I groan as I walk into the kitchen and find Maddie in front of a pot of simmering something. “What is that amazing smell?”
Maddie turns to me, oversize messy bun bouncing as she does. “It’s a new recipe I’m working on: Spicy Honey Butter Chicken. Here, try the glaze and tell me if it’s good.”
She raises the wooden spoon to my lips, and the moment the glaze hits my tongue I decide no other food will ever live up to it. “This is it for me,” I say solemnly. “My peak food experience ends with this recipe.”
Maddie laughs and hip checks me. “You’re too nice, though. You would never tell me if it was bad anyway.”
“Not true. I would just get really quiet and compliment the initiative you put into it. Either way, I really do love it.”
I take a seat at the bar and graze on the appetizer Maddie whipped up. Spinach-artichoke dip. It’s glorious. Heavenly. I am undeserving.
“How was your day?” she asks, coming over to dunk a chip in the dip too. Her eyes squint up slightly after she takes a bite—trying to figure out what it’s lacking. It’s lacking nothing. She’s just a perfectionist when it comes to her food.
Her question sparks a series of memories. Will climbing into my room. The devastating press of his mouth against mine. And then waking up in his arms.
All day my mind has been playing that kissing session over and over again but adding new fantastical details with every pass. Like instead of being in my room, Will enters the shop after fighting off several henchmen. A drop of blood drips down his cheek from a small cut across his face left by a sword. Naturally, I rush to his side and pull him into the shop, where I tend to his wound. He stares down into my eyes, I stare up into his, and then our kiss explodes like a cannon. Not sweet or timid but hot and frantic.
I clear my throat. “It was good. How about you?”
“Good too. Just spent the day online shopping for our trip next week. Hey—in unrelated news, how long is it morally acceptable to wear an outfit with the tags still attached before returning it because you’re too broke to actually afford it? Wait! Don’t answer that. You’ll tell me to return it immediately, but I don’t want to.”
Maddie and Emily are finally going on their Mexico trip with their teacher friends. I keep telling myself that’s the only reason they didn’t invite me—it’s a teachers-only trip. But somehow, instinctively, I know it’s because they’re assuming I wouldn’t want to go. They think I’m superglued to this town like Noah. And probably assume I’d be a buzzkill too.
It’s fine, though. I couldn’t go even if I wanted to, what with how much flower prep I’m doing for Amelia’s wedding and how busy the shop has been lately. Not to mention these lessons with Will.
My stomach swoops as it has every time I think of him. It’s like I’m on a constant roller coaster. I need my body to hurry up and get used to his presence because I can’t take much more of these butterflies.
Mid chip to mouth, our front door opens and Emily storms in. “You!” she yells, pointing at me. “You and Will Griffin have a thing going on and he slept in your room last night and you didn’t tell us!”
“What?!” Maddie squeals, hopping down from the bar into an immediate battle stance. “We’ve been in here talking for five whole minutes! I asked how your day was, and you said, ‘It was good.’ Good! When the first thing out of your mouth should have been, ‘Oh, hey, sis, I got laid by the hottest bodyguard to ever grace People magazine, and I’m no longer a virgin!’ ”
“First of all, I’d never say ‘laid.’ ”
Emily throws her purse on the kitchen counter. It makes a loud thud, and I know it’s because she has the thing so loaded down with everything she could ever possibly need (including a first aid kit and emergency water bottle). “That man was under our roof last night in your bed deflowering you, and you never thought we should know? I’m disowning you! I can’t believe I had to hear it from Holden Jones that Will was sneaking out of your window at sunrise!”
I raise my brows. “Holden? Wow. Made it all the way over to the library?”
“Yes. And he heard it from Cathy Bryant—”
“Lee now. She got married last month, remember?”
“Who heard it from Harriet when she was spouting off about your decaying hussy’s soul in the market, who heard it from Terry, who saw the whole thing with his own eyes when he was making his morning newspaper rounds and caught sight of Will climbing out of your window!” Emily is fuming. She hates being the last to hear about anything concerning us siblings. I half expect to find a tracker planted on my person one day.
I would open my mouth to reveal the truth, but I know it’s no use. My sisters need to get their words out first, or they’ll combust. “Harriet said what about Annie?” says Maddie, her soft ivory skin turning a nice shade of reddish purple.
“Don’t worry, I already went by the market to give her a piece of my mind. But Mabel beat me to it. She was laying into Harriet when I walked in, so I just grabbed the dishwasher pods we needed, signed the petition, paid, and came home.”
My ears perk up. “I’m sorry—what petition?”
“You haven’t seen it? The town put together a petition to vote on your and Will’s relationship,” says Emily. “It’s actually way more extensive than the one they did for Paul and that woman he was dating for a while. This one has an entire facts list attached for why y’all aren’t well suited for a relationship.” Emily finally notices the dip and slides onto the stool beside me to dig in. I scoot the bowl a little closer to her.
“Wait, wait, wait. It’s a relationship now?” Maddie dives her hand through her hair. “My head is spinning. Are you telling me that you and Will are dating? You were too shy to talk to Hot Bank Teller, so you bypassed him and went straight for Sexy Bodyguard? I need all the details.”
My sisters stare at me expectantly. I know that this is the moment I should tell them the truth. I should burst out laughing and explain that Will is just my practice person. But for some reason, the words won’t come out. Because right now, my sisters are looking at me like I’m the opposite of boring. Like I’m maybe…fascinating. Like I’m not their sweet baby sister, and maybe there’s more to me than they realized.
And I’m not ready for that look to fade when I tell them I wasn’t too shy to talk to Hot Bank Teller, that he, in fact, thought I was too boring to date, so Will is just being kind and helping me.
