If the Sun Never Sets (If Love)

1 month later

The sun beat down on Farrah with fierce intensity, scalding her skin and causing rivulets of perspiration to snake down her face. The heat was merciless, almost angry, as if punishing her for her heartless behavior.

Not heartless, smart, she corrected herself. What she did in Syracuse a month ago was smart, safe, and logical. As the saying goes, fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me.

Farrah wasn’t going to let Blake fool her again with his pretty words and promises of forever. She’d made that mistake once, and it almost broke her beyond repair.

But if she did the right thing, why was she so miserable?

“Thank God. I was dying out there,” Olivia said when the hostess waved them into the restaurant. Leyla was the hottest new brunch spot in town, and it didn’t take reservations, which meant you had to wait at least an hour for a seat on the weekends. Olivia hated lines more than she hated wrinkled shirts, but Farrah knew she’d make an exception for food. “It’s so freakin’ hot today.”

Farrah murmured in agreement as she followed the hostess to their table.

“Who’s this mystery friend that’s supposed to meet us?” Olivia examined the single-page menu. “They better be good, considering we waited in line for an hour and they’re not even here yet.”

“Uh, well, you know him.”

Olivia lifted an eyebrow. “Really?”

“He’s right there.”

Farrah waved at her friend and braced herself for the fallout. Olivia turned, then whipped around to face Farrah again with fury oozing out of every pore.

“Are. You. Kidding me?”

“Remember Ken?” Farrah said quickly. “I forgave you for that.”

“That’s different! That was an innocent mistake on my part. He’s perfectly respectable in the office. I didn’t know he was such a jerk outside the office. But this, this is an act of utter betrayal—”

“Hey.” Sammy stopped next to their table. He looked even more handsome than usual in a pale blue button-down that set off his tan and a pair of dark denim jeans.

His face lit up with surprise and anger at the sight of Olivia. He was too much of a gentleman to say anything, but the displeasure wafted from him in waves.

“Hi!” Farrah chirped. “So glad you could make it. Take a seat.”

Sammy bypassed the empty seat next to Olivia and sat beside Farrah.

Both he and Olivia pinned Farrah with steely glares.

Hmm. Maybe tricking them into brunch with each other wasn’t the best idea.

But Farrah was sick of the animosity between her friends, and she wanted them to make up already. It’d been years since their breakup.

She realized the irony of the situation, given her refusal to give Blake another chance, but that was different. Sammy and Olivia’s breakup had been mutual, and one of them hadn’t confessed they still had feelings for the other.

Allegedly still had feelings. Farrah wasn’t going to take Blake’s words at face value.

“I’m so happy we’re together again.” Farrah tried to get the conversation going. “It’s like old times.” Minus the rest of the group, but that was a minor detail.

“Just like old times.” Sarcasm dripped from Olivia’s voice.

Farrah kicked her under the table and winced when Olivia kicked her back. They glared at each other.

Farrah tried her luck with the more reasonable person at the table. “Sammy, how was your meeting?”

Sammy had texted her when he returned to New York a few days ago—this time, hopefully, for much longer than three days.

He’d had a “casual coffee” with a potential business partner this morning, which was why he couldn’t wait in line with them. It was a Sunday, but Farrah swore half the deals in the city took place during “casual” weekend meetings.

“It was good.” Sammy’s shoulders remained stiff, but his grudging tone indicated he was well on his way to forgiving Farrah for the ambush. “We signed the deal.”

“That’s great!” Farrah almost knocked over her coffee in her excitement. “Sammy’s opening a pop-up bakery at Convention,” Farrah explained to Olivia. Convention was a trendy Soho storefront known for its revolving calendar of pop-ups. Every four months, it transformed into a new restaurant, bakery, or cafe headed by a Michelin-starred chef or food celebrity. The variety and star power made Convention catnip to Manhattan’s fickle culinary elite. “New York’s finally getting a Crumble & Bake! For four months, at least.”

“Great.” Olivia downed her mimosa in one long swallow. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” Sammy said.

Their coldness hardened into invisible icicles that hung between them like swords waiting to drop.

The waiter brought out their food. They dug in, once again lapsing into silence.

“Where are you staying in New York?” Farrah was determined to get the conversation back on track, no matter how difficult her friends were being.

“Williamsburg. My sister’s friend has a house there, and he agreed to let me rent a room at a discounted price.” Sammy cut into his eggs Benedict. “The pop-up doesn’t open until next month, but I have to get everything ready.”

