Chapter 1: The Breakup Confession
The air in the pub was thick with the smell of fried onions and stale beer. Emily traced a finger through the condensation on her mug, watching the trail bleed into the sticky oak. Her third pint was nearly gone, and the numbness was finally starting to catch up with the ache in her chest.
“He texted me,” she said, the words dropping into a lull in the music like stones into a pond.
Solomiya, who had been people-watching over the rim of her own glass, slowly turned her head.Her large almond eyes softened. “Who texted you when?”
“Alfred.While I was on set. The lingerie shoot for Voir.” Emily’s voice was flat, detached. “I had the robe on, the lights were hot, my phone was buzzing in my bag. Marco was yelling about the light catching my collarbone.I checked it during a water break.”
Solomiya didn’t say anything. She just waited, her gentle smile gone, replaced by a quiet, focused empathy.
Emily took a sharp breath.“It said, ‘This isn’t working for me anymore. I think we want different things. Don’t call.’” She blinked, hard, and a single tear escaped, tracking quickly down her sun-kissed cheek.She swiped at it angrily. “Three years. Three years, and he ends it in a text message while I’m standing there in fucking rhinestone pasties.”
“Oh, Em.” Solomiya slid off her stool and wrapped an arm around Emily’s shoulders, pulling her close. Emily stiffened for a second, then melted into the hug, her chestnut waves falling over Solomiya’s shoulder. She smelled of coconut shampoo and clean sweat.
“I’m such an idiot,” Emily mumbled into her friend’s neck.“No. He’s a coward.” Solomiya pulled back, holding Emily by the shoulders.Her gaze was steady. “A spectacular, breathtaking coward.” She flagged down the bartender, a burly man with a tattooed forearm.“Two Jamesons. Neat.”
The shots arrived, amber and sharp.Solomiya pushed one toward Emily. “To forgetting pathetic men named Alfred.”
Emily managed a watery laugh and clinked the glass. The whiskey burned all the way down, a clean, punishing fire.She shuddered.
“Good,” Solomiya said, her playful glint returning.She leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Now listen.I have two weeks of vacation time banked. You have nothing scheduled until the Marseille catalog shoot.What you need is sand.And saltwater. And a complete lack of service so another prick can’t text you.”
Emily sniffed, wiping her nose with the back of her hand.“What are you talking about?”
“A road trip.South. We get in your car, we drive until the air smells like orange blossoms instead of exhaust. We find a tiny cove with water so turquoise it hurts your eyes. We drink cheap wine out of the bottle and eat olives until our fingers are wrinkled.No Instagram.No agents. No men.” Solomiya’s eyes were bright, painting the picture in the dim, green-tinged light of the pub. “We just… exist. You haven’t just existed in years, Emily Fox.”
The idea unfurled in Emily’s mind like something opening for the first time.No posing. No angles.No calibrated smiles. Just sun on her skin and her best friend’s laugh and the vast, blue horizon.Another tear fell, but this one felt different.Lighter. She looked at Solomiya, at the quiet confidence in her face, the dependable warmth that had seen her through every stupid crisis since university.
“Yeah?” Solomiya prompted, her smile gentle again, dimples appearing.Emily took a deep, shuddering breath that felt like the first real one all night. She nodded, a slow, deliberate dip of her chin.“Yeah. Let’s go.”
Solomiya’s grin widened. She threw some cash on the bar, enough to cover their tab and then some.
She threw some cash on the bar, enough to cover their tab and then some. The bartender, a guy named Leo according to the stitching on his denim shirt, scooped it up.His eyes lingered on Solomiya.
“You ladies celebrating something?” he asked, wiping a cloth over the damp wood in front of them.
“The end of something,” Solomiya said, her voice bright. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the bar, a subtle dimple appearing in her cheek. “Which is always the start of something better, right?”
Leo chuckled. “Can’t argue with that.” His gaze flicked to Emily, who was staring into the bottom of her empty shot glass, then back to Solo. “Looks like you could use a proper send-off.”
“We’re thinking of a road trip,” Solomiya offered, as if sharing a secret just with him.“Spontaneous. No maps.”
“Sounds expensive,” Leo smirked, but he was already pulling down a bottle of reposado tequila.
“We’re resourceful.” Solomiya’s smile widened.She tapped the empty shot glasses. “A little liquid courage for the navigators?”
He poured three shots without a word, pushing two across the bar. “On the house. For the road.”
“You’re a saint,” Solomiya said, lifting her glass.Emily followed suit, the gesture feeling more like a pact this time.
The tequila was smoother, with a smoky warmth. It settled the last of the tremors in Emily’s hands.A solid plan began to coalesce through the alcoholic haze. “Okay,” she said, the word cutting through the pub’s murmur.“Practicalities. I have to finish this editing job for Bisset. Two days of work, max.”
“I’ve got a mountain of discovery documents to index before Thursday,” Solomiya nodded.“I can power through. My supervisor owes me one.”
“So we finish our tasks.We tie up loose ends. And then we go.” Emily’s hazel eyes were clear now, focused.“This Saturday. In two days.”
“Yes.” The word was a final verdict.
“I’ll take my dad’s old SUV,” Emily said.“The Volvo.It’s a tank. He never uses it.I’ll pack the coolers, you handle the playlist.”
“Deal. You pick me up from my apartment Saturday morning.Early. Like, sunrise early.”
“And we just drive,” Emily said, the concept blooming fully.“Four days. No destination beyond ‘south.’ Interstate, backroads, whatever feels right.”
Solomiya spun her shot glass between her fingers, a slow, satisfied grin spreading across her face. It was the look she got after winning a moot court argument.“Four days of nowhere. Four days of us.”
Leo gave them a salute from down the bar as they stood to leave. The neon glow from outside caught the edges of their silhouettes as they pushed through the heavy door, the pulse of the pub fading behind them, replaced by the cool, indifferent night air. The plan was a tangible thing between them now, a shared weight that felt lighter than the silence it replaced. Saturday couldn’t come fast enough.