Page 13 of Just Friends

“Do you have a better idea?”

“Many.”

“Let me hear ’em,” I say, and Adam crosses his arms, looking away. “That’s what I thought.”

“So you’re in love with your best friend?” the old man asks as I sit next to him, leaving a wide berth between us. He’s still not bothering to hide anything, although I really, really wish he would.

“Love is a strong word,” I say immediately, glancing at Adam quickly. Despite his annoyance, I see a flash of a smile quickly cross his features.

“He’s in love,” Adam answers. “That’s the only logical explanation for why he would be acting this dumb.”

My eyes narrow in a glare.

“I agree,” the stranger says. “You have the look of love about you.” He gestures to my eyes. “It’s there, in the depths of your eyes. They’re a window, you know.”

Maybe listening to this man wasn’t my brightest idea. But I can’t help the clawing sensation in my chest at that word—love. It feels so strong, so powerful and unbreakable, but also strangely…right. Shaking off the thought, I put it on a shelf in my mind and decide to come back to examine it later. Maybe when I’m not sitting next to a naked stranger in a locker room.

“Tell me about her,” the man says.

I clasp my hands between my knees, staring at a smudge on the wall. “Hazel is…well, she’s sunshine,” I say on an exhale, like the thought is a breath I’ve been holding for two years. “She’s got an amazing laugh, and she never fails to light up a room. She’s one of those people who’s just so easy to be around. She makes everyone feel comfortable. Her nose crinkles when she smiles, and she’s always got paint or charcoal somewhere on her body because she’s an artist. Her art is breathtaking. It’s like she manages to take a piece of her soul and put it on canvas.” I pause, my heart beating like a steady drum in my chest. “Sometimes I’m jealous of the people who buy her paintings because they get to keep a piece of her that I’ll never have.”

When I turn back to my companions, they’re staring at me with open mouths. My face heats, an unfamiliar blush staining my cheeks.

“That was beautifully put,” the old man says, his accent seeming stronger. “She is obviously very important to you.”

I nod, not sure I trust myself not to spill more of my thoughts like a preteen writing in a journal.

“Does she have a best friend besides you?”

“Yes, Lucy. They met at the coffee shop Lucy owns and became pretty fast friends.”

“Does Lucy know of your feelings?”

Adam snorts in the corner. “Anyone with eyes knows of his feelings.”

My eyes narrow in a glare at him, but I turn back to the old man. “No, she doesn’t.”

He nods, as if this is confirmation of something he already knew. “I would advise you to talk to her. See how she thinks Hazel feels about you and then proceed.”

It’s…not the worst idea. Although the idea of baring my soul to Lucy makes me feel physical pain, she’s also the only one who would know Hazel as well as I do. She could tell me if there’s a chance at all or if I should give up before I get hurt.

I look at Adam, and I’m surprised to see the respect in the lines of his eyes. “What do you think?” I ask him.

“I think,” he says and hesitates, considering. “I think that could work.”

Turning back to the stranger, I ask, “Did you hear my plan to set her up on bad dates?”

The old man scoffs. “Yes, and that’s idiotic.”

“What should I do instead?” I ask, ignoring Adam, who just let out a satisfied grunt.

“You’re doing both of you a disservice if you make yourself out to be the best of the worst. You have to show her that you are the best of the best. For her. Set her up with men she will like when you go out. But remember to keep showing up for her the rest of the time. You have something that they don’t—a piece of her she’s reserved for only you. Take advantage of that.”

Resolution, warm and heavy, floods through my veins at his words. Nowthisfeels like a plan. This could work. For the first time since sitting in that booth with my best friend on Saturday night, I don’t feel a sick sense of dread curdling in my stomach.

The old man stands, making his dangly bits level with my face. I push to my feet as well, although that image is firmly seared into my mind like a muddy footprint on clean wood floors.

“Thank you for your help,” I say as he starts to walk back around the corner.

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