Page 29 of Peaches

I’ve never felt jealous like this before. Not overanywoman.

Weaseling my way behind the bar like a chump, I push in beside Wells, looking pointedly at Olivia’s nearly empty glass. “How are you doing?”

Wells looks at me hard, confusion rippling across his face.

I ignore him.

“Good,” she says with a small smile.

Her eyes look less sad, and I don’t think she’s been crying. “Did you read it?”

She shakes her head. “Not yet. Wells came by to say hi. Did you know we graduated high school together?”

“Is that right?”

“Yeah,” Wells chimes in. “We were just catching up.”

I nod. “I think somebody needs help over there,” I tell him.

Wells eyes the patrons sitting all around us. “Where?”

I shoot him a menacing glare. “Overthere.”

Wells’s head angles as he looks back at me, but then his eyes flit to Olivia before something finally seems to register. “Oh, right.” He clears his throat before throwing Olivia a mild grin. “Sorry, work to do. It was good seeing you, Olivia.”

“Likewise!”

He walks away, and I turn back to her. “Read the letter.”

Her smile shifts into a mock-frown. “You’re mean.”

I shrug. “So I’m told. You want another glass?”

“Maybe just alittleone.”

I pour her alittlemore wine—only one finger’s worth this time—and gently encourage her to read the damn letter before giving her space again.

This time, she does.

I keep a close eye on her as she opens the seal. She pulls out a piece of paper and unfolds it, and I can’t see any of the words from where I practically hide around a corner, but it’s obvious there are a lot of words written on that letter. Olivia’s motionless as she reads, and after what feels like the longest minutes of my life, her shoulders slump and she buries her face in her hands.

I’m moving before a thought even forms in my head.

“What happened?” I ask roughly when I reach her, this time from her side of the bar.

She shifts in her seat to look up at me, a bright smile shining through tears that wet her cheeks. “It’s from Céline, my sister,” she explains around a hiccup. “She wants me to come . . . to her wedding. And she wrote such nice things.”

“That’s good. But how come you’re crying?”

Her smile slips as more tears well in her eyes. “I-I can’t go,” she whispers.

“Why not?”

She looks down at her fingernails, taking a moment before she speaks again. But when she does, the words come through a quieter sob. “She wouldn’tunderstand.”

I wrap my arms around her and pull her into my chest. The lights are so low in the Coyote that it’s impossible to make out the space just two feet in front of me, but Ifeelthe curious eyes in my periphery. “It’s okay,” I murmur. “We’ll figure it out.” Her shoulders shake through silent tears for a few minutes, and then she pulls away from me. Her eyes are swollen and her cheeks are flushed red, and Ihate it. Hate the sadness seeping from her.

“Can you take me home?” she asks.

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