Beatrice sighed in defeat and poured herself a glass.
An hour later, Dez was leaning on the table and staring raptly as Beatrice finished the story. Her best friend knew a very carefully edited version of the tale of Beatrice and Giovanni, as Dez liked to call it. But she knew that Beatrice went to Chile every summer only to return weeks later, alone and usually in a bad mood.
“So you think he was there? Watching the house?”
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure I saw him.” And smelled him. She didn’t really feel like explaining that part.
Dez sat back and frowned as she took another bite of her tortilla española. “Don’t you think that’s kind of creepy?”
Beatrice had never told Dez that Giovanni broke into her house at least once a year to leave plane tickets and occasionally grab a photograph. “Um … no, it’s not really. I mean, it is his house. It’s not creepy to me. I was mostly just pissed off that he didn’t come to the door.”
“Yeah, I can see that.” Dez took another sip of the sangria and silently munched on an olive.
“What?”
“What what?” Dez asked, the picture of innocence.
“You have something to say, I can tell.”
She didn’t deny it but folded her hands on her lap and sighed a little as she looked across the table.
“You need to stop going there.”
“I am. I told you, I’m done.”
“I know you have friends there, and I know how much you love it, but it just…you’ve got to move on from this guy.”
Beatrice rolled her eyes. “Did you not hear me? I told you, I wrote him in the journal and told him—”
“Yeah, you told him you were done. Got it. You told me that, too. Remember?”
Beatrice pursed her lips and looked away, biting her lip as Dez continued in a quiet voice.
“You told me you were done with him three years ago. And then you went back. And then two years ago, you said the same thing. And you still went back.”
She bit her lip to keep the tears at bay as her friend recounted the last five years of an obsession she knew she needed to abandon.
“And then last year, even though Mano practically begged you not to go, you went again.”
“I know—”
“I’m not sure you do, B. Because he and I are the ones who have to put up with your moody-ass, depressed behavior for a month afterward every time you go down there and get your heart broken again.”
“My heart is not broken. You’re being melodramatic,” Beatrice muttered and took another sip of her water.
“Fine,” she rolled her eyes. “Whatever you want to tell yourself. But stop, okay? For real. When you get the ticket in the mail next time, toss it. Donate it. Change it to a flight to the Bahamas and take your boyfriend, but do not go chasing that ghost again.”
Beatrice swallowed the lump in her throat and clenched her jaw as she contained her tears. “I know,” she whispered.
“Do you? Really?”
“Yes, I’m done. I’m…moving past it.”
“You know I love you,” Dez whispered. Beatrice could see the concerned tears in her eyes.
“I know.”
“And I’m only saying this—”
“It’s fine.” She nodded. “I get it. Really, I do.”
“You have an amazing man in your life, one who wants a future with you. That wants to move forward. Not everyone gets that, you know?”
Beatrice sniffed and brushed at her eyes. “And some people never know because they won’t ask the person who’s perfect for them out on a single date.”
Dez straightened up and a flush rose in her cheeks. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Beatrice De Novo.”
“Oh,” she said with a smile, happy that the conversation had turned. “I can’t imagine. Did I mention I saw my lovely neighbor, Matt, yesterday? Yeah, he was sitting on his front porch working on his mountain bike. It must have been hot, because Ken—I mean Matt—wasn’t wearing a stitch more than a pair of little biking shorts. It was quite the view, I’ll say that.”
“He is not a Ken-doll,” Dez muttered and threw an olive at Beatrice. She caught it and popped it into her mouth.
“You do some investigation about whether he’s anatomically accurate, and I’ll consider changing my opinion of him. Until then? Ken-doll.”
Dez huffed, “Why do you even—”
“And you’re a total Barbie. Librarian Barbie. Do you know how many naughty fantasies poor Ken—I mean Matt—has probably had about you already? You’d be putting him out of his misery. Besides, Ken and Barbie belong together,” she said with a wicked grin.
“I hate you,” Dez said in a prim voice, “and I hope someone scratches your ugly black motorcycle in the parking lot.”
Beatrice snorted and threw an olive at Dez, but this time, her friend caught it and threw it back, hitting Beatrice right between the eyes. She snorted and then belly laughed at Beatrice’s shocked expression.
“Forget Librarian Barbie,” Beatrice muttered. “I’m going to go with Big League Barbie instead.”
The two friends finished lunch and made plans to meet the following weekend for brunch at one of their favorite hangouts near the beach. Beatrice hopped on her bike and returned to the Huntington to finish the translation of the mission letter she’d been working on before lunch.