Page 45 of Just Friends

Stevie regards me carefully, and I can tell she sees more than I want her to. I have a feeling Stevie has spent a lot of her life watching, noticing all the things no one else does. “Do youwantit to stay a secret?”

“No,” I say, and it comes out like a moan, like a desperate plea. “No, I don’t, but I’m terrified of the outcome of her finding out before she’s ready. Of herneverbeing ready.”

“I don’t know how much you know about Hazel’s past relationships,” Stevie starts.

“I know there’s a hardware shop owner and an insurance salesman I’d love to meet in a dark alley.”

Her lips twitch again before the serious look returns to her face. “Hazel hasn’t had the best luck with men. She’s so…” Stevie trails off, searching for the word. “Good. Hazel’s so good. She gives everything to the people she loves. And they’ve rarely given it back to her.”

“I won’t do that.” The vow rasps out of me.

Stevie nods. “I believe you, and I know Hazel does too. Your friendship means more to her than anything, and you have to realize how scary that would be for her to risk.”

My throat tightens against the lump forming there.

“Things were so dark for her after Sebastian. I mean, you know. You were there,” Stevie says, and my head dips as a flood of memories rushes through me. “She was so lost, so broken. She wasn’t painting, and she was hardly working.Youwere her lifeline. You and Cam and your friend group in Nashville. You all brought her back to life.

“And that has to beterrifyingto risk, Alex. She may feel ready to put her heart on the line again, but I don’t know if she’s capable of putting you on the line. She can bounce back from another broken heart, but she can’t bounce back from losing you. I don’t think she’s even let herself consider you because that risk is more than she’s willing to bargain for,” Stevie says, her voice thick.

A door creaks open down the hall before I can respond, and Stevie and I jerk into action, pretending like the conversation never happened. I’m pulling mason jars from the cabinet when Hazel shuffles into the kitchen, her gauzy sleep shorts and tank looking wrinkled, her hair a mess of golden-brown waves.

“Morning,” she says, her mouth stretching into a smile brighter than the sunshine cresting over the mountains outside.

“Morning,” I echo, pouring her a glass of orange juice from the pitcher on the counter.

Her hands wrap around the jar, and she takes a sip before sidling up next to Stevie. “Can you move to Nashville so you can be closer to me?”

Stevie grins, but it looks strained. “I don’t think so. Your dad wouldn’t be very happy with me.”

“My dad couldn’t care less,” Hazel says, bumping her shoulder with Stevie’s.

“I don’t know,” Stevie says, cracking an egg over the skillet. “You and Cam ducked out of here. Someone’s got to hold down the fort.”

“What did I do?” Cam says, rounding the corner, rubbing his eye with the hand that’s not wrapped around Ellie’s.

“Moved away to chase your dreams,” Hazel drones.

“And then you moved away to chase your brother. Twice,” Cam says, a smile flickering across his lips.

Hazel scoots next to me, leaning into my shoulder. Her skin is smooth and warm against mine, and having her next to me like this makes everything feel right.

“I was chasing Alex to Nashville,” Hazel says. “Don’t let your ego get out of control.”

Cam sits on one of the barstools. “Then how come you didn’t live with him?” he asks, tone teasing.

“Alex never offered,” Hazel says, crossing her arms over her chest and fixing me with her best impersonation of a glare.

“He would never make the mistake of giving up the bachelor pad again,” Ellie intones, pouring herself a glass of orange juice before sitting next to Cam.

Hazel’s eyes dart up to mine. “Alex hasn’t even dated in, like, a year.”

I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry, because all these hints—not offering to let Hazel live with me, not dating since she moved here—are all bound to add up in someone’s mind soon enough.

I see the exact moment it does for Ellie. Her eyes light imperceptibly, fixing on my own. A smile tugs at her lips, and she says, “Maybe he’s holding out for someone special.”

“A nun who’s willing to leave the convent for me,” I say quickly, grateful my voice doesn’t betray the anxiety roiling inside me.

“Or a mail-order bride,” Hazel offers.

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