Page 78 of Holly Freakin' Hughes

Ileaned my weight against the door frame, immediately putting the pieces of thatparticular puzzle together with ease. “So, Liz was the other woman, huh?” Iasked, stepping aside to grant Ben and his bouquet of flowers passage into thehouse.

Hegritted his teeth and knitted his brows together in worry. “Is this weird foryou? Because I can wait outside.”

Iconsidered the question for a moment, placing a hand on my hip. The shortanswer was that, yes, it was incredibly weird and I was planning on having anice chat with my sister the second I was able to. But there were grey areas,and that was what prevented me from feeling weird enough to send him out intothe cold.

Justthen, a gussied-up Liz appeared by my side with a grin plastered on her face.Right there in front of me, the two of them squished their lips together for apain-staking second and Liz invited him in. She took the flowers from him andsauntered her way into the kitchen. I hastily excused myself and followed herwhile Anna squealed Ben’s name. Apparently, she had been aware of this pairingbefore I even had a clue.

“So,you and Benny, huh,” I said casually.

Shesighed, still wearing her smile. “Okay, I know I owe you an explanation, but Ididn’t want to say anything because you’re, um—you know, going through abreakup—”

Itwas the first time anybody had alluded to Brandon since that night. I swallowedhard with a deep breath, eyeing the refrigerator and imagining the beautifulbox of wine inside.

“Can’tbe a breakup when we were never together,” I mumbled, and then shook my head atthe absurdity of the situation, putting myself back on track. “Wait,that’swhy you didn’t say anything? Not the fact that I’ve, you know, seen him naked?”

Herface screwed up, as though she had just taken a big bite out of a lemon. “Well,that was weird in the beginning but it doesn’t bother me anymore. He never feltanything for you.”

“Oh,well, that’s wonderful,” I quipped. “Wait, how long has this been going on?”

“Um,well, let me think.” She counted on her fingers, whispering the numbers as shewent. “Two weeks, I think?”

Mymouth dropped, doing the math quickly in my head. “Ben and I ended things twoweeks ago,” I said flatly. I grabbed a plastic cup and went to the fridge forsome wine.

Sheshrugged, twisting her lips. She looked a touch shameful, but not enough to endthings, and I couldn’t blame her for that. “When you guys broke it off, hecalled me pretty much right away and told me how he felt.”

Benstuck his head in the kitchen. “Babe, my mom made the reservations for six andit’s already a quarter to.” He glanced at me. “Um, are we good here?”

Liz’seyes were also on me, and dammit, I felt like some wine drinking circus freakshow; “Step right up and see the woman who can’t hold onto a man to save herlife!” But the longer they stared, biting the inside of their cheeks, it dawnedon me that they wanted my blessing and at first, I wasn’t so sure I could giveit to them. I mean, why would I even want to watch these two people blossominto something perfect, and something I couldn’t seem to maintain for myself?

Butthen with a reluctant clarity, I remembered how much Liz had done for me all ofthose months, and never once asked for anything in return. I remembered heryears of being single, and how lonely she must have been before I landed on herdoorstep. She deserved her own happiness, and she had obviously found it withBen.

Aftera few moments, I nodded my approval and told him that, yeah, we were good. Asthough they had been holding their breath, they both sighed heavily and smiled.Not at me, but at each other, and I caught the glimmer in their eyes. Thelittle sparkle I was so familiar with.

Theywere in love, and my heart ached with a cocktail of jealousy and sadness.

Goddammit,I miss Brandon.

CHAPTERTHIRTY-TWO

BRANDON

The view was a postcardpicture of beauty and serenity with my gaze seton the setting sun, painting a shimmering canvas of sunlight across the ocean.The cool Florida winter breeze blew my hair back, sending the natural scent ofthe beach wafting up my nostrils, and I inhaled deeply.

Momand Dad sat next to me in their beach lounge chairs, connected by their hands,looking out at the never-ending expanse of the ocean before us. They sighedhappily, never tiring of the view they saw every day of their peaceful lives.

Dadreached into his cooler, pulling out another beer and then tapped me on theshoulder to ask if I wanted one.

“Whythe hell not,” I replied, and accepted the bottle, twisting the cap off withease.

Icaught the disapproving glance Mom shot at him as I knocked the bottle back,knowing she was probably thinking about the fourth bottle of Scotch I hadbrought home from the liquor store earlier that day. Dad had defended theoverconsumption of alcohol, saying that it was what writers did to get thecreative juices flowing, but boy, was he wrong. I had never needed to fit thatstereotype before, and I seldom drank save for a glass of something onoccasion. No, drinking was what I did when I wanted to forget, but the onlything I managed to forget was that drinking never actually helped me to forgetanything.

Iguess I just never learned.

Myarms crossed over my chest with the bottle in hand as a few young ladies walkedby; their eyes interrogating my body while wearing flirtatious smiles. Isuddenly felt over-exposed, wishing I had brought a shirt with me from thecondo.

Dadwinked at me. “They’re cute, right?” He had spent the past month makingattempts to get me interested in other women, to keep me from moping too muchover Holly. He had since been unsuccessful, but I wasn’t sure I could blame himfor trying.

“Sure,if I was into cradle-robbing.” I shook my head before taking another swig,pushing the salty dampness of my hair out of my face.

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