Page 21 of The Perfect Heart

Jonas answered his door in his sweats and a ratty old T-shirt, and one eyebrow arched as I held up a box, the beer bottles clinking inside. But he let me in without a question, the shuffle of his footsteps over the carpet following me down the hallway to the kitchen.

“What did you do? Just wake up from a nap?”

“Yeah.” Jonas yawned and scratched at his chest through the T-shirt.

I would have asked who napped during the middle of the day past the toddler years, but Jonas did. He’d always been that kid falling asleep in class, snoozing on a bench after school, or passing out during a party, only to wake up with things sketched in permanent marker on his face that were better left unaired.

Placing the box on the counter, I pulled out the bottles before reaching for my keys and the bottle opener I always had on there before I flipped one open and took a long drink.

When I finished, I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and found Jonas staring at me, that single eyebrow arched again.

“Something going on?” he asked.

“Why would something be going on?”

I asked the question into the fridge as I stowed the other bottles, mainly to keep them cold. Today was one of those days I knew we could polish off the pack.

Well, I would polish off the back. Jonas could help if he wanted.

“Well, let’s see.” My friend leaned against the counter, head back as he stared at the ceiling contemplatively. “You should be at work, but you show up at my house unannounced with a box of beer from the grocery store instead of one of your specialties from the bar. You come in like the devil is on your ass, and before saying one word, you’ve already downed half of your first bottle. And you didn’t even offer me one.”

He tipped his chin at the bottle in my hand, and, just about to take another long drink, I pulled it slowly away from my lips, trying not to look guilty. Or annoyed.

“So what?”

Jonas straightened and fixed me with a look. “So something is bothering you. What? I haven’t seen you like this in a while.”

I looked away, taking in the dated kitchen, the streams of late-afternoon sun over the snow, the old, bizarre coo-coo clock that didn’t work anymore but that Jonas randomly kept hanging on his wall. I didn’t want to look at him, didn’t want to look at myself or face the thoughts swirling in my head.

It was all too confusing, and I knew exactly what he was going to say.

“Are you going to tell me? Or are we just going to stand here all night while you polish off that twelve-pack by yourself?”

It took me looking down at the beer bottle in my hand to realize I had already finished it. I might have owned a bar, but I wasn’t a heavy drinker. Alcohol was something I enjoyed for the taste, not something I drank just to get drunk.

Jonas’s eyebrow told me his exact thoughts.

“Okay, fine,” I sighed, sagging back against the counter and letting my head hang. “Halle has been avoiding me.”

Jonas huffed as he shuffled to the fridge and pulled out a bottle for himself. “How did I know?”

Taking my keys without asking, he pried the cap off and took his own long drink before settling beside me against the counter.

“Ask her, man. What the hell is with this bullshit with you lately? You’re not the kind of guy to tiptoe around a subject. When you ended things with Nicole, you barely batted an eye. You just woke up, decided you were done, told her, and that was it.”

“Halle isn’t Nicole,” I sighed.

“You can say that again.”

My glance at Jonas showed me a shit-eating grin, and I glared at him.

“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger.” He held up his hands in surrender, one still gripping his bottle. “You know I’ve never liked Nicole. I didn’t like her in high school.”

There were many good things about remaining in a hometown—people were close, they supported each other, and friendships tended to last for years without distance to pull them apart. The downside was everyone knew everyone’s business, and history was always twined with the present.

“Just ask her, man.” Jonas sighed as he pushed to his feet, crossed the kitchen to the cabinet with the crackers, and pulled out a bag of pretzels. “You’re never going to know unless you say the actual words. Why the hell are you playing games?”

“I’m not playing games.”