Chapter 11
INDIA
Me
HELP I think I just told Felix I used to like him
Aurora Borealis
What do you mean, you THINK you told him?
And why would you ever tell him that?
Me
The words I used are all a little fuzzy
Dancing Queen Jules
Ooh, this is exciting!!! What did he say???
Me
Uncertain. I blacked out.
Dancing Queen Jules
Okay that’s okay!!! How do you feel??
Me
Warm
And panicky
And kind of hungry?
BUT WHAT DO I SAY TO FELIX??? HE’S DRIVING ME HOME
Aurora Borealis
You could do what I always do
Dancing Queen Jules
What, ignore your feelings until they grow and then explode??? No thank you. We can do better than that.
Indy, just tell him you don’t feel good and you need to go home!
Me
What if he asks about what I said?
Aurora Borealis
Then tell him to mind his own business.
Dancing Queen Jules
Tell him you don’t want to talk about it right now and you’re sorry but could he please just take you home with minimal discussion!!!
Me
Do you guys want to break out the chips and cheese when I get home? I need to drown myself in queso
Aurora Borealis
Obviously.
Dancing Queen Jules
Yes!!!
Here’s the thing about having sisters: there is a part of you that will always be a teenager. Because when you’re with your sisters or talking to them, they’ll always be teenagers too. That’s when the bonds of sisterhood solidify. Your youth, your childhood, your teenage years. No matter how old I get—although granted, I’m not that old—when I’m with Aurora and Jules, I revert to my teenage self.
I’m not too upset about it at the moment, because my teenage self doesn’t have to deal with mortifying bookshop confessions.
“All right,” I say under my breath as I pace back and forth on the sidewalk in front of the Pretty Page. “This is fine. It’s no big deal. Hold your head high, don’t act embarrassed, and everything will be okay.”
Because sometimes you have to fake it until you make it. And sometimes the only way to make it is to fake it. So I will shrug this interaction off. I will pretend I am not horrified at my earlier admission. Then I will go home and scream into my pillow, after which I will grab a bag of chips and a jar of queso with my sisters and eat my feelings, whatever they are.
The thing is…I really don’t know what I’m feeling. Yes, I’m embarrassed. But I’m also weirdly jittery, and inexplicably warm.
I do not like it. Not one bit.
What came over me in there? Was I… flirting?
The door behind me jingles as it opens, and—because of the aforementioned jitteriness and overall anxiety—I jump about a mile in the air.
“Ready to go, Sunshine?” Felix says as I whirl around. His camera still rests on its strap around his neck, and his blonde hair is now bathed in the pink-orange light of the sunset staining the sky. A plastic bag hangs over one arm—seems like he’s going to read some romance, which I firmly believe everyone should do.
But there’s nothing weird about his expression as he looks at me, nothing that screams I’m judging you for having a crush on me in the past.
“I’m ready,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady and neutral. “I should probably head home.”
“That’s fine.” The words are light, easy, and for a second I think I’m off the hook—until I meet his eye and see the look he’s now giving me.
Like his gaze is a push pin about to stick me to a cork board. That’s what it feels like, the look in his eyes. Inevitable, inescapable.
I swallow. Is it too late to take off running down the sidewalk? How long would it take me to jog home from here?
Not terribly long, maybe, but—I glance down at my loose jeans and my white shirt and my cute-but-not-for-running shoes—it would be a pain. Besides, I am a grown woman. And grown women know how to suck it up and endure discomfort when necessary.
So I fall into step next to Felix as we head to the little parking lot, silent save for the evening ambiance and the crinkle of plastic as his bag brushes against his legs.
Awkward. This is so awkward.
Or is it just me? Do I speak? Do I stay quiet?
“Got you a book,” Felix says, taking the decision out of my hands—and surprising me thoroughly in the process.
I look blankly over at him. “You—what?”
He holds up the plastic bag, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “A book. It’s something you read. That store back there sells them”—he jerks his chin over his shoulder in the direction of Pretty Page, and I roll my eyes—“so I bought you one.”
And in spite of my lingering humiliation from what I admitted to this man, I can’t help the tendrils of curiosity that thread through me now.
He bought me a book? Why?
But once again, he saves me the trouble of speaking.
“You said if I bought you a book, you’d smile at me some more.”
Huh. I did say that. He actually did it?
“Thank you,” I say dumbly, taking the bag he offers. He doesn’t watch me open it; he just continues strolling along, his gaze ahead of us, casual as you please. That’s my preference anyway. I sort of hate it when people watch me open their gifts.
I reach inside and feel the smooth, sturdy hard cover of whatever he chose, grasping it gently and pulling it out.
“I thought you might like it because you have sisters,” he says as I gaze down at a beautiful edition of Little Women . “I guess—you might have read it already,” he goes on, and I think there might be a hint of self-consciousness in his voice, “but Jess said book lovers like pretty books even if they’ve already read them.”
