Page 92 of The Roommate Lie

Raven chuckles darkly and nods in agreement. “Date night.”

With that out of the way, their focus shifts back to me, and we return to the catastrophe at hand. The charred remains of my not-so-love life.

After I explain the situation, they give me whatever advice they can, even Mark pitches in. The only person who doesn’t is my AA sponsor, Gunnar. The guy who runs this hot shop and first taught me how to work with glass.

He stays out of it, but I understand. Anyone who knows glassblowing knows his story. Gunnar Eriksen hasn’t believed in love for a very long time. If my wife left me for my best friend while I was in rehab, I probably wouldn’t either.

None of the advice I get helps. My glassworks family gives it everything they’ve got, but by the time they’re finished, Alice’s ex still exists, and she still probably prefers him over me. It isn’t until the hot shop doors swing open that I finally snap out of my bad mood.

Alice is here.

With Lydia.

I’d forgotten I asked Tyler’s sister to bring Alice here after work. I scramble to my feet and try to look far less pathetic than I am. We have work to do.

Tame the dragon.That’s the last item left on our Nice List, and I had a whole different experience planned, one where I bribed my co-workers into leaving and flirted my heart out. But there’s no point in doing that now.

Unless the Old Birds were wrong.

I do a little detective work as soon as Lydia leaves to return her boss’s car. Ushering Alice across the hot shop, I grab a metal rod off the wall, the punty we’ll need to make her a souvenirpaperweight. Then I give her a casual glance. “How was your day?”

“Fine.”

I can’t tell if she’s being distant or shy. If her lack of eye contact is because she’s nervous after that kiss on Four Pines Peak, or if she wishes Jason were here instead. Steadying my nerves, I try again.

“Has it been weird staying next to the bed-and-breakfast while you’re in town?”

I try to make that question sound nonchalant, but Alice clams up on the spot. Ducking her head, a faint blush dusts her cheeks. “No, it’s been fine,” she stammers. “Why?”

“I just wasn’t sure if you’d ever run into your ex. That would be awkward, right?”

“No—nope—thankfully, never! Haven’t seen him.” She giggles nervously. “That would be awful, though. Horrible!”

My heart sinks, and I try not to let it show. This is the problem with a girl who can’t lie. Always knowing the truth is a blessing and a curse.

I fight to keep myself together as I guide her to the furnace full of molten glass against the back wall, the metal monstrosity we call “the dragon” that she’ll need to tame if she wants to make her paperweight. As I explain what we’re going to do next, I force myself to be funny and friendly and everything I always relied on when I was a kid. All the masks I wore so no one would know my heart was breaking.

Practice makes perfect.

When she hesitates at the furnace and needs my help, I smile my way through that too. I stand behind her and reach around to rest my hands on hers, so we can dip the end of the punty into the furnace together. Her back nestled against my chest as I help Alice make her first gather of molten glass.

Maybe I should crack a few jokes or make small talk while we work, but I can’t. Not with Alice in my arms. All I can do is hold on to her and forget how right it feels, even when it’s wrong. Enjoy her and try to ignore the sharp pang in my chest when it’s over.

The ache I feel deep in my soul when I finally have to let go.

After I drive Alice home, I grab my board and duck back out. I feel like an angsty teenager again, my skateboard rumbling down the sidewalk as whole blocks whiz past. Ponderosa Falls is a blur, and I ride around way later than I should, trying to forget.

But by the time I return home for good, hours later, I’m in a very different mood. I’m ready to get in trouble, and only one kind of trouble will do.

The Alice kind.

Chapter Forty-Eight

ALICE

Long after we leave the hot shop, I can still feel Charlie’s arms around me. How good it felt as he helped me gather molten glass to make that paperweight, the heat from the furnace warming my skin. You’d think that would make it easier to write the big kiss scene in my novel tonight, all those nice warm thoughts. But you’d be wrong.

I pull the sheet of paper out of my typewriter and fan myself with it. When that doesn’t help, I go downstairs.

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