Halfway to You(40)

“Do you like them?”

I met Todd’s eyes over the lilies and dahlias. Nodded.

“Surprised?” Keith asked me, still grinning.

Was this a joke? Or had he forgotten how things had ended in Greece? Perhaps Keith thought our correspondence and business partnership had erased the pain of Santorini, but it hadn’t. Keith and I had formed new memories, but Todd—Todd and I were still on that rooftop, drunk and arguing.

I don’t love you.

That was how I remembered Todd. The emotions of that night surged through me all over again, the distinct pitch of rejection after flying so high on infatuation. I thought I had grown in the three years since Greece, but standing before him now, I was still the naive girl he’d met in Venice, heart in her hand, destined for a letdown.

“I know this is . . . weird,” Todd said. “But I’m ecstatic you could be here.”

“Is this your bookstore?”

“Yes,” Keith said at the same time Todd clarified, “My parents’.”

I had to admit: “It’s magical. The murals . . .”

“My father painted them. He was a children’s book illustrator.” Was.

“He illustrated all of Connie’s books,” Keith added.

“My mother,” Todd said.

Realization clicked. This was his parents’ business. A bookstore. Dreamer Bookstore. When we’d discussed employment in Venice, Todd had changed the subject. Had that been because his parents were no longer around? It broke my heart to think of them gone, their son carrying their legacy.

But Todd also broke my heart—smashed it to pieces.

I was sweating in my dress, wet rings forming under my arms. I grew claustrophobic, the beautifully painted walls closing in on me. “I . . . I can’t read here,” I whispered.

Keith touched my arm. “Of course you can.”

I was shaking my head—or perhaps all of me was shaking. “I can’t,” I said. “I just . . .” I dropped the flowers on the counter and ran through the door, down the sidewalk, to the rental car. I bent over, dragging the hot evening air through my lungs. I thought I’d spent the past three years healing, but I’d merely been forgetting. Seeing Todd brought it all to the forefront again.

Keith stormed over. “What the hell was that?”

“That’s what I’d like to know,” I said, wheeling toward him. Out in the fresh, balmy air, the numbness of my shock now morphed into humming anger. My body was abuzz. “Why did you spring him on me like that?”

“It was a happy surprise!” Keith said. “I thought you’d be glad.”

I threw my hands in the air, exasperated. “Why on earth would I be glad?”

“It’s Todd!”

A pair of window-shoppers glanced our way, and I pinched my mouth closed, waiting for them to pass.

In a low voice, I asked, “Do you recall how Todd and I left things?”

“I thought that was water under the bridge.”

“Did he tell you that?”

“No, but I—”

“Things are not resolved with Todd. I thought you knew better than to keep playing matchmaker. How did you get him to agree to this?”

“He asked if he could host you,” Keith said, folding his arms. “He wanted to congratulate you. Celebrate you.”

That angered me even more—that Todd thought he could use my book tour as a way to repent. But the anger was short lived. My eyes traveled the block to the bookshop, where Todd was standing out front, watching us with obvious concern etched on his faraway features. Though he was out of earshot, I worried he could infer the wobble in my voice when I uttered a weak, “Yeah, well . . . ,” and dipped my chin. My heart was a sponge being squeezed of all its juices.

“What’s wrong?” Keith asked, stepping closer. “I thought you remembered our time in Greece fondly?”

“I do,” I said. “It’s just”—my voice cracked, but I talked through it—“I thought I was over him, but apparently I’m not.” Gaining steam, I added, “And my mother never came tonight—my own mother! And I’m tired, Keith. I just want to go home. I miss my stoop cats, and the markets, and my quiet life. I hate America. I hate being on display. I’ve been on edge for weeks, and—”

He drew me into his arms, cutting off my rant. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize. I didn’t think of it that way.”

I tucked my face into his chest and let a few tears fall before forcing myself back into composure. I released him, cleared my throat, and wiped my wet cheeks. Todd was still watching us from down the street. “I know it’s wildly unprofessional, but I can’t do a reading there.”

“It’s okay, he’ll understand,” Keith said. “But I’ll have to go back to explain. Do you want to wait in the car?”

“Yes, please.” It occurred to me that Keith had not seen his best friend in a long time; he hadn’t been home since Christmas. “Will you have another chance to visit with him?”

“Tomorrow,” he said, handing me the car keys. “I’ll be right back.”

A big sigh rolled through me. I climbed into the passenger seat and turned the ignition, dialing up the air conditioning. In the side mirror, I watched Keith return to the bookstore. He clapped a hand on Todd’s back. As he spoke, Todd’s face sank, but I couldn’t tell whether it was disappointment or simply a trick of shadow. Next, they hugged, and then Todd retreated back into his shop and Keith returned to the car.