You Can Go Your Own Way by Eric Smith

Author:Eric Smith [Smith, Eric]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780369702876
Google: 9soIEAAAQBAJ
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2021-11-02T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 8

Whitney

I put my phone down and take a long sip of my strawberry crème soda, fizzy bubbles tickling my nose.

The Franklin Fountain is always a bustling place in Old City, but I’m here early enough on a Tuesday that I don’t think any of the off-for-the-holidays-so-let’s-do-brunch crowd is ready to descend on it just yet, tipsy on mimosas and wanting something sweet before napping the rest of the day away. And besides, it’s the winter, and the ice cream rush isn’t what it usually is. Designed to look like an old-timey fountain soda and ice cream shop, a large, polished, wooden bar runs the length of place, massive silver-and-brass machines behind workers, aka “soda jerks,” wearing bow ties and rocking curly mustaches.

I check the time. Again. And my notifications. Again. I keep telling myself that they are just a little late, that they’re coming, but...between what Dana said at my dad’s café and what Adam was muttering at the arcade, I’m wondering if I’ve been missing something all this time. I’ll admit, my girl gang, all of us once inseparable, changed in the past few months. Hell, in the past few days, even, with Patrick breaking things off. Did he somehow get them in the breakup, even though I had them first?

I don’t like the word popular, but that’s what our little crew was. Is? Was. I’m not sure. The way they flounced out when they were done talking to my dad, how I thought I saw Sophie holding Patrick’s hand... I’m not sure what to think.

I poke at a little planter in the middle of the table. It’s a small terra-cotta pot, the size of a coffee mug, with a sizable chunky succulent in the middle, with spiny leaves in shades of green and reddish purple. Little white dots speckle the surface, and I tap one of the pointed leaves, sharp, but not enough to do damage.

“Zebra plant, right?” a deep familiar voice asks.

I glance up to see Neil, one of the regulars who works here at the Fountain, nodding at me, his eyes settling on the plant.

“Mom?” I ask.

“She’s got good taste.” He shrugs. I’m unsurprised. My mom enjoys handing out plants to every shop and restaurant in Old City. It’s a mix of the kindness of her heart and a brilliant piece of advertising. Someone sees one of these on a table, and it’s all oh, I’ve been meaning to get some plants for the...why, there’s a plant boutique across the street! Part of me wonders if the whole apology thing to Adam was really just her trying to do a little advertising there, what with the festival coming, and the amount of traffic the arcade is probably going to get.

“Do you need another?” Neil asks.

I snort out a laugh.

“No, I’ve got a bunch at home and at the—” He waves a glass Mason jar in the air. “Oh!” I laugh again. “Yeah, sure. Keep ’em coming, Neil,” I say, trying out my best 1930s accent.

He

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