“She’s right,” I murmur as I run my hands over the book. It’s stunning—black with intricate floral designs and the title in gold cursive. And just like the buds and flowers on their smooth black background, something warm and tentative begins to bloom inside me.
I examine that feeling as we walk; I prod it a little to see what it’s made of.
Then I step on it and crush it under my heel.
Inhaling deeply and then clearing my throat, I say, “This was so kind, Felix.” I look over at him. “Thank you. Really.”
And then I smile at him. A real smile, because I can feel it, ready to bloom if I let it. So, because I told him I would, I smile at him.
“Ah,” he says softly, his lips hooking into a satisfied grin. “Look at that, Sunshine. Beautiful.” And it’s only when I see the tension ease out of his shoulders that I realize he must have been nervous about his gift. “Have you read it before?” he says, nodding at the book.
“Once, I think,” I admit. “When I was in high school. But I don’t remember much. I’d like to read it again.”
It’s the truth. I’ll read it again; probably this copy, and probably soon.
“Good,” he says on an exhale, nodding. “Good.” He pauses and then changes the subject. “Now—I think I already know how you feel about that bookshop, but just in case there’s anything you want to add—tell me your official thoughts about Pretty Page as a romantic destination in Lucky, Colorado.”
“Hmm,” I say, grateful for something to help take my mind off of my discomfort. “My on-the-record analysis? For your article, you mean?”
He nods again, digging in his pocket for his phone. Some of his golden hair falls over his forehead, and he pushes it back with ease. He probably does that all the time, and it’s a move I’m weak for—a man running his hands through his hair.
Focus.
I tear my gaze away and face forward instead, which is good, because in my current jittery state of mind, I could probably trip over nothing but my own feet.
“I think that?—”
“Hang on,” he cuts me off. “I’m getting?—”
I glance over at him again when he stops speaking, only to find him holding his phone up.
“Can I record your answer?” he says.
I didn’t expect to be recorded, but I don’t mind, so I shrug. “Sure.”
He nods and then presses the red button on the screen.
“I think that bookshop in particular is a romantic hotspot for several reasons. I think it gives book lovers a place to discuss mutual interests. Books they’ve read, books they’d recommend, that kind of thing.” My eyes narrow as I think. “But mostly I just think anything themed around romance is inevitably going to be romantic. The atmosphere is great, and there are literally thousands of romance stories everywhere you turn. It’s a place where people can talk about romance. It sets the mood, sort of.”
Yeah, my obnoxious brain pipes up. Which is why you admitted to liking him in the past.
I grimace. It was mere days ago that I worried about Felix finding out I used to like him. And instead of keeping that tidbit to myself forever and ever amen, I handed it to him on a silver platter?
“I agree,” Felix says, and I smooth my facial expression so he doesn’t look over and notice me mentally berating myself. “Not to mention it facilitates gift-giving. You can buy something for your boyfriend or girlfriend or lover—whoever.”
His gaze drops to the book still clutched in my hands, and I look at it too. It was probably more expensive, since it’s a special edition.
My eyes jump to him, searching his face, trying to figure out what I’m seeing.
He didn’t have to give me this.
All I find in my perusal of his features, though, is a faint hint of red in his cheeks.
He clears his throat loudly and then stops the recording, holding the phone up so I can see for myself that it’s not running anymore.
“Thanks,” he says, and I shrug again.
“Sure.”
We walk the rest of the way to the car in silence. Something about climbing into the passenger seat and closing the door behind me feels like locking myself in a cage. I’m entering an enclosed space with Felix, a space I can’t exit whenever I want, and I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“So,” he says conversationally when we’ve buckled. “I have a question.”
I sigh as something sinks in my chest, and I realize for the first time that his voice changed earlier. It was a slight difference, but when he asked if he could record me, when he asked for my official thoughts, there was a businesslike quality to his words.
That’s gone now, and we’re back to normal Felix, who’s probably about to ask the single question I don’t want to answer.
But I promised him I would answer one question honestly, and it was my fault for blurting out the truth earlier anyway. So instead of protesting, I say, “Yeah. Go ahead.”
He pauses, keeping his eyes on the road as we pull out of the parking lot and onto Main. “I actually have several questions.”
I just bet he does. “You get one.”
“One question you have to answer honestly,” he clarifies. “But I can ask you another question after that, and you might have no problem answering it. Right?”
I think this through. “Yes,” I finally say. “That is possible. There are lots of questions I don’t mind answering.” What are you going to eat when you get home? Chips and queso. Where is your dream vacation? The Maldives. How much money would you pay to un-admit you used to be infatuated with Felix? The limit does not exist.
See? I can answer lots of questions.
“Okay,” Felix says, and for a second he appears to be thinking. In the darkness of the car I can still spot the furrow in his brow, and he’s drumming his fingers absently on the wheel as he drives. Then, finally he nods. “Okay,” he says again, more decisively now. “I have my question.” He glances over at me and then back to the road. “When did you like me? You said you don’t want to fall for me again. When did you fall for me the first time?”
