Page 93 of Champagne Fizz

I can tell she’s trying to decide how she measures up, to see if what we’re doing falls into the category of quick and disposable.

“Her world,” I clarify. “Not that I haven’t had a hook-up before, or … well, it’s been a long time.”

“So,” her tone tightens, “have you had girlfriends?”

“Is that the same thing as a female friend?” I ask cheekily, and she flushes.

“You know what I mean.”

“Long term? Like years? No,” I admit, twirling the handle of the hatchet in my hand to find the right grip. “I’ve had a couple relationships that lasted for a little while but …”

I lift my hand and rachet my arm back.

“No magic?” she offers.

I tilt my head to the side with a crook in my smile. That’s so like Kendall to want things to feel like a cheesy Christmas movie: snowflakes, twinkling lights, that warm hot-chocolate feeling.

“It’s hard to have magic when you have an Arie,” I say, unleashing the ax toward the wall.

Smack!The blade plants itself right next to the bullseye.

“Meaning?” Kendall asks softly.

“Dragon. Flames. Raging jealousy.” I shrug.

“But she’s got a boyfriend,” Kendall says, shaking her head. “Why would she be jealous?”

“Women are complicated?” I offer as a joke, but all it wins me is a smirk. “My best guess is that Arie and I have been friends for years,” I say. “I’m the constant. A rock in her life and vice versa. Sturdy keel.”

“But friends want their friends to be happy, to fall in love, to have their dreams come true.”

My chest warms at how transparent that comment is. She wants relationships to be like Weddings with Hart—full of marshmallows and butterflies.

“Of course, Arie wants me to be happy,” I agree. “But I think she imagines I already am. We do have the best damn restaurant in Oahu.”

“But your heart?”

She means that comment in the most innocent way, but she keeps falling into traps with this conversation. She bites her lip, realizing the intimacy of that question.

“I don’t know,Hart,” I say with a cheekiness. “What should I tell you about myheart?”

In response, she walks down the shoot to retrieve the ax from my throw.

“Woah now,” I tease. “I can’t say I trust you with weapons when you’re asking these types of questions. I’m pretty sure there’s a joke in here about cutting out hearts, chopping them up, and breaking them into a million pieces.”

“Maybe Arie’s a great friend then,” Kendall offers. “Her jealousy keeps you from having to deal with any of those things.” She turns to the wall and throws the ax wildly, letting out a tiny squeak due to her own vigorousness. Almost ironically, the hatchet sinks right into the chest of the target.

A perfect heart shot.

“You practicing for a side hustle carving out internal organs? Weddings by Hart by day and—”

She looks at me with a pained expression. “Why do you turn everything into a joke?”

“I don’t know, Kendall,” I say, dancing around the subject. “You just asked about my heart. What do you want me to say?”

“What you feel, Simon. What you’re thinking.”

She looks at me plainly, those brown eyes pleading that I be transparent.

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