And that’s why I lie.
“Yeah. It’s not a big deal,” I say, looking down to scoop another chip in an attempt at looking casual. “He came into the flower shop the other day, and we hit it off, and…now we’re…dating.” Oh gosh. What are you doing Annie? Will is never going to go for this. “It’s just casual, though. Could end any day really.”
“Casual?” Emily repeats with a quizzical frown.
“Uh-huh.”
“Annie,” Madison says, like she’s gently trying to tell me the people I’m seeing in the room aren’t really there. “You don’t do casual. You’re Monica in the episode of Friends where she reveals her wedding scrapbook. You and casual do not belong in the same sentence.”
“Well, we do now.” I tip a shoulder like it’s no big deal. But even I know that what I’m saying is a very big deal. It’s also untrue. I feel a tug of disappointment as I deny being true to myself, but I squash that feeling under my Converse sneakers because what has being true to myself gotten me besides blown off in the middle of a date?
My sisters look at each other—obviously freaked out by this deviation in character and uncertain how to continue.
“Huh,” Maddie says.
“So you and Will can…what? See other people?” asks Emily, testing me.
“Yep.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
I shrug. “Of course. The more the merrier!”
Nope. And I’m also a little worried at how the thought of Will (the man who is not my real boyfriend) dating anyone else sends a boiling surge of jealousy through my body.
Apparently, that was a bridge too far because Maddie and Emily share a look. One of the looks that always makes me feel so mad to be excluded from. The one that I can never understand the meaning of, but they seem to comprehend perfectly. How is it possible to share DNA with someone and still feel so “other” from them—and yet still love them with my whole heart? It’s too messy.
They turn to me and cross their arms—a habit we’ve all adopted from Noah for when we mean business. “All right. Fess up. What’s going on? Did you and Will actually sleep together last night?”
My shoulders slump. “Fine. He slept here, but nothing happened. In fact, I don’t think anything will ever happen between us.”
Madison melts dramatically to the floor, pretending to weep as she says, “Annie. You’re killing me. You’re literally murdering me slowly. Please start from the beginning!”
Ugh. Here we go. The truth.
“Okay, okay, okay. Amelia set the whole thing up. Will is my dating coach for a few weeks to help me practice because…” Because I went on a date and it was a disaster and I’m boring. Nope. Still can’t bring myself to tell them that part. They’ll laugh. Or they’ll make a joke about Angel Annie being too saintly for a bank teller. Or even worse, they won’t be surprised at all. “Because I’m ready to start dating seriously, but I’m nervous. He’s just helping me get over the nerves.” I don’t mention how dating lessons have melted into something else entirely, though. And I don’t tell them about the tattoo or how Will has offered to help with any other kind of practice I want because all of that feels too personal. As misguided as it might be, it feels like something special between me and Will, and I don’t want to include anyone else in it.
Emily frowns lightly—her ever-present mom mode trying to carefully dissect every possible obstacle I will have to overcome and then determine whether I’m emotionally strong enough to handle a situation like this.
Maddie leans her hip against the counter. “Please at least tell me it’s like a sexy dating-coach thing? Like y’all are going to practice having sex too?”
“No, it’s not a sexy dating-coach thing.” But when I’m confronted with memories of me and Will making out in my bed last night I realize that statement isn’t totally true. But it stops with kissing. No sex will be happening between me and Will because as I’m realizing in the light of day, that would only complicate whatever mission I’m on to find a husband or myself or…ugh, I don’t know. It just wouldn’t be good, okay?! I have to stop thinking about it.
“So what do you practice?”
I shrug. “Just like regular stuff. Datey stuff, you know? Good topics to bring up on dates. How to flirt. Those sorts of things.”
Madison’s nose wrinkles. “Oh. I guess that makes more sense.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, having a bad feeling that I already know the answer.
She laughs lightly because she thinks I’m in on this joke. “It’s you; and it’s Will Griffin! You guys are polar opposites. He’s all sexy-fun-adventure, and you’re our quiet sweet-little-introvert. I’m just saying it’s probably for the best that you guys aren’t really dating because you’d rather be inside on a Friday night reading a book, and he’d probably be drunk in a club.”
She and Emily laugh, and I try to muster one, too, but all that comes out is a weak attempt at a smile.
“Which isn’t a bad thing at all. It’s just who you are. Our tenderhearted sweetie pie,” Emily adds, laying her head on my shoulder and squeezing affectionally around my waist. “But listen, I fully support your endeavor to get comfortable at dating so you can find someone right for you. Maybe this fall we’ll have a new student enroll with a single dad with a heart of gold and lots of love to give.”
“Oooh,” Madison says, lighting up. “That’s perfect for Annie! Brownie points if he’s a doctor.”
“A pediatric doctor!” Emily adds.
“A pediatric doctor who’s waiting until marriage to have sex again and also has a nonprofit helping stray puppies on the weekend!”
I can’t decide who makes me feel more upset right now. My sisters for once again telling me who I am and what I want—or me for smiling and nodding while they do. I love my sisters so much—which is why it hurts to not feel seen by them at all. I just want to be their friend and not their baby sister all the time. I want to be valued and taken seriously. But how do I do that without opening an entire can of slimy, messy worms? Or potentially hurting them when I tell them they’ve been inadvertently hurting me for years? I don’t want to seem whiny or fragile.
And please explain to me why I can’t for the life of me picture myself standing next to the man they just described, but I can perfectly picture a man with a pair of mischievous blue-gray eyes, a tilted smile, and tattoos hovering over me in my bed as he kisses my mouth again and again for the rest of my life.
Crap.
