“Hey.” Sliding into the booth across from Brit, I prop my hands on the table. I’m not sure what I expected, but her looking up and offering me a warm smile wasn’t it.
“Hey,” she says, echoing me. It’s been two years since I’ve seen Brit—two years since I broke off the engagement and left her in the Big Apple. She hasn’t changed much. Her blonde hair is still perfectly straight, only cropped a bit shorter than I remember. Bright blue eyes the color of the sky stare back at me, and I can’t help but wonder if she’s taking note of all of my changes as well.
We fall into a comfortable silence, which is quickly broken when a barista walks up to our table and sets down two mugs. Brit and I both mutter ‘thank you’ and the young girl walks off, leaving me staring at yet another part of my past.
“Is that what I think it is?” I ask, eyeing the brown liquid. Steam is rolling off the top and my mouth waters.
My gaze lifts to see Brit smiling at me, then she nudges the cup in my direction before picking up the other. “It is,” she says, blowing across her drink before taking a sip. “Caramel Latte Macchiato.”
“I haven’t had one since that morning.” Her hands freeze on their way back to the table. We both know what morning I’m referring to, but why the hell did I say that?
Taking a deep breath, Brit sets her cup down and laces her fingers together. “Well, then this is a long time coming, isn’t it?” She nods toward the cup in front of me and I finally pick it up, blowing across the top before tasting it.
My eyes nearly roll back into my head, and I’m left wondering why in the world I gave up this drink. Come to think of it, I’m not sure why I stopped drinking it. Maybe because it reminded me of a part of my life that I was desperate to forget. Regardless,
it’s a part of my life I’m letting back in because good Lord this is good.
“So, did you go on a coffee strike when you moved back or what?” she asks. “If I remember correctly, you couldn’t function without one of those bad boys.”
I chuckle at the memory of the two of us rushing to the coffee house for our morning fix before class each day, and then I remember the way I’d sit there with Brit and think about Harley. Suddenly, the memory isn’t so funny. “No strike.” I shrug, taking another sip as I figure out the best way to answer her question. I resolve to just tell the truth. “I think it reminded me too much of New York.”
“Ahhh.” She nods as though she understands what I’m trying to say, which is funny because I’m not even sure what I’m trying to say. “Erasing the past, and all that fun stuff, huh?”
“I guess you could put it that way.” I look away, hating how that makes me sound like such a dick.
“Well, since we’re here,” she says, blowing out a long breath. “That’s actually why I wanted to talk to you when I sent you the texts.”
“You wanted to talk about the past?” I ask, cocking a brow as my eyes find hers.
“Despite what you may think, it’s not exactly a time in my life that I care to revisit.” This time when she speaks, her tone is clipped. The hurt on her face is visible and my stomach drops. I hate that I hurt her. “You left me high and dry in a huge city. Sure, I had friends, but at the time you were my only family and my actual family was hundreds of miles away. Do you know how hard that was on me?”
“I’m sor—”
“Don’t!” She throws up a hand, and I snap my mouth shut. “I don’t want to hear your apologies, Tyson. That’s not what this is about.”
“Well then, what is this about? You texted me, remember? What did you want?”
“You didn’t just leave me in New York. You left behind a completely furnished condo, and as much as I’d love to take everything and burn it, that’s not the type of person I am.”
“I don’t understand.” I don’t know what she’s wanting from me. When I left, I took what I wanted and that was that. For all I care, she can have the rest.
“I sold the big stuff,” she says, grabbing her cup and taking several long drinks as though she needs the caffeine to get through the rest of this conversation. “The bed, living room furniture and kitchen table … they’re all gone.”
“Fine.” I nod. “What else?”
“There was a box of stuff you left behind with pictures of your family … of Dallas.” Her voice trails off when she says my brother’s name and her eyes soften, and for a split second I swear she’s going to say something about him. Thankfully, she doesn’t. “There was also a nightstand you left behind.” I pinch my eyes shut. That was my grandfather’s nightstand. I can’t believe I left that behind. “Don’t worry,” she says quickly. “I didn’t sell it.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that.” And I do. She could’ve easily tossed it, but she didn’t. “What else?”
“That’s it,” she says, sighing. “I want to give you half of what I made selling everything, as well as half of the rent deposit we’d paid on the condo.”
“No.” I shake my head. “Absolutely not. You keep it all.”
“Yes, well, I can see that this is where we are going to disagree. You see, just like your Macchiato reminds you of me, all of that stuff reminded me of you. That’s why I didn’t want it, and that’s why I refuse to keep your half of the money.”
As much as I hate it, she’s right. I understand where she’s coming from. “Okay. You can give me my half.”
“Thank you.”