SLOANE

“More boobs.”

“Seriously?”

“More. Boobs.”

I look down at my black dress and back to the laptop screen where Lark has her hands under her breasts, pushing them up.

A deep sigh passes my lips. My heart has been hammering for the last hour.

And just think! Only another hour to go. 

My heart rate doubles.

“Go big or go home, Sloaney!” Lark chimes through the laptop speaker. “Boobs!”

A conflicted groan rumbles in my chest. “Okay…”

“That’s the spirit!”

I huff an unsteady laugh and head to my luggage to get what Lark calls the ‘emergency dress’. It’s a curve-hugging, vintage-inspired oxblood velvet cocktail dress with black scalloped lace detailing that skims the low-cut neckline. It fits like a second skin. I change out of Lark’s view and slide on a pair of simple black pumps, taking in my reflection in the floor-length mirror next to the TV. I feel like a retro movie pin-up girl. With a deep breath and a final slide of my hands over the ripples in the soft fabric, I step into view of the camera.

“That’s the one,” Lark says with happy claps as she bounces on the edge of her bed back in Raleigh. “One hundred percent. Hair down. Do some old Hollywood waves. Gold star! Two gold stars! One for each boob.”

She totally would gold star my tits if she was here in the room. She’s always carrying around gold star stickers, mostly for the children she works with as a music therapist when she’s not on the road performing, but she’s not afraid to whip them out for adults too.

“Are you nervous?” she asks as I pick up the laptop and take it to the bathroom with me so I can start on my hair.

“No, of course not,” I deadpan as Lark raises a skeptical brow on the screen. “I’m fucking terrified.”

And excited. And rattled. And a little bit nauseous.

It’s been almost eight months since I’ve seen Rowan in person. For the first six months, we talked nearly every day, in one form or another. Sometimes just short texts. Sometimes just a meme, or an article the other person would enjoy, or a funny video. Sometimes, they were long video calls. But lately, since he’s been working on opening a second restaurant location, it’s tapered off. Though I respond right away when he messages, it sometimes takes him a week to send back a short reply.

Superficially, it seems like the ideal situation for me. There’s less pressure. I’m not used to having people around. Even when Lark and I became close at boarding school, it took me a long time to be comfortable around her. She’s kind of like Rowan in the way that she wore me down, worming her way past the defenses I’ve held around my solitary nature. Her light is unstoppable. It pierces through every crack. And now, after the years that have passed since we met, I miss her whenever she’s gone.

Like I miss him.

“He’s going to be floored by those boobs,” Lark says.

I snort a laugh. “Wouldn’t be the first time.” My smile quickly fades as I plug in my curling iron and run some styling cream through my hair with my fingers. “I need more to go on than just tits.”

“You have murder too, he likes that.”

I roll my eyes and stare her down through the screen. “Boobs plus murder don’t equal a relationship, Lark. That math ain’t mathin’.”

We fall into silence as I start the first curls. She’s joking about the murder part, of course. I know that. And I know how I feel about Rowan. The more we talk, the more we laugh and play, the more I can’t picture my life without him. But I am scared as fuck. More scared of wanting something beyond a friendship with Rowan than I’ve been of anything else I’ve done in my weird, unconventional life.

There’s really not much that scares me, as though that sensation has been dulled. So why this? Why does this heat my skin and slick my palms and charge my heart with galloping beats?

I know why.

Because aside from Lark, no one has stayed around. Not even my parents.

What if I’m not worth keeping?

“Hey,” Lark says, her soft voice a lifeline in the undertow of dark thoughts. “This is gonna be great.”

I nod. My eyes stay fused to my reflection as I twist another curl around the hot metal.

What if I’ve got this all wrong? What if everything I feel is all in my head? What if he’s been avoiding me? What if I’m unlovable? What if something unfixable is wrong with me? What if I try for something more with Rowan and I fuck it up? What if he never wants to see me again? I could just leave now. What if I do? What if what if what if—

“Sloane. Get out of your head and talk to me.”

Tears glass my eyes when I turn them down to the screen. I swallow the ache that’s building in my throat.

“He’s got a big life, Lark. Lots of friends. He’s got another restaurant that’s almost ready to open. He’s got his brothers. I just…” I shrug and run a thumb beneath my lashes. “I don’t know if what I have to offer compares to all that, you know?”

“Oh, Sloaney.” Lark presses a hand to her heart. Her lip wobbles but she puts on a determined expression as she takes hold of her laptop and brings the camera closer to her face. “You listen to me. You’re amazing, Sloane Sutherland. You are brilliant, and so brave, and loyal to the ends of the earth. You set your mind to something and you fucking get it done. You work hard. You’re funny. You make me laugh when I don’t think I can. Not to mention, you’re smoking hot. Gorgeous face. Gold star tits.”

My laugh comes out strangled. I set my curling iron down and grip the counter edge as I shake my head and try to breathe past the sting in my nose.

“You had to find comfort in being alone because you’ve had no choice. But as much as you like it, you’re also lonely,” Lark continues. “I know you’re scared, but you deserve to be happy. So put some of that bravery to use for yourself for a change. Rowan would be lucky as all hell to have you.”

I bite down on my lip and stare at my bleached knuckles.

Lark sighs. “I know what you’re thinking, sweetie,” she says. “It’s written all over your face. But you are not unlovable, Sloane. Because I love you. And he might too, if you give him the chance. He did say that sweet stuff about you to the cannibal guy, right?”

“Yeah, but he was loaded and not really in the best headspace, you know? Plus, it was a year ago. He doesn’t even remember he said that stuff.”

“Maybe so, but he did ask you to come all that way to see him, didn’t he?”

“I owed him a win. Plus, it’s his birthday in two days, I couldn’t really say no.”

“Sweetie,” she says with a shake of her head, “Rowan could have asked someone else to accompany him if he wanted to. He asked you.”

She’s right, he could have asked someone else. When he called last month to claim the win I owed him from West Virginia, he’d said he wanted to have fun at the annual Best of Boston Gala for a change. “You’re the only person I can have real fun with,” he’d said when he’d FaceTimed with the request.

I could have pushed back. The timing isn’t ideal—I have to leave for a meeting in Madrid first thing tomorrow morning. But I didn’t push back. Honestly, I was relieved to hear his voice after weeks of next to nothing. I told him I’d keep my end of the deal and then I changed my flights so I could leave for the meeting from Boston instead of Raleigh.

And now here I am, getting ready to spend the evening with Rowan, with no idea what to expect.

I take a deep breath and release my talon grip on the counter edge. “You’re right.”

“I know. I usually am,” she says. I meet Lark’s gaze through the screen and she gives me a wink. “Now do that hair, put on some makeup, and go have fun. You deserve it.”

The kiss I blow to Lark is caught, and she pretends to press it to her cheek before sending one back to me. She gifts me with her megawatt smile and then disconnects the video call. When she’s gone, I put some music on, a playlist of Lark’s songs mixed with others that remind me of her. And I think of her. Of everything she said. How much richer my life has been since she became part of it.