Page 12 of Selfish Desires

I shook my head and pulled the chain to the nightstand's bronze lamp, killing the bedroom's soft light. “Goodnight.”

“This place is amazing. What street is this again?” asked Blair, taking in the quaint storefronts, from green awnings to all glass entry facades.

“Thames Street.” I laughed while resting the clear straw of my iced coffee against my tongue.

“Even the coffee is amazing.” Blair matched her wide eyes with an indulgent drink of her beverage.

“I told you I love it here.” The fresh New England air, tinged with ocean, filled my nostrils.

“I can see why,” she murmured, her gaze lost in the shimmering blue expanse of sea beyond the line of shops. “It's beautiful.” Blair gave a half laugh laced with a trace of heartbreak. “I can see why you'll never return to New York.”

My heart lurched, but I only grinned, shrugging. Blair was right. I'd never go back to New York, not after what happened. But we knew that already.

We wandered for hours, exploring every corner of Thames Street—from quirky antique stores to fragrant bakeries serving hot clam chowder and fresh pastries. The cobblestone streets filled with leisurely strolling crowds added a charm only amplified by the sunny weather. Blair would often stop to take pictures or admire the architecture.

“Oh, what's this place?” Blair asked, studying the town's gem of a store. The display window housed a classic black Ford Model T, probably from the 1920s.

“This is Stephen's store. Newport's Trinkets.” I motioned to the gold and black sign above the floor-to-ceiling glass windows. I pulled Blair's arm to keep moving, not in the mood to introduce her.

“Oh, Stephen.” She winked. “You don't want to go in?” Blair motioned to the store as we increased our distance.

“Nah. Not today. Trust me, if I give Stephen two days of attention in a row, I'll get his hopes up.”

“I don't understand why you won't just go on one date.” Blair held up a single finger.

“Because I don't like him in that way, Blair.”

“Fair enough,” Blair shrugged, eyes scanning the street ahead. “Everyone has their type.”

“What's that's supposed to mean?” I twisted my face, my pulse ticking up.

“I feel like you’ve always gone for the bad boy or arrogant type. Stephen is neither of those from how you’ve described him.”

“I feel like you're trying to say something without saying it.” I cast Blair a half-glared side-eye, and she swallowed, her throat clicking.

“Forget I said anything.” Blair rolled her eyes.

“No, just say it.” My feet stopped walking, but my mind continued to race.

“I worry about you, that's all. It's been three years.” Blair stepped closer.

“Please don't.” I knew exactly where this was going, and I was surprised we lasted for three years without bringing up the subject.

“You should try to date. I think it would be good for you.”

“Only I know what’s good for me.” I jabbed a stiff finger into my chest.

“Of course you do. I was only making a suggestion.” Blair shrugged.

“Why don’t you just say what you really want to say? You came all the way to Newport to make small talk with me? I don’t think so.” I pointed a finger at Blair’s chest, piercing the space between us.

“I know you moved for a fresh start, but have you really moved on?”

“Hold on.” I held up a shaky hand. “Where is this coming from?”

“Wendy, we’re just worried about you.”

“What do you mean we are worried? We don't even see each other anymore, and maybe this is why. I don't need reminders from my past. I’m happy, can’t you see? Why are you trying to bring me down?” My nostrils flared. The air suddenly struggled to leave my lungs, and I thought I was dying as my chest tightened. Beads of cold sweat sprouted across my forehead, and I wasn't sure if I would puke or faint. Blair's eyes widened as she clutched my arm, and before I knew it, I was being dragged to a black iron bench far too many feet away.

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