More Than Sorry

8: She Agrees to Brunch

EDEN

Yvette's grinning at me like she knows something I don't. A pack of cigarettes peeks out of the white ruffle of her top. It's tucked in her bra strap where she used to hide a fifty back in the days we went out clubbing.

Yvette knows I hate her smoking, but the smug curve of her lips is about more than sneaking off a quick ciggie.

"There's a delivery for you," Yvette calls over her shoulder as she ducks past me.

Her cackle bounces around the back alley, and my heart plummets out the bottom of my new combat boots. I was worried about blisters—breaking in new shoes is a bitch—but I'm glad I wore them now. Sounds like I'm going in for battle, and I have a sneaking suspicion it's round two of Zach and his scary-as-shit deliveries.

Do I even wanna know? I'm still kinda scarred from the roses. And that horror show in the supermarket... Shit.

I never told Andie or Yvette what happened. Just kinda faked my way through the long days at the salon and then collapsed in a heap at home. I tell myself I'm brave and strong, but the loneliness suffocates me when I'm swamped in my giant bed all by myself. Why are the nights so much harder?

Andie's been hovering like an overprotective momma bear. She knows something's not right, but until she asks me point blank, Zach's confession that I was nothing more than his dirty little secret will stay safely locked away as my own dirty little secret.

I breeze into the salon's tiny kitchen with a big toothy smile. Dread? Anxiety? Crippling loneliness because the person I love tore my heart out more than once? Nah, nothing like that to see here. I'm all fun and rainbows.

Andie's leaning against the counter with her arms folded. She's not dazzled by my smile. There's one hell of a frown on her face.

"Hey! Got your coffee," I say, still all rainbows.

Two coffees are balanced on the catering boxes crooked under my arm. It's a miracle I didn't spill them. Andie checks the lid and slides out her sorry excuse for a coffee. The double-shot I can deal with, but the almond milk? Yuck.

Andie mumbles a thanks and then nods her head towards the back wall. "That was outside with the deliveries this morning."

I track her gaze across the room to a glass jar filled with water and stuffed with fat, green clumps. Herbs. The neat capital letters on the envelope next to the jar are a dead giveaway. Zach. He writes with one of those fancy fountain pens from the olden days that makes everything look classy. A post-it note stuck on the fridge with 'At Mum's place' scrawled in his fountain pen—yeah, fancy as shit.

My top teeth bite down on my lip. I can't take my eyes off that jar.

"Eden?" Andie presses gently. "Are you okay?"

"I'm not sure I'm ready for another round of this," I admit.

"At least the dumbass didn't send something you're allergic to this time," Andie points out. "Or did he? What is all that green shit?"

I roll my eyes. "Seriously?" I laugh. "Herbs. Something you would know if you ate actual food once in a while."

Andie grunts. She's got that momma bear look again, and she's gruff when she asks, "Want me to be your point man and read the card first?"

"No. I can do it."

I need to do it.

A tiny flicker of hope swirls in my tummy with each tentative step toward that jar. No matter what I do, my heart screams to hold on to Zach. I fight it, but that tiny flicker constantly searches for hints there's still some miracle gesture that will outweigh everything I saw in his office that night.