Page 9 of Shy Girl
“Talk then.”
The phone clicked off as I closed my eyes, leaned my head back, and sank into the quagmire of problems that had become my social life. Grady’s marriage was more than just one of us finally tying the knot, it was the official descent into structure and routine. It was . . . aging out of what we were before. Leaving behind thrills and challenges and excitement.
White picket fences and diapers.
On one level, I totally understood Vikram’s frustration with Grady. Grady was giving up the freedom and flexibility of the life all four of us had always loved, but he’d get something more stable and less lonely in return. Rarely did I ever think about marriage or commitment, but Grady had pulled me toward it again.
Now, I couldn’t help but at least wonder what I missed.
With a shake of my head, I glanced at my watch. Five minutes to go. Nothing like work to distract me from the looming monster on my mind: finding a date for Grady’s wedding.
And she couldn’t be just any girl, because whoever I took would be subjected to all three of my idiot friends at the same time. There would be questioning and judgment and vetting, because the boys always looked out for me. Not to mention the potential of drama from Victoria, and all of this wrapped up in a ritzy, Caribbean island package. Whoever I took, I had to be with for days on end.
No, this girl had to be special, and I had three days to find her before I had to finalize the flight, which left in a week.
Plenty of time.
With four minutes left in my shift, I opened my phone and pulled up my text messages.
Jayson:Hey Char. Coffee again this Friday?
Her reply came seconds later.
Charlotte:Same place as a few weeks ago?
Jayson:Same time.
Charlotte:Yep. Xio told me you took her last week. See you there!
Relieved, I tossed the phone into my cup holder, pulled the SUV into drive, and peeled out of the lake bed with my thoughts churning.
The Frolicking Moose smelled like vanilla and coffee beans when I stepped inside on Friday evening.
Dagny glanced up from behind the counter, her jade green eyes unsurprised to see me there. She didn’t bat an eye at my weekly meetings, but did seem curious from time to time. She gave me a quick smile, then turned back to her task. Three pens stuck out of the back of her hair when she spun around. They seemed to hold her brown hair into a loose knot. My brain knotted into a tumble of questions.
Was she still doing okay after the gun incident?
Any sort of PTSD?
Rarely did I know about what happened to peopleafteran incident, and even more rarely did I follow up to figure it out. Chasing the adrenaline of those moments was one thing for a guy like me, but how did a woman like Dagny bounce back? She had to work every day in the same place she’d been assaulted.
Maybe that sucked.
Before I could ask, someone approached from my right. A petite woman with dark hair, bright red heels, and sparkling hazel eyes came to my side. Charlotte. She flashed me a quick smile, but turned to Dagny.
“Soy caramel macchiato,” Charlotte said.
Dagny zipped to the register, punched in Charlotte’s order, and turned to me with a hesitant smile. “A-already g-got yours. B-b-both are on the h-house.”
I opened my mouth to protest, my hand halfway to my wallet, but she held up her hand. “P-p-please.”
Her eyes had a note of pleading in them, as if there was more to say but she didn’t want to say it. I held my breath and silently debated for a moment before I finally gave in.
“Thank you,” I said.
Since we’d done this several times before, Dagny grabbed my favorite mug and headed for the coffee. Charlotte studied Dagny closely, then looked back to me, as if startled by something. Then she pointed to her purse on our usual table and started me there with a not-so-gentle shove.
While we settled in across from each other, I tried to pull my thoughts away from Dagny. It wasn’t easy. Pitted against Charlotte’s flashy attire and sparkling presence, Dagny was more like a down-home friend. She wore jeans, sneakers, and a t-shirt that saidI got your hot beansacross the front.
