The Fastest Way to Fall(19)

Pearl called after me, “Next time I’ll remind Cord to get to the good stuff first.”

I sat in the back seat and tapped my fingers against my leg before pulling out my phone as we inched through traffic. Out the window, a man in a heavy gray coat loaded flowers and balloons into the back of a florist delivery van. Red and pink bouquets provided a sharp contrast to the blustery, colorless day. Thinking about B and her flower recommendations, I snapped a photo of the open trunk and attached it to a message.



From: FitMiCoachWes1

To: Bmoney34

Sent: February 14, 11:55 a.m.


B,


Lots of roses in this pic. Are you sure about your recommendations? I hope you’re having a good day.


Wes



Even as I hit send, I knew I shouldn’t. I’d set up the coaching program to avoid impropriety and keep communication professional. I set my phone aside, because I felt myself pulled to break my own rules and I didn’t like it. There was something about B that made me not only ignore the voice of reason in my head but permanently mute it.



From: Bmoney34

To: FitMiCoachWes1

Sent: February 14, 11:58 a.m.


Wes,


Amateurs. I wouldn’t lead you astray. I hope you haven’t bought boxes of fiber-loaded, fat-free, sugar-free, flavor-free carob for your friends and loved ones today.


B


P.S. Your weather looks as bad as mine. Where in the country are you? Can I ask that?



Shit. Another rule out the window. I always told new coaches to follow three rules related to their identity: Don’t give out your real name, don’t send photos, and keep your location private. As I thought through how to respond, the car stopped in front of Margo’s. I’d have to wait to reply to B. I took a slow, cleansing breath that did nothing to ease the full-body twitchiness coursing through me. Thanking the driver, I reluctantly stepped out.

The faded green awning and chipped gold paint on the window hadn’t changed. I wasn’t sure why I expected this to be different from the hundreds of other times I’d walked into the space. The smell of coffee and fries was inviting, and the diner buzzed. Nothing about this place was trendy or fancy, but it felt a lot like home. Unfortunately, much like going home, I had no idea what to expect when I got there.

I glanced around until I spotted her. Unlike the diner, everything about Kelsey was different. Her hair, formerly long and the color of milk chocolate, was now blond and cut above her shoulders. Her face looked thinner, and her glasses were gone. I’d always kind of liked her glasses. She waved, and the same smile I’d tried hard to earn all those years crossed her face. The wave of pride I felt when I got one swept over me without my consent.

“Wes.” She stood, a fitted dark blue dress and jacket giving her a poise I’d forgotten. She leaned in, wrapping an arm around my back to pull me into a stiff hug.

I inhaled the scent of her shampoo, and the memories of being with her, being close to her, rushed over me.

“Hey, Kelsey.”

“It’s good to see you.” Her voice was clear and businesslike.

We settled into the booth, and a familiar uneasiness crept over me.

“I didn’t think you’d ever agree to meet with me,” she said, tucking a blond strand behind her ear with a manicured red fingernail. She never used to paint her nails.

“You were persistent.”

“Persistence is one of my better qualities.”

“I remember.”

I looked at the menu, though it was just to keep my hands busy. We had a routine here. She’d order a big, greasy burger with fries. I’d order a grilled chicken sandwich and a salad, and the waitress would give me the side-eye, questioning if she should take my man card before or after bringing the check.

“I’m glad you came.”

I continued to study the menu. “What did you want to discuss?”

“It’s been a long time. How are you? So much has changed.” She set her own menu aside and dabbed at the condensation dripping off her glass.

A waitress approached our table. “What can I get you?”

Kelsey asked for a salad with no dressing and a plain chicken breast, and I ordered a burger.

“I guess things have changed,” she said with a smile.

I met her eye then, my expression unmoving. “Guess so.” Her comment pushed my unease into something more like distrust.

She tapped her fingers gently against the table. “Yeah, anyway. I’m sure you’ve seen our new ads. I’d hoped to tell you in person before the latest campaign launched, but you wouldn’t call me back.”

My silence made her anxious. She hated silence.

“So, we went ahead. But I wanted you guys to understand it’s not personal. It’s just business.”

Just business. That’s what she said when she broke up with me and left our company in the same week.

She rearranged her water glass. I had an urge to reach over and push it an inch to the left, moving it off-center of her napkin just to disrupt her sense of order. “And our customer bases are so different. But I knew you’d take it personally, even after all this time, and I still care about you, Wes.”

I nodded, wishing I was the kind of guy who would get up and just walk out.

“Are you going to say anything?”