I sigh, groaning as I rub my hand down my face.
Felix laughs. “What—did you really think I wasn’t going to ask?”
“No,” I say. I slouch down in my seat. “But a girl can dream.”
“I mean, don’t get me wrong,” he says, still grinning. “I understand why you fell in love with someone as amazing as me. I’m perfect in every way. But I’m dying to know when this happened.”
And incredibly, miraculously, the dread I’ve been drowning in begins to ease—clouds dissipating to reveal a clear, starry sky. My lips twitch into a reluctant smile. “I was a wee lass, okay?” I say. “So don’t go getting any ideas. You’re not all that great. I just didn’t know any better.”
Felix inhales sharply, an exaggerated sound. “Ouch,” he says, but that grin is still in place. “You’ve wounded me, Sunshine. I have it on good authority that I am the ideal male specimen. Every woman’s dream type.”
I laugh out loud at this. “You wish, Caine.” I glance over at him and then look away again. “I was in high school, and you were my older brother’s cool best friend. That’s all.” I hesitate and then go on, “But you know what? I even studied communications because of you.”
I turn to him just in time to see his eyes pop wide open, his jaw dropping. “Oh, no,” he says, looking back and forth between me and the road. “Did you really?”
“Kind of, yeah,” I say with a grim nod. “Not in the sense that I wanted to impress you or whatever. But you made it seem so cool, you know? You had this way of making even boring things seem fun and exciting.”
“And you hated it,” he says.
“I don’t know if I hated it, but I certainly wasn’t passionate about it. Although,” I allow, “no one is passionate about communications.”
He blinks at me. “I’m passionate about it.”
“You’re the only one,” I say, a little snappishly because it’s ridiculous and yet I’m not at all surprised. “The rest of us think it’s boring. I just stuck with it because at that point I realized I really loved working with animals, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to be a vet. Too medical for me.”
He lets out a low whistle. “Wow. I never knew I wielded so much power over your young, impressionable mind—” But he breaks off, laughing, as I smack him on the shoulder. “Hey,” he says, “no attacking the driver.”
I shake my head, trying to suppress my own laughter.
How does Felix do this? How does he make everything so easy? He takes my worries and turns them into smiles, a magician turning a top hat into a bouquet of flowers.
We finish the rest of the drive in companionable silence, a space free of the anxiety I felt before. When we pull into my driveway, we both get out and head around to the back. It’s a relief to unload Betsy and have her back home with me, even if the thought of riding her again makes me a little nervous.
I didn’t lie to Felix. I still love her. But I don’t know that I’m ready to ride her again yet.
“Thank you,” I say. “For everything.” I don’t know how to tell him that he turned a horribly mortifying situation into one that I could breathe through. I hope my thanks is enough.
“Sure thing,” he says, and I step out of the way so he can close the trunk. “But before you go in…”
I glance at him, and he sighs, running his fingers through his hair again.
I bet it’s soft. It looks soft.
“I know I’ve been going on about making you help me with this article,” he says after a second of silence. He shoves his hands in his pockets, clearly uncomfortable now. “But I’m not actually going to tell anyone about the Pageant.” He pauses. “You know that, right?”
Slowly, I nod. “I know.” We’ve teased each other about it, but he isn’t that kind of person.
“So you don’t actually have to do all this with me, is what I’m saying.” He clears his throat, his eyes not quite meeting mine. “If you don’t want to. I won’t force you to do any more.”
A warm breeze plays with my hair in the dark, tugging it into my face and tickling my skin. I push it impatiently away. “Do you not want me to?” I say.
He’s giving me an out. He’s handing it to me free of charge.
But…
My heart thudding, I narrow my eyes and go on. “I know what this is.” I fold my arms across my chest. “You’re worried I’m going to fall in love with you again. Or—even worse—you’re worried you’re going to fall in love with me.”
Felix’s gaze pings up to mine, and for the briefest second, I see his surprise. Then his face melts into that teasing grin of his. “I didn’t want to embarrass you by suggesting it,” he says. “But I do have to admit, I’m concerned. You’re bound to be susceptible if you already fell for my charms once.”
“Mm-hmm,” I say skeptically, raising my brow at him. “I notice you didn’t address the possibility that you would fall in love with me. No comments on that one?”
“Nah,” he says, stepping closer. Even in the dark I can see his gaze sparkling down at me. “I can admit I’m attracted to you”—my cheeks warm—“but I meet lots of beautiful women, and so far I’ve never fallen in love.”
“In that case,” I say, “it looks like we’re still on. Good?”
“All good,” he says, and then he winks at me.
“None of that,” I say, pointing to his face. “No winking.” I begin wheeling Betsy up the driveway. “If you don’t want me to fall for your devastating charms again, keep those things to yourself. Got it?”
His laughter is the only answer.