Page 78 of The Friends and Rivals Collection

MELT OR brEAK

Nolan

This guy.

His smug face is the last thing I want to see. I don’t want to watch his lips curl in slow motion, painful milliliter by more painful millimeter, into a slick grin.

Max points a long finger at the table where Emerson and I sit. “Ilene left her straw. She asked me to fetch it.”

My face reddens, cheeks flaming. I can’t believe we were busted by this Bourdain copycat who thinks he’s the shit.

I grab the straw, thrust it at him. “Here you go. Wouldn’t want her to be without it,” I say, cool as all the cucumbers in the summer salads in this city.

“She does love her straws,” Max says, still smiling like a pussycat.

I steal a glance at Emerson. Her face reads Oh hell, oh fuck, oh no .

In spite of the horror on her face, her eyes say she’s dying to know if Max is going to Saks with Ilene.

Sounds like a Dr. Seuss book, and as much as it pains me, I fall on that sword for Detective Emerson.

“Have fun at Saks,” I remark evenly, like he didn’t just score a juicy are-they-or-aren’t-they secret to clutch in his paws.

“Yes. Shopping. It’s a thing,” Max says.

Somehow, I don’t roll my eyes. It’s hard but I manage.

“Yup. It sure is.”

He puffs out his chest, stands a little taller. “So, this has been quite interesting.” His dark eyes shift from Emerson to me and back as if adding up the evidence.

“It’s very interesting,” I say evenly.

Dude, you saw the evidence. It’s not complicated. Now make yourself scarce.

“And on that note,” Max says with one more knowing glance our way, “I’m off.” He strolls to the door, looks back over his shoulder, and zings, “Oh, and best of luck.”

When he’s finally gone, Emerson blows out the biggest breath in the city.

“Nolan,” she says, her tone stretched thin, her face mired in worry.

I know what to do. I hate it, but it’s the only choice.

“Em,” I begin heavily, feeling like I’m ripping off a piece of my heart. “I think we should cool it.”

She freezes. Silence consumes her for several terrible seconds until her voice trembles, “You do?”

I hate myself, but this is necessary. I grab her hand under the table and squeeze it.

“There’s too much at stake. I don’t trust that guy.

We’re not doing anything wrong, but what if Hayes is right?

What if Ilene meant it when she covered her ears that day we met and said she didn’t want to know?

What if the mystery is what sells our show? ”

Her lower lip quivers, but she nods. She’s so damn tough, even as her eyes shine with tears. She nods again, several times, then tugs her hand out of mine.

My hand is cold without hers, my heart hollow.

“Of course,” she says.

“Just because... it’s too risky. We both want?—”

“I know,” she says, a bit sharp.

Sharper than I expected.

That stings too, but I deserve it. I should be telling her she’s incredible. That she’s energizing, engaging, vulnerable, funny, kind, and the only woman I want. That she makes me want to be the kind of guy who deserves her, a guy who can give her everything.

“I know, Nolan. It was foolish of me to kiss you like that,” she says, suddenly cool, suddenly collected.

I blink, surprised, and correct her. “I kissed you.”

“But I needed it,” she says, stabbing her chest with her finger, annoyed with herself. “That was the problem. I needed it because I’m way too obsessed with the show and making it work, and it’s making me do and say things, and you had to shut me up with a kiss. It’s my fault.”

“It’s okay to need things. Or need a kiss,” I say. Except, why am I arguing with her about kissing? That’s not helpful.

“It’s not okay,” she says, building up a head of steam, and I want to defuse it for her. That’s my instinct.

“Em, I’m sorry. I just...” I trail off because I don’t have the tools to reassure her about this. “I just don’t know what to say.”

When she shutters her expression, I know those were the wrong words to speak. That’s a break-up line, through and through. Because that’s what I just did. I broke it off with her.

She stands, smooths her black shirt, grabs her backpack, and points to the door, and everything feels wrong.

Us ending feels wrong.

But if we don’t end it, we miss our chance at the dreams we’re chasing, barely catching.

She waves broadly to the street outside. “I have a quick call. My mom. She wanted me to call her. I’m going to do it in the room. I’ll meet you in an hour at Break?—”

I jump in. “Melt My Heart.”

“Yes. That.” Her answer sounds strangled. “The best grilled cheese in the...”

She doesn’t finish. Maybe she can’t. She just purses her lips and leaves.

Everyone is leaving.

Everything is a mess.

Most of all, my dumb heart, because I think I just broke up with the woman I’m madly in love with.