“Why is everyone opening branches in New York?” Olivia sipped her second glass of freshly poured orange juice and champagne. “First Blake, now you.”

“Well, New York’s a pretty big market,” Sammy deadpanned.

Farrah choked back a laugh.

Olivia ignored his answer and addressed Farrah. “Speaking of Blake, how’s the design project going?”

The mirth disappeared. “Fine.”

As far as the project went, Farrah couldn’t have asked for a smoother rollout. She’d rented a storage space to house the furniture shipments trickling in—as well as the chest they’d bought in Syracuse—until the contractors finished the wall tiling and floors. As long as there were no delays or mishaps, she should finish the apartment in time for the Mode de Vie shoot.

Her relationship with Blake, if you could call it that, was another matter. After she gave him her ultimatum in the B&B, he’d walked out of the room without another word. She didn’t know where he went, but she’d pretended to sleep when she heard the door creak open past midnight.

The next morning, they’d checked out and driven back to the city. Blake dropped her off, and that was that. Neither said a word during the four-hour drive, and Farrah hadn’t seen or heard from him since.

Her gut twisted. Had she been too harsh on him? Thinking back, her words had been a little cold, but she wasn’t the one who’d lied and cheated. She had no reason to give him another chance.

Farrah gnawed on her lower lip until she drew blood.

“Have you seen him since Syracuse?” Olivia asked.

“No.” Farrah stuffed a piece of French toast in her mouth, so she didn’t have to provide a longer answer. Olivia knew Blake and Farrah had stayed in the same room in Syracuse; she didn’t know about them nearly having sex, or about Blake’s confession. Out of all the things Farrah had expected him to say, asking for a second chance had not been on the list. She’d thought he wanted a wild night of sex. Maybe a casual fling. Not a sequel to their doomed relationship.

Farrah forced herself to swallow. The toast tasted bitter.

“Good. The project will be over soon, and you won’t have to see him again.” Olivia flicked her gaze toward Sammy. “He’s bad news.”

“No, he’s not,” Sammy countered. “He’s made mistakes, but he’s a good guy.”

That was Sammy—loyal to a fault. To all sides.

“Please.” Olivia snorted. “He lied and cheated. Not my definition of a ‘good guy.’”

“He didn’t—I mean, he did, but you don’t know the whole story.” Sammy appeared to regret his outburst the instant the words left his mouth.

Farrah and Olivia snapped their heads in his direction.

“What do you mean, whole story?” Curiosity lit up Olivia’s dark eyes. “What do you know that we don’t?”

“Nothing. That just slipped out.” The color of Sammy’s face matched that of Farrah’s dragon fruit smoothie.

“Bullshit. I know a cover-up when I see one.” When Sammy didn’t budge, Olivia switched tactics from vinegar to honey. “Come on, you’re among friends,” she cajoled. Apparently, the thrill of a good secret was enough to make her put aside her animosity toward her ex.

All the while, Farrah’s heart jackhammered against her ribcage. She shouldn’t care, but a tiny, hopeless part of her was desperate for anything that’d prove Blake was telling the truth.

Pathetic.

Sammy shifted his gaze away from Olivia’s sweet smile. “It’s not my place to tell.”

“It’s your moral obligation to tell. This is Farrah. One of your oldest friends.” Olivia waved her hand over Farrah like she was showing off a prized pony. “Blake is back in her life, and if you have something to say that could prevent him from hurting her again, you better say it.”

Sammy muttered something under his breath that sounded like, “She’s not the one I’m worried about.”

Olivia frowned. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Sammy.” Farrah placed a hand on Sammy’s arm. “Please.”

She had no desire to dredge up the past, but it was already peeking out from the box she’d buried it in. Might as well let it loose so it could expend its energy before she locked it up again.

Sammy sighed. “Like I said, it’s not my place to tell. But don’t be so hard on Blake, okay? He’s been through some shit. And if he wants to tell you…” He drummed his fingers on his knee. “The next time you see him, ask him about the night you lost your necklace.”

Farrah’s hand flew up to her pendant. It was the last gift her father gave her before he died. Blake was the only person who knew about its significance unless he’d told Sammy, which he had no reason to. “What does my necklace have to do with anything?”

Sadness crept into Sammy’s eyes. “It has to do with more than you think.”