“It’s Oregon weather. Should we awkwardly hug now?”
“God, yes.”
“I’m going to hang up,” Kira said, laughing into Joey’s ear. Joey ended the call and stuffed her phone into her jacket pocket.
“Did you...just hang up on somebody?” Chris asked, his eyebrow slightly arched. When did he learn how to do that?
“Yes. No. She hung up on me first. It’s okay. We’re friends. We do that a lot. Hug now?”
He jumped lightly down from his stool, and Joey stepped into his arms. He’d said “awkward” and it was but also it wasn’t. First of all, he felt good—warm and solid and strong. And second, he smelled good, like sweat and cedar. Finally, it was just Chris, after all, even if it had been nearly ten years since she’d seen him.
“God, it’s good to see you again,” he said softly, like he meant it. It was the absolute opposite of Ben’s “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Yeah, you, too.” She stepped back out of his arms before making a fool of herself by bursting into tears.
“You’re a day early. Dillon said you wouldn’t be here until tomorrow.”
“I changed my flight. Is that a problem?”
“Not a problem at all. I just meant to be out of here by then. But I’m almost done. The master was the last thing. Ceiling fan, then paint.”
“No hurry. Stay as long as you need to. All night even.” She winced. Why did she say that? “So...how are you?”
“Fine.” He sounded slightly suspicious. She didn’t blame him. She was acting slightly odd. Finding out you’d been dating a married man could do that to a girl. “You? How’s Hawaii?”
“Lovely. Lots of volcanoes.”
“You’re on a volcano right now.”
“Hawaii and Oregon have a lot in common. Volcanoes and rain. And...that’s it.”
“They’re practically twins. You look great, by the way,” Chris said.
“I’m wet.”
Chris’s eyebrow went up another notch.
“Wet from the rain,” she said hastily.
“Right. The rain. Hawaii’s been good to you.”
It was sweet that he said that, but she looked like hell and she knew it. She’d dressed in the classic Oregon uniform of Columbia jacket (red), jeans (blue), rain boots (a nondescript army green) and no umbrella. Umbrellas were for tourists, which meant her dark hair was plastered to her forehead. And she’d cried a little in the car and given herself raccoon eyes. She had naturally warm brown skin, which she’d inherited from her Mexican-American father, and a Hawaiian tan on top of it, so at least she wouldn’t appear as washed out as she felt. If she’d known Chris would be here looking as good as he did, she would have made more of an effort.
“You look fantastic. I barely recognized you with the short hair and beard. When did that happen?”
“Short hair? Um, eight years ago? The real world made me do it. The beard? Last November. Bad breakup. She dumped me for a Trail Blazer. I stopped shaving. Everyone told me I looked better with the beard so I kept it. I trimmed it, though. I had a little ZZ Top thing going on.”
“A Trail Blazer? Like one of the basketball players or the cars? Because if she dumped you for a car, that’s weird.”
“The basketball players. Apparently she had a thing for tall guys.”
“You’re tall. You’re huge.”
That eyebrow went up one more notch.
“I keep saying sexual things without meaning to,” she said. “Sorry. I’m running on very little sleep. I can’t be held responsible for what my mouth does.”
The eyebrow was as high as it could go.