Penelope
"So he just . . . left?" Scarlett blinks at me in disbelief from behind her coffee mug, her mouth hanging open in shock.
We've spent the better portion of our lunch breaks huddled in this West Loop coffee shop, hashing out the details of the last few weeks of my dramatic life. It's quite the story, beginning with Wolfie playing the role of my fake boyfriend on a work retreat, and ending with him walking out on me last night. A story that, unfortunately, ends with a bunch of big, bold question marks instead of a happy ending.
I nod somberly. "Yup. He just broke away from me while we were kissing and bolted out the door."
Scarlett's eyes are brimming with such intense sympathy, I can't even look at her without feeling pathetic. Instead, I focus on stirring my spoon in lazy circles through my hot chocolate.
Well, it's really more like room-temperature chocolate now with how long I've been rambling. Normally, I'm a latte girl, but when a man flees your apartment in the middle of a hot make-out session, you buy yourself a damn hot cocoa. Tack on the homemade marshmallows this place advertises, and I couldn't say no.
"Okay, so then what?" She splays her fingers across the white faux-marble table, leaning in with anticipation. "Did he come back? Did he call you and explain himself, begging for forgiveness?"
Girl, I wish.
I release a slow breath and shake my head. "Nope. That's it. He just left, and I haven't heard from him since."
The truth is, I wasn't sure if I should text him, or call, or just wait for him to make contact when he's ready. It's like he's got the weight of the world on his shoulders. While he's told me a little about his preferences, he hasn't told me the reasons why he is the way he is. And I honestly just don't understand him as much as I'd like to.
Scarlett nods slowly, her brow furrowing as she digests my words. "Okay, so . . . that's a lot."
"Yeah. Tell me about it."
For a moment, the only sound between us is Scarlett's manicured fingers drumming on the side of her white ceramic mug. "And you're sure things were going well before that? He wasn't giving off any weird vibes?"
Talk about a loaded question. Wolfie Cox is in a constant state of giving off weird vibes. But Scarlett knows this-we've all hung out in the same circle of friends for years.
Actually, Scarlett's known Wolfie longer than I have. I only met him through my brother once they became roommates. Scarlett and Caleb have been inseparable for years before that. She's always been a bit of an older-sister type to me, which actually gives me an idea. I should ask for her advice on all this. Plus, she is a few years older than me . . . and she's been through her share of awful guys. I'm sure she has some wisdom.
But as I open my mouth to speak, I realize that would involve me telling her about Wolfie's intimacy issues, and exposing his insecurities doesn't feel like the right move. He told me those things in confidence, and even if I have no idea where I stand with the man, I'm not going to betray his trust.
Maybe this is just part of who he is. Maybe he runs when he gets scared . . . or overwhelmed. Or turned on? God, I don't know. I heave out a sigh and press my fingers into my temples.
Things started off so easy last night. It didn't seem like he was worried about anything. He was sweet and easygoing, his usual armor of anxiety nowhere to be found. It was like I'd had him over for dinner dozens of times. The conversation was easy and natural. Even when things got physical, he was still so relaxed. Until, well, until he suddenly wasn't.
"I swear it was smooth sailing up until then. Totally normal. And then out of the blue, he grabs his coat and runs." My stomach hollows out at the memory, the sting of rejection as Wolfie's gray eyes went dull just before he dashed out my door.
Retelling the story is proving to be as hurtful and confusing as living it out in real time. With the edge of my spoon, I scoop a gooey melted marshmallow from my mug and pop it between my lips, letting the sweet, sticky sugar rush go straight to my head. They say laughter is the best medicine, but I'd have to argue that sugar gives it a run for its money.
She nods once. "Wolfie is a complicated guy. He deserves the world, but try telling him that."
I make a sound of agreement, thoughtfully eating a second marshmallow.
Scarlett pushes back from the table a little, as if to give herself space to process this mess. "Well, I can confidently say that when you told me we needed to discuss your boy problems, I definitely wasn't expecting that."
I lift a shoulder, a hint of a sad smile pulling at my lips. "What can I say? I'm always full of surprises."
She only shrugs.
Not that my attraction to Wolfie should come as much of a surprise to her. The only person who knows as much about my Wolfie fantasies as my journal is Scarlett. And thank God she does, because I can't hold all this in without inevitably exploding, and I certainly can't tell the rest of our friends. Scarlett is so perceptive, she guessed at my feelings one night over cocktails, and I've been confiding in her ever since.
Scarlett chews her lower lip in thought for a long moment, then straightens in her seat, her eyes brightening with realization. "Here's a thought. What if dinner didn't sit right with him, and he had to . . . you know." She clutches her stomach, miming illness, which earns her a much-deserved scowl from me.
"This was not an invitation to make fun of my cooking, Scar. I'm looking for actual advice."
She folds her arms over her chest and shrugs. "I'm just saying, rosé and alfredo sauce don't exactly mix. Maybe he wasn't feeling well."
Deflated, I sink deeper into my chair. Part of me wants to believe she's right. It would be less painful than the alternative explanation-that Wolfie just isn't interested in being physical with me again.
I must be staring into my hot cocoa for a little too long, though, because moments later, I feel the reassuring warmth of Scarlett's hand over mine.
"I'm just kidding, P. Don't overthink it. You know how weird Wolfie can be. But you said he opened up to you at the lake house, right? That's a big deal. Especially for him." When I don't respond, she gives my hand a gentle squeeze. "Hey, I bet you learned more about him in one night than the rest of us have over the last four years."
"You're right," I say begrudgingly, softly squeezing her hand back. "He was just so vulnerable that night. So open and honest. I want to see that side of him all the time, you know?"
"I get it. And you deserve that," she says firmly. "But maybe he's not ready yet. Don't force it. Just be your usual supportive self, and it will come."
A low groan rolls from me as I bury my face in my hands. "Ugh, you're right, you're right." I split my fingers enough to peer out at her. "Why do you always have to be right?"
Her laugh is soft and bubbly as she tosses her auburn hair over one shoulder. "I can't help it. Being right is in my DNA. But so is being on time, and I do have a meeting with a potential client in ten."
"Oh, don't let me keep you." I press to my feet, shooing her toward the door. "Get out of here. I'll have plenty of drama to talk through another day."
She cocks her head, barely holding back a smile. "You sure? I don't want to pull a Wolfie and bolt right in the middle of something."
My eyes narrow in disapproval, but I can't help the smile pulling at my lips. "If this mug weren't ceramic, I'd throw it at you, you know that?"
A mischievous grin breaks out on her face as she shoots me a wink. "I know. But it is, and you won't. Let's do this again soon, though, okay? I like this place."
We return our empty mugs to the dirty dish bin and button up our coats, hurrying through our good-byes at the door so as to not keep Scarlett's client waiting.
She makes a sound that's some combination of a sympathy and a sigh, laying a hand on my shoulder like a proud mother. "You're a rock star, you know that? Wolfie's a lucky guy."
I smile, but there's a sadness behind it.
Here's to hoping he thinks so too.