Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 125257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
It’s a relief, her reaction. Her amusement. Her sarcasm. I still need to say it though. I speak crisply and clearly, so she can read my lips even though she might not be able to hear me well. “I had sex with your brother.”
She cringes. We’re talking the full-body kind. When she stops doubling over, she raises her face and asks loudly, “Are you done? Is it safe to remove them?”
I nod.
She slips them off her ears. “Was it as gross as I suspect? Wait. Don’t tell me.”
I laugh, grateful for the outcome—the one I was hoping for with the earmuffs she requested.
“I won’t tell you a single detail, I promise,” I say, grabbing a folded chair and carrying it to her stock room. She grabs one too.
“Good, but also, I knew.”
My jaw drops. “How?”
“Girl, you ran away when I joined everyone at the game the other night. I put two and two together. Also, he cut his hair. And I saw that kiss online from the dress shop.”
“You watched the lipstick test?” I’m glad she has no idea about the other lipstick test.
“I did, and yes, it was as weird as I expected. But look, I’m the person who watches horror movies, so this should not be a surprise.”
“Fair.”
“And it was horrifying. But also telling,” she says as we return to the shop to grab more chairs.
My heart speeds up, liking that the kiss told some kind of story. “How could you tell it was real?”
“He pretty much made googly eyes at you then and was all I’m gonna kiss you now,” she says, in a faux deep voice before she gags again.
I laugh but inside butterflies are taking off.
And I should not like the way they feel so much. I focus on my friendship with her—not my blooming feelings for her brother that are going nowhere. “I didn’t want to lie to you. I hate lying. I hate lying to my boss and my parents and even Caroline in a way.”
She gives me a sympathetic look. “I know. It’s anathema to you.”
“It is.”
“But, also if you’re”—she pauses, like she’s bracing herself to say it—“smashing, isn’t it real?”
My heart twists, wishing I could say yes, but knowing I can’t. “It’s just temporary. And it’s fine, really it is. It’s just a rebound. That’s all it can be. I’m fresh out of the land of the dumped and he’s, well, he’s complicated.”
She tilts her head, as if she’s mulling that over. “Does he seem complicated when he’s with you?”
It’s a valid question and the answer’s a resounding no, but also we don’t always let other people see our complexities. I certainly don’t. And I’d be wise not to fool myself again.
“No, he doesn’t,” I answer truthfully. “But I remember what you said. I deserve a man who isn’t so…shut down.”
She gives me a sympathetic smile. “Maybe he’s not so shut down anymore. I don’t know. But I know this—I don’t want you to get hurt,” she says gently, then pauses and adds, “or him.”
I flinch. I didn’t expect her to say that. Could I hurt him? It hardly feels like I have that power. But I suppose we all can hurt each other. “I don’t want to hurt him either. That’s why we have rules. So no one gets hurt.”
“I love my brother. He’s a pain in the ass and a weirdo who’s obsessed with owls and his cat and free food, but he also cares deeply for a few people. He’ll go to the end of the earth for them.”
Something warms inside my chest. “I believe that.”
She reaches for my hands. “And you’re a beautiful, brilliant, tightly wound optimist who believes in love—and in doing things at the right time, in the right order, the right way.”
It’s her way of saying take your time.
“I don’t want either of you to get hurt,” she adds again.
“I know,” I say quietly then I hug her.
I stay a while and help her close, catching up on her customers’ latest requests for stories about aliens with five dicks, and cinnamon-roll hot nerds who are secretly obsessed with their curvy best friends, and rival chocolate shop owners who have to compete in the town treasure hunt. As we re-shelve books, I feel lighter and freer now that she knows things aren’t entirely fake with her brother.
But there’s someone else I should tell.
On the way home, I tap out an email to Elena. I wanted to let you know I’ve been fake dating my friend’s hockey-playing brother to stick it to my ex, but along the way the lines started to blur.
Ugh.
I try again. But as I re-read each draft, something sticks in my gut. It’s the sinking realization that I can’t confess this behind the shield of email. I’ll have to say it in person, especially since I’ve been avoiding it.