Free A Smile as Sweet as Poison by Helena Maeve

yet.
    With a shudder, Hazel peeled off her knitted plum cardigan and hung it in the cloakroom by the front door. No alarms blared. No one stopped her. It was a likewise hazard-free journey down the semicircular, bookshelf-lined hallway to Dylan’s room.
    A pang of tenderness stabbed between her shoulder blades like an ice pick at the sight of him, sprawled on the bed with one arm thrown over the portion of the mattress where Hazel should have lain. It was enough to make her shelve her doubts.
    Hazel kicked off her shoes and wriggled out of her baggy jeans. She didn’t bother with taking her makeup off before she crawled into bed beside him, heavy with some nameless emotion.
    Her back to Dylan, she felt him stir when she dragged his arm around her waist, but he didn’t wake. His slurring, sleepy mumble might have been her name.
    “I’m here.” Hazel sighed. “I’m staying right here.”
    For as long as they allowed her to, anyway.
     
    * * * *

    The loft was empty by the time Hazel crawled her way from beneath the warm covers draped over Dylan’s bed. She hadn’t heard him move, much less putter about getting ready, but there was coffee waiting for her in a pot on the kitchen island, and French toast.
    Ward must have left him in the dark about their chat, as promised.
    Hazel helped herself to breakfast with a heavy heart. The coffee was lukewarm, but she drank it anyway. It was almost noon, her stomach growling for something more consistent than toast. All those acrimonious ‘fat skank’ comments online couldn’t keep her away from the leftover lasagna.
    She showered while the microwave whirred, then made the bed. It seemed like the least of courtesies after crashing in Dylan’s room without so much as asking. Still dripping shower water over the hardwood floors, Hazel knelt beside the king and peered under the drooping coverlet. Her rucksack was where she’d left it, presumably still containing the laptop.
    The urge to pry it out ignited in Hazel’s chest, then faded just as quickly. She’d been disappointed before.
    There were no new messages on her phone when she finally sat down to eat and nothing remotely interesting on TV. The microwave had left the slice of lasagna soft and a little soggy, cheese melted to a watery glaze on top. Hazel ate it anyway, trying to follow along with some afternoon telenovela she only partly understood.
    By the time Sadie called, she would’ve agreed to a whole battery of dress fittings and cake tastings. Sadie only wanted coffee. That would do, as well.
    They agreed on Newport Beach, good for people watching and far enough from Marco’s diner than they wouldn’t run the risk of running into any regulars. The coffee shop was an indulgence, the kind of place that could afford to sell six dollar coffee and stick ‘organic’ signs on every pastry.
    Hazel arrived first, a good ten minutes before Sadie sauntered up to the boardwalk terrace in a polite, knee-length dress, her dyed-blonde hair pinned up in a tight ponytail. Hazel barely recognized her until Sadie was standing over her table.
    “Hey. You look—”
    “You like?” Sadie twirled in her wrap dress. “Frank got it for me.”
    “Ah,” Hazel murmured. That explained it. “It’s nice.” Oddly demure, for Sadie, but people did far stranger things out of love than altering their wardrobe. “How is he? You two busy planning the wedding?” Sadie’s stories rarely seemed to involve her groom, but Hazel hadn’t exactly been paying attention. It was possible she’d missed out on his contributions.
    “Oh, no. He’s way too busy.” Sadie flagged a waitress as she sat down across from Hazel, ankles folded and sunglasses pushed into her hair. “Iced tea.”
    “Um, a latte,” Hazel told the waitress.
    “Regular or soy?”
    Hazel looked up into a freckled, vaguely Nordic face and thought about Travis asking her if she liked her job. “Regular.”
    “Diet or—”
    “Regular everything,” Hazel said,