresses from the movie, and I’m losing my mind.
Because Shay is laughing with one of the actresses from the fucking movie, and I, apparently, have a jealous streak.
I know it has less to do with Shay talking to someone else and more to do with the fact that she apparently refuses to talk to me. Well, talk to me about what I want to talk about, anyway. Us.
Not a want, in fact. A need. Because as of last night, we’re no longer working together, and I have no idea where things stand.
Anytime I try to broach the topic, she shuts down, changes the subject, or distracts me by slipping into the conversation that she isn’t wearing underwear…
Okay, that was just once, but it did the trick.
It has to be intentional. Every day for the past week, I’ve mentioned that I wasn’t feeling great about the movie wrapping.
Initially, Shay took that to mean that I just didn’t want to go back to working so much at The Enchanted Bakery—which I don’t, and she knows that, which meant it was all too easy for her to distract me by getting me to open up more about what I dislike about my job.
Every time I’ve brought it up since that conversation—underwearless incident aside—Shay’s gone out of her way to assure me that it’s going to work out, that it’s okay to take a step back.
She’s been unbelievably sweet about it, and I’m not sure how to get from her reassuring me to, actually, the reason I’m so out of sorts is because I’m pretty sure I’m falling in love with you, and I have no idea what to do about that.
I’ve never been in love before. I’ve never been that lucky. And I suppose I can’t know for sure that this is that, but it sure feels like how I imagined. Of course, whenever I’ve imagined it, I pictured something a little less casual, a little less friendly.
When I think about what I’d like my future partner to be like, Shay ticks every box: kind and caring, family-oriented (even if her brother doesn’t feel the same way), passionate about her business, happy to go out and do things like spur of the moment boat trips, but equally happy to curl up at home and binge cozy TV shows.
She doesn’t want kids, and neither do I.
She’s a cat person, and I’m a Croissant person at the very least. She likes ABBA, and I like watching her sing ABBA.
But mostly… she makes everything a little quieter. A little more peaceful, a little brighter, a little better. A lot better, in truth.
I have to try and wrap my head around the possibility that she doesn’t want more.
If she wants to keep things casual, to keep sleeping together, but never be more, I’ll survive.
At least I’ll still be spending time with her.
But there’s a chance, however small, that she’ll decide to call things off altogether.
And I’ll somehow have to be okay on the other side of it.
The unknown, as frustrating as it is, is safe, but it’s not maintainable. Working together, there was a guarantee of when we’d be seeing each other next. I have no idea where Shay and I will stand as of tomorrow morning.
I watch her, my heart screaming at me to cross the dance floor and just talk to her. She looks amazing, as always. She’s wearing a pretty light blue dress with pink flowers. It’s strapless, making her locket stand out against the hollow of her throat.
The actress shows Shay something on her phone, and insecurity creeps over me.
She’s beautiful, yes, but that’s not what makes my stomach twist. She’s a successful actress who probably doesn’t hate her job and has her life together.
Sure, I don’t know that for certain, but there’s one thing I do know: she’s closer to Shay’s age than I am.
Asking Shay to be in this with me, for real, is asking her to deal with all the downsides of age gap relationships that Rora and Uncle Henry talked about.
I would be asking her to deal with the small-town gossip, to come out to her parents and explain not only that she’s dating a woman, but that I was born when she was a junior in high school.
Her relationship with them is already strained, and I don’t want to make it harder.
Maybe the right thing is to walk away, to take the decision out of her hands and call it a day. But I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to be on the other side of the room watching someone more age-appropriate touching her arm, asking her a question, leading her to… the dance floor.
Oh.
I turn away before I have to watch the woman I’m falling in love with dance with someone who isn’t me.
“Fuck.” I don’t mean to say it as loudly as I guess I do, considering the gasps and shocked looks from the ladies’ running club sitting at the table near me. I have to get out of here.
Not waiting to be admonished by the townsfolk who have watched me grow up but failed to accept that I’m a whole-ass grown-up, I flee. A very grown-up thing to do, if you ask me.
I ignore the bang of the door as it closes behind me, taking the town hall steps two at a time until I’m standing in the parking lot. It’s quiet out here; everyone else is inside enjoying themselves. I can still hear the music as I walk across the parking lot, gravel crunching beneath my heels.
There aren’t a lot of opportunities to get dressed up in Wintermore, and I haven’t had the chance to get out of town in a while. I’m not much of a dress person, but tonight… Hell, I dressed up for her.
I’ve only worn the amber-yellow dress once—my mom and I convinced Rora (begrudgingly) to have a baby shower, and she chose a sunshine theme before any of us knew Sunny’s name.
The crepe dress is more suited to a spring baby shower than the parking lot outside a fall party, but this is the nicest dress I own.
It seems like a waste as I perch on the edge of the bed of my parents’ truck, kicking the gravel.
The breeze tickles my hair, and I look up, frowning at the black and gray smudges dotting the sky. The air smells like it does right before a downpour, and, though I appreciate the weather mirroring my demeanor, I’m not dressed for a storm.
If I start walking home now, I might make it before the sky opens, but I don’t get the chance to leave before I hear the town hall doors open, and Shay appears in the shadowy doorway. She scans the parking lot, something like relief flickering on her face when she spots me.
“Hey,” she calls as she crosses the lot. “Are you okay? You kind of just ran out of there.”
“I’m fine,” I answer, and Shay stops short of me at my tone.
“You don’t sound fine.”
“Well, I am,” I bite back. “You looked like you were having fun.” I don’t mean to say it, don’t mean it to sound so bitter, and I watch as realization dawns on Shay’s face the second the words leave my lips.
“You’re upset that I was talking to someone else?” There’s no judgment in her tone, but I still deny it immediately.
“No.”
She raises a brow, twisting her mouth.
“I’m not upset that you were talking to someone. I’m upset that I should’ve been the one asking you to dance.”
A soft smile lifts Shay’s lips, and she takes a deep breath. “Karina—that’s her name—didn’t ask me to dance.”
“But I watched you go onto the dance floor with her.”
“Right. Because she was taking me to meet her husband, who was dancing with their daughter. He grew up in Oakland, and she wanted to introduce us,” Shay explains, but instead of relief that she wasn’t dancing with her, I feel a sudden crash, like the adrenaline that propelled me to bolt from the party is gone in a flash.
Because if it’s not Karina, it’ll be someone else. For as long as Shay and I are casual friends, there could always be someone else.
Stepping down from the truck bed, I rub my face with my hands, finding it hard to care that I’m almost definitely fucking up my makeup.
Shay’s only standing six feet away, but it feels like there’s a much bigger distance between us, and I can’t handle it anymore.
“I can’t do this anymore, Shay.”