Page 258 of A Taste of Vanilla
I wipe my face with my sleeve and reach for the door handle before the car even parks. I’m already preparing to be yelled at. Maybe to be hugged. Maybe threatened. I’m ready for her fury.
The driver’s door opens, and a figure steps out into the rain.
A figure who isnotMarley.
My hand freezes on the door handle.
The rain is too heavy to see through at first. But he’s recognizable. Broad shoulders and dark hair already soaked and loose around his face. No umbrella or jacket. Just a soaking-wet shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his hand braced on the open door, the other hanging at his side like he’s forcing himself not to reach for me.
Warren.
For a second, I don’t move. I can’t breathe. Can’t function.
He stands in the rain alone.
I wait a moment more and watch as he shuts the door and leans against the side of the truck.
Soaked through and as still as a man can be while the whole sky comes down around him.
Marley sent him. Or he came because she told him to.
Part of me wants to be mad. Part of me desperately wanted my best friend. But another part of me acknowledges the flutter of my heart.
He doesn’t move. The rain hits him as he stares at me. I sit behind the wheel with my hand on the door handle and my heart breaking all over again.
Warren came for me, and he’s waiting to see if I’ll let him.
twenty-four
. . .
Penelope Betrays Feminism
WARREN
No matterhow she may be feeling about me in the moment, when my sister calls, I answer.
My phone sits on the counter of my extended-stay hotel room as I debate what my next move is. I haven’t called Halston, Marley, or even Oliver, who surprisingly texted me asking if I was okay.
Not one of them.
But when Marley’s name lights up the screen, my hand moves before I can think.
“Marley?” I answer.
“Where are you?”
“My hotel.”
“Okay. Are you sober?”
Usually.“Yes.”
“Can you drive?” It sounds like she’s out of breath.
I’m already standing. “What happened?”
Marley inhales sharply, like she’s running. “Halston’s car died.”
