Scarlet also knows about the kiss last night and how torn I am about everything.
I scroll back through the texts, feeling … so damn conflicted.
Braelynn: I did something I shouldn’t have.
Scarlet: Tell me now. Whatever it is, I’ll fix it. It’ll be okay.
Braelynn: I don’t think you can fix this. I kissed Declan.
I remember how my heart raced after I sent that text and how it took Scarlet forever to respond. It would say she was typing, then it would disappear. Typing. Then nothing.
Braelynn: Say something! Please!
Scarlet: I’m just a little shocked. What are you thinking? Feeling? Tell me everything! Was it good?
Braelynn: Your last question has me cracking up. YES! It was good. It was also shocking for me.
Scarlet: So you kissed him and you liked it … did he mention anything after?
Braelynn: Not after. Before he said if I didn’t want to do it, I should walk away. But … I really wanted to kiss him.
Scarlet: So he didn’t say ANYTHING after?? He had to say SOMETHING
Braelynn: Nothing … I went back to work and waited for him to come back up and he didn’t, so I just … I left.
Scarlet: I’m just going to say it. I heard he is freaky like BDSM freaky. AND I KNOW - you are curious. I KNOW YOU ARE!
That was last night after everything happened. And now she’s texting me congrats on a new position? Like, it doesn’t have anything to do with the kiss …
That makes the timing of this text feel off to me. It hasn’t been two minutes since I got the text myself. Everything feels uneasy. She wasn’t honest about the dress colors, and waited far too long to tell me about the rooms downstairs.
I’m so tempted to tell her I’m going to resign. But I know she’ll push me to stay. Maybe I’m just looking too much into it.
Declan Cross scares me, but I am curious. I want him. I’m attracted to him, but that doesn’t make him or the idea of being with him any less intimidating. And she damn well knows that.
Turning the phone back over, I smile at my mom.
“We’re here to have a good lunch,” I tell her with an upbeat tone. Not to get a million texts and make potentially life-changing decisions before the food has even arrived.
“You can message her back, you know, nena.”
I sure can, but knowing Scarlet it will turn into more questioning and more pushing. She’s been a good friend to me, but I don’t need a long conversation right now or any pressure.
“I just want to have lunch with you. Forget the texts.” I wave my hands over the table like I can brush all this away. “What’s going on with you?”
My mother purses her lips, and I can tell she’s trying to decide if she wants to tell me something. But she’ll give in. She always does. “Your uncle’s not feeling well.”
“No?” I know Uncle Gael has had problems with his hip recently, but I haven’t heard anything about that in weeks.
“And …” This is the part she was hesitating to tell me before. “Travis went to go see him. I don’t like that he does that.”
“I don’t either.” Ice spreads through my veins. Visiting my family crosses a line, and Travis doesn’t care. He’s never given a damn about boundaries. With a steadying breath, I try not to let my anger ruin lunch.
My gaze lifts to the waitress, who’s seating another table. As I lift the cider to my lips, I debate asking her to spike it on the next refill.
“Uncle Gael told him he needs to leave you alone and stay away.”
As I’m nodding, the food is served.
The two plates are delivered by a different server, a smiling waitress with her dark hair in a ponytail that swings around.
“Thanks,” our waitress murmurs to the first and comes up behind her with a side plate of salad for Mama. It’s an easy lunch of our favorites. Nearly every time we come here my mother gets the chicken wrap and salad, and I get the same as well. Today I felt like ordering something different, though. Looking down at my monte cristo, my mouth waters.
With another tea ordered for my mother and a round of “enjoy,” we’re left alone again. This time at least there are salty fries that can join my salty attitude toward Travis. I chomp down on one and notice my mother’s demeanor. This past year has been hard on her. It’s starting to show.
“What’s done is done, Mama. Can we talk about something else? Something easy.” Smoothing the napkin in my lap, I try not to feel guilty for adding stress to my mother’s life.
She unwraps her fork and puts her napkin in her lap. “Something easy,” she repeats, thinking. “How is your new job?”