Page 52 of That Friendzone Feeling

“ButIthink there is a need.”Ifold my arms on the edge of the table in front of me, lean forward, and lower my voice. “Wecan’t just pretend it didn’t happen.”

“It’stotally fine,” she says again, as ifI’ma stranger apologizing for accidentally bumping into her. “Wewere in shock after the accident.”Shelooks down at her drink, the circles she’s drawing in the cream with her spoon getting faster and faster. “Weren’tin our right minds.Didn’tknow what we were doing.”

Ireach across the table to pinch her chin and tip it up until her eyes meet mine again. “Iknew whatIwas doing.”Thepink in her cheeks deepens. “Areyou saying you didn’t?Thatyou only did it because you were in shock?”

Shepushes my hand away, and her face hardens. “No.I’mnot sayingIhad shock-sex with you.”

Herwords come out louder than they probably should have, and she looks from side to side to check if anyone’s heard.

“Ifit evenwassex.”Shelowers her voice to a whisper, just mouthing the last word. “Itwas more like a teenage grope.”Shesighs. “Butanyway, that’s not whatI’msaying.I’msaying there’s no point talking about it.”

Shegives up all pretense of trying to keep the cream intact and mashes it into her coffee.

Myheart drops to my stomach, which then drops to my feet.

So, she’s on the opposite side of the fence from me with this.

Here’sme realizing that what happened last night is whatI’vewanted for the last ten years.AndwhatIwant for the next ten.Andthe ten after that.Andhere she is, dismissing it with the wave of a hand as an accident not worth talking about.

“Wecan’t do”—Ilook around too—“what we did.Andnot talk about it.We’vealways talked about everything.Wecan’t ignore…that.”

“Look.”Shedrops her spoon in the creamy massacre in her mug and rests her chin on her hands.Theexpression in her eye is the one she gets when there’s an unfixable problem at work that she’s determined to fix. “You’vebeen my best friend for the last ten years.You’rethe most important person in my life.Let’snot jeopardize that.We’reall good, right?”

Apartfrom the factIfeel like my insides are beingripped out slowly by a creature with giant claws, yeah, all good.Butit’s hardly likeIcan declare undying love to my best friend, who clearly wants to be nothing more than that, in the middle of a hotel breakfast room.

Iput my hands under the table and clasp them tightly in my lap. “Yeah, we’re good.Andwe’ll always be good.”

“Great,” she says, with a single clap of her hands.

“Herewe go,” the server says, making me wonder how long she’s been standing there. “OneLighthouseKeeper’sOmelettewith home fries and wholewheat toast for you.”

Sheplaces a large oval plate in front of me.It’sfull of food that would under normal circumstances look delicious, butI’mnot sure howI’mgoing to squeeze a single morsel down my constricted throat, or if my knotted stomach would even be able to hold onto it.

Theserver turns toEmily. “Andblueberry pancakes, dusted with powdered sugar.Thebutter and syrup’s on the side for you.”

“Thanks,”Emilysays. “ButcouldIget a second one of these little pots of syrup, please?”

Theserver pauses for a second. “Yes, of course.I’llbe right back.”

Asshe leaves,Emilydigs her knife into the butter and plasters it on the sugary pancakes.

“Allright,” she says. “Nowlet’s figure out how we’re going to showChasearound and sell him on this place like the top team we’ve always been.”Shelooks up at me under her long, thick, dark lashes. “Andstill are, no matter what ridiculousness happened last night.”

16

WALKER

“I

can’t fault your vision for this place one bit,”Chasesays, hands on his hips, ankle-deep in mud.

We’restanding where the restaurant patio will be, on the high point at the tip of the island, looking out over the ocean.

EmilywarnedChaseabout last night’s unexpected downpour before he took off fromNewYorkthis morning, so his feet are comfortably encased in rubber rain boots.

I, meanwhile, am in the only footwearIhave with me—my favorite sneakers, which had barely dried out from last night when they got soaked through again about five minutes after we arrived here.

Emily’sfeet are also perfectly fine in the sturdy walking boots she bought to try to fit in with the “island chic.”