Speakeasy (True North #5)(55)

Ah, well. A farm girl can put on lawyer clothes. But she’s still a farm girl.

“I hate to break up this lovefest, but lunch is ready.”

Doing my best to brush off the cat hair, I get up and sit beside Alec on a counter stool. “You look beat.” There are circles under his eyes. “Sorry. I mean beat but still super attractive.”

He gives me another sad smile. “Got a lot on my mind and a lot of things to do.”

“Who’s helping you throw this wake?”

He shrugs, which means nobody is.

“Will you let me help you?”

“You don’t have to do that,” he says, testing the temperature of a slice of pizza. He’s served us each three different pieces.

“That wasn’t the question. Will you let me help? My family is great at throwing parties.”

“Okay,” he says, meeting my eyes. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Now tell me which slice I’m testing?” I pick up the first piece, which is dotted with olives and onions.

Alec picks up Roderick’s notes. “That one is the proven?al. With shallots, olives and lemon juice. Drizzled with balsamic.”

“Fancy.” I take a bite and moan. “Wow,” I say with my mouth full.

“I know, right?” He takes another healthy bite. “The neighborhood needs pizza like this. We’re supposed to make notes about what we like.” He slides the paper toward me.

Under proven?al I write, Amazing! More, please.

Maybe it’s unhelpful, but I write basically the same thing as a critique for the sausage and apple slice and for the pear and balsamic versions.

“We’re not good food critics,” Alec observes.

“I love food too much to criticize it.”

“I knew I liked you.” Alec gives me a warm smile, and it makes my belly flutter.

Everything feels a little awkward with Alec, though. Usually, we’re so easy together. But then he tried to change the rules, and I didn’t handle it well.

Now I’m wishing I have a glass of wine to go with this pizza. Just a little something to smooth away the rough edges of my day. But we can’t always get the things we want. And I still owe him a proper apology.

“Hey, Alec?” I brush my fingers off on my napkin. “The other night when I said it’s just sex?”

His face clouds over immediately.

“Well, I was wrong. We’re not a good idea for a couple, but you are an awesome friend.”

He snorts. “Dudes love hearing that.”

“I’ll bet. But I know you understand why I’m not in a good place to get into a relationship. I just had a bad breakup.”

Alec props his scruffy jaw on his hand and stares me down with those soulful eyes. “This would be easier if you just said I’m not who you want. Because you told me yourself that Daniela didn’t break your heart.”

Well, shit. “It still stings, though.”

“Not when you’re kissing me,” he counters.

The man makes a good point. But there are other problems, too. “Want to hear a joke? It’s not very funny.”

“What?” He sets down his pizza to listen.

“An alcoholic walks into a bar.”

He flinches. “You’re right. That’s a terrible lead-in.”

“That’s us,” I point out quietly. “We are the worst idea ever.”

“No we’re not,” he whispers. “I mean—you shouldn’t have a relationship with someone who abuses alcohol. But you’re doing so well. And there’s no alcohol in this apartment, by the way. I stopped putting beer in my fridge because you come over sometimes, and I didn’t want you to have to think about it when you’re looking for a soda.”

I open my mouth, but then close it again. He’s right, but he’s also wrong. Silently, I point up to the space above his kitchen cabinets.

He swivels his head to look, and spots the three bottles of wine on a rack near the high ceiling. “Oh, fuck. I haven’t touched those in so long I forgot they were there. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” I say with a sigh. “I don’t expect you to baby-proof your life for me. And I don’t enjoy letting you in on the secret that there’s a crazy person in here.” I tap my chest. “But I’m not ready. Sobriety is the most important thing in my life right now. It’s the thing I can’t risk. I jumped into a relationship with Daniela because I was trying to prove to myself that I was in control of my own story. And look how that turned out.”

He makes a face. “I’m not Daniela.”

“No, you’re not,” I admit. “But I’m still me. And I don’t trust myself enough right now to make good choices. I count those damn bottles every time I walk through your door.” My voice cracks on the last word, because I hate this. I never mention drinking to Alec in the present tense. When I’ve mentioned my problem, it’s always in the past tense. That’s vanity talking. I want to fool him into thinking I’m done with all that.

I’m not done. I’ll probably never be done. He can’t see it, though. He thinks I’m Fun May who shows up for hot kisses and sex.

He’s studying me now, looking blue. “I care about you. I guess that’s all I can really say. I think you’re great, and I wish things were easier.”