Overnight Sensation(86)

This is what I was always afraid of. My frigid heart is back. And I’m not the only one who will suffer.

“Coffee and bagels,” I mumble eventually, after my pulse finally slows. “Want to go out and grab breakfast?”

A beat goes by before she answers. “Sure.”

My heart drops again. I can hear her disappointment, and her confusion. This is why I haven’t dated anyone for five years. This awkwardness right here is the reason. Heidi wants sex, and so do I. But she also wants real intimacy.

Today I just don’t have it in me.

Heidi makes me want to be the kind of guy who isn’t too damaged for easygoing weekend morning sex. But I’m not that guy today, and there aren’t any words to explain. Because I don’t really understand it myself. What kind of idiot turns down sex just because he had a bad dream?





Things improve for me at One Girl Cookies. Coffee is a miracle drug, for starters. I buy us two giant cappuccinos and one of everything they make—quiche, muffins, croissants. We cut every offering in half and share.

I’m soothed by the scent of baked goods and the coffee shop noises. It’s harder to feel crazy over the clink of coffee cups and the sound of the milk frother. Heidi makes all the conversation. She tells me her daring plan to finish up her time with the Ice Girls.

“I’m going to audition for the dance team. And I’m going to record all the rules he has for the dancers—that he’ll fire me if I gain ten pounds, and that I’m not allowed to fraternize with the players.”

I choke on my coffee. “You little rule-breaker!”

She smiles. “I know! Like it’s any of his business who I’m with. I can’t wait to see his face when Rebecca terminates his contract. He’s going to be so mad.”

That’s a sobering thought. “Honey, I don’t think you should approach the man after Rebecca lets him go. If he’s angry, I don’t want you near him.”

Heidi makes an angry noise. “Think about what you just said. You can’t forbid me to talk to him, just like he can’t forbid me to talk to you! Do you hear yourself?”

Whoops. I really should have phrased that differently. “Good point,” I say quickly. “But I respectfully suggest that you don’t put yourself in an angry man’s path when you’re alone, at least.”

Heidi eyes me over the rim of her coffee mug. “The only time you ever make me mad is when you don’t treat me like an adult.”

Ah. Well, it’s good to know that I’m off the hook for every other nutty thing I’ve done this week. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. If you weren’t an adult I wouldn’t like you half so much as I do.”

This wins me a tiny smile. Her phone bleats. Heidi picks it up and squints at the screen. “It’s my sister. I should probably talk to her.”

“Actually, I have an errand down the block. Meet you back at home?”

“Sure,” she says brightly. “I’m going to grab a muffin for Silas before I call my sister back. I’m worried about him.”

“He’s okay,” I say instinctively. Sometimes a guy just needs to make a few poor life choices to exorcise the demons in his head. The other night in Seattle when we got snowed in? Silas and I both got plastered. And to the surprise of pretty much everyone in the bar, Silas picked up a hockey fangirl and took her upstairs.

Silas never bangs the fans. But that doesn’t mean he shouldn’t indulge if he feels the urge.

“Still,” she says, stacking our empty plates. “I’m going to bring him a pastry.”

I take the plates out of her hands. “You’re the best girl in the world. I got these. Go buy muffins and call your sister.”

She gives me a grateful smile that I don’t really deserve and picks up her bag. “See you in fifteen.”

When I leave the coffee shop, I head straight for the florist on the corner. The same surly woman is behind the counter again. “You’re back,” she says. “Does that mean it’s going well?”

“Uh,” I say stupidly. But the question catches me off guard. “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.”

She cackles, but I’m not joking. Heidi is fantastic. I care for her a hell of a lot more than I ever planned to. But I don’t know how to navigate my own drama. And I sure as hell don’t want to drag her down with me.

“Page four, I think.” She flips open her book. “This one here is for fighting over nothing.” She taps a multicolored arrangement. “Does that fit?”

“Not exactly. What kind of flower says—I’m sorry I’m trapped inside my own dumb head?”

“Hmm.” She squints at me. “I’m going to do up some poppies and draping ivy. It will look smashing.”

“Thank you.” I slap my credit card down on the counter.

“But it won’t do the trick,” she adds.

“What? You’re the master of floral expressions. It says so right on that wall!” I point.

“I am,” she agrees. “But you look like a smart man. Or at least not the stupidest one I’ve ever met. So you probably already know that spilling your guts is the only fix for what ails ya.”

Suddenly I don’t even want the fucking flowers. I just want to punch something. Because if I open my mouth to spill my guts, nothing but darkness will come out. How does that help?