Page 36 of If You Never Come Back
“I’m serious,” Remy says, digging into his own noodles. “Look, there’s no one who’s more excited than me about your business taking off. But you can’t neglect yourself. Remember what happened last time?”
I direct my dagger-stare from Remy to my pad thai. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Come on. You and I both know that post-breakup Shay is not the Shay we want.”
Dropping my container on the coffee table, I reach for a glass and down some water, hoping my silence conveys that I don’t want to talk about my sorry post-breakup state, especially when I feel so good about where I’m at now.
Remy leans over, taking a whiff of my hair. “You smell like coconut and verbena, not BO, so at least you’re bathing regularly again.”
I elbow his arm, but all he does is chuckle.
“How are things at Dandy Lime?” I ask.
He takes my cue to move on. “Busy. We miss you working there, but seeing you live out your dreams makes me all sorts of happy.”
The knot inside of me eases at Remy’s kind words. “I’m sorry I haven’t worked a shift lately, but I had to devote all my time to this.”
Remy nods and we finish our last few bites. He collects our empty containers and tosses them in the trash, then stands in front of me, hands on his hips.
I frown up at him. “What?”
“We both know what day is coming up.”
I say nothing, choosing to ignore that in a few days it will be Valentine’s Day—the day that I met Wes almost a year ago.
Remy sighs, his expression turning tender. “I just wanted to make sure you weren’t getting down about it.”
“I’m not. I’m fine.”
It’s a half-lie. When I’m distracted with work, Idofeel fine. But when I think about how happy I was a year ago—and how it all came crashing down—I can’t help but feel sad.
“I get what you’re doing,” Remy says. “You’re distracting yourself with work. But you have to be more than just a workaholic, Shay. Work-life balance is important. You’ll drive yourself into the ground if you’re not careful.”
I open my mouth to object, but I come up with nothing. He’s right.
“You should go out more, run errands, have a drink at your handsome cousin’s bar, flirt—”
“Really, Remy? Flirt?”
A soft smile tugs at Remy’s lips and he pats my leg. “Yes, even flirting.”
I bite back a groan, but the annoyed sound still seeps out. “If I promise to get out of the apartment, will you stop giving me unsolicited life advice?”
“I make no guarantees, but I’ll do my best.”
I laugh. “Fine.”
* * *
When I popinto the bookstore down the street from Remy’s bar, I’m greeted with an instrumental rendition of an old Michael Bolton hit. I chuckle as I slowly trot through the stacks, stopping whenever I see a book that catches my eye.
It’s strange being out in the middle of the day like this when I’ve got a mountain of projects to finish, but I promised Remy I’d get out for a least a little while today.
I swipe a romance novel from the top shelf, tapping my toe along to the beat of the power ballad.
“You’re a Michael Bolton fan I take it?”
I twist my head to the voice and am greeted with a pleasant visual. Tall, broad, blond, late-twenties, with a killer pair of blue eyes and an equally lethal smile.
