Page 16 of To Her

"Apparently not enough to keep his word," I said, trying to sound nonchalant. "It's fine. I knew it wasn't going anywhere."

James studied me for a moment. "You're disappointed."

"I'm tired," I corrected him. "And hungry. And not in the mood to dissect my non-existent love life. Now tell me about this guy you were texting."

He hesitated, clearly wanting to push the Matt issue, but then seemed to think better of it. "His name's Liam. We matched on Tinder last week, and we've been talking ever since. We're meeting for drinks on Friday."

"Liam," I repeated. "Wait, was he at the new year party? Blond guy with a man-bun?"

James's eyes widened. "You know him?"

"I met him briefly. He's friends with Jake." I grinned. "Small world."

"Is he hot in person? His pictures are insane, but you know how that goes."

"Pics or it didn't happen, I didn’t get a good look at him at the party,” I said, holding out my hand for his phone at the next red light.

James unlocked it and pulled up Liam's profile. I scrolled through the photos—Liam at the beach, Liam hiking, Liam with a dog. He was undeniably attractive, with the kind of symmetrical features and easy smile that belonged in commercials.

"Damn," I said, handing the phone back as the light turned green. "He's hot as fuck."

"I know, right?" James sighed dramatically. "All the good-looking ones are gay."

I laughed. "That's what I was just thinking."

"They are," he agreed with a smug smile. "And I'm glad, because I get them all to myself. I don't have to share."

We were still laughing as we pulled into the restaurant's parking lot. Despite my exhaustion and the lingering disappointment over Matt, I felt my mood lifting. James had that effect on people—he could make you forget your problems, at least for a little while.

As we set up for the morning, James connected his phone to the kitchen speakers. "What are we feeling today? Upbeat to match our sleep deprivation?"

"Surprise me," I said, counting out the register.

A moment later, the unmistakable opening notes of "Crank That (Soulja Boy)" filled the kitchen. I looked up to find James already doing the dance, complete with exaggerated movements and a completely serious expression.

"Oh my god," I laughed. "What are you, twelve?"

"Don't pretend you don't know every move," he challenged, continuing to dance as he checked the prep list.

He was right, of course. The song had been inescapable during our high school years, and we'd spent countless hours perfecting the dance at parties.

"Come on," he urged. "You know you want to."

And because it was James, and because sometimes you just needed to be ridiculous to forget your problems, I joined in. There we were, two sleep-deprived adults, dancing to Soulja Boy in an empty restaurant kitchen at 6:30 in the morning.

"Superman that ho!" James sang at the top of his lungs, nearly knocking over a stack of plates with his enthusiastic movements.

I was laughing so hard I could barely keep up with the dance, but it didn't matter. For those few minutes, I wasn't thinking about Matt or Ben or my exhausting schedule or myuncertain future. I was just having fun with my best friend, being completely and utterly silly.

As the song ended, we collapsed against the counter, still giggling.

"Feel better?" James asked, his eyes knowing.

I nodded, catching my breath. "Much."

"Good. Now help me prep these muffins before the caffeine-deprived hordes descend."

As we fell into our familiar routine, I found myself grateful for the constants in my life—James's friendship, the rhythm of the restaurant, the comfort of knowing exactly what was expected of me. Maybe Matt would call today. Maybe he wouldn't. Either way, life would go on.

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