Chapter 3
Wendy Ann McGuire
A logical woman currently
thinking very illogical thoughts…
I stand, watching from behind a flower arrangement at the edge of the tent as Binx’s crush hoists her into a tree and climbs up after her, my wheels turning.
I’m sure many people would find it strange that a fully grown woman is climbing a tree at a wedding reception, but that’s just Binx. She’s always danced to the beat of her own drum.
And now she’s found a man who hears the same rhythm, a man who clearly adores his daughter and has so much love to give in that big, burly heart of his. A man who also happens to look at my sister like she’s the missing variable needed to solve his equation…
“They clearly belong together,” I mutter.
“I know, but they don’t get it. We have to do something,” comes a whisper from my left. I flinch in surprise and spin to see a little girl beside me.
It’s Sprout, Seven’s daughter. I recognize the description of her dress.
She lifts her hands into the air. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. Binx told me to say hi. You’re Wendy Ann, right? Her sister?”
“Yes. And you’re Sprout.”
“Sophia is my real name, but everyone calls me Sprout. You can, too.” She flashes a charming, dimpled grin with a hint of mischief around the eyes. “Especially if you want to help with my mission.”
I frown. “Your mission…”
She nods. “To get Dad and Binx together. They’re already more in love than Flynn Rider and Rapunzel, the best couple there ever was, so it should be easy.”
I grunt softly. “Tangled is one of my favorite movies.”
Her smile widens. “I knew it.”
“Knew what?”
“I knew you were smart. I could tell from your eyes. Smart people have bouncy eyes that never stop moving.”
“That could also be a neurological condition.”
She arches a brow. “Do you have a neurological condition?” She stumbles a bit on the word “neurological,” but she’s clearly comfortable with big words, and the slight affectation in her speech is barely noticeable. I remember Binx saying she was having trouble with bullies at school teasing her about the way she talks, but I can’t imagine why.
But then again, kids never needed a real reason to bully people when I was in elementary school, either. If they wanted to pick on you, they’d find an excuse, whether it was glasses or reading too much or bringing the same sandwich for lunch every day.
“No,” I confess. “I don’t.”
“I didn’t think so,” she says. “But you know what you do have?”
“What?”
“Time on your hands.”
My eyes narrow. “How do you know that? What did Binx say about me?’
“She just said you were smart and liked math, but I could tell you have time on your hands because you’re just standing here, spying on other people. Doesn’t seem like you have a lot of friends, but that’s okay,” she says, in a placating tone. “I don’t have a lot of friends, either. My best friend moved away, and the rest of the kids at my school are dicks.”
My brows shoot up. “Does your dad know you use that word?”
She shrugs. “No. Does Binx know that you spy on her all the time?”
“I don’t spy on her all the time, just when she’s with a cute boy. I’m a little sister. It’s part of the job description,” I say, pushing on before she can insult me again. “And what about you? You’re spying, too.”
An even wider grin bursts across her face. “Exactly! That’s why we’ll be perfect partners. I’ve been doing what I can, but there’s only so much a person can do when they can’t drive and have to be in boring old school all day.”
My lips hook up. As diabolical as this kid is, her grin is contagious. “How old are you?”
“Eight,” she says. “But I’m going to be nine in January, and I read at a tenth-grade level. I’m not stupid.”
“Clearly,” I say. “But neither are they. They’ll see a matchmaking scheme coming from a mile away. Especially Binx. And then she’ll murder me in my sleep for embarrassing her.”
“She won’t. She’s nice. My dad’s nice, too, even though he looks different than other dads.”
“He sure does,” I mutter, thinking about the way Seven came roaring up the hill on his motorcycle, looking like a bad boy action hero swooping in to save the day.
Speaking of cartoons, his biceps and thighs would give Gaston from Beauty and the Beast a run for his money…
“Ew, gross,” Sprout says. “Don’t tell me you think my dad’s cute, too. The ladies at the playground flirt with him all the time. Keeping them away from him is a full-time job. I barely have any time for the swings.” Her nose wrinkles. “And most of them are married, so they should be keeping their giggles and blinky eyes to themselves. Only one of them is a nanny without a husband, but she’s even younger than Binx, so I know Dad won’t date her.”
“Is that the problem?” I ask. “He thinks Binx is too young for him?”
She nods. “Yeah, he’s forty-two, which I know is super old, but Binx doesn’t care, so why does he?”
“Valid question,” I say. “And he doesn’t look forty-two. I would have guessed he was in his mid-thirties.”
“He takes good care of himself and eats all his vegetables. He also wears sunscreen every day. We put it on together in the bathroom in the mornings, so we don’t get skin cancer. He and Grammy and my uncles used to do that when they were kids, too. It’s a family tradition.”
“It’s a good one,” I say. “And you seem like a very smart and savvy kid, but?—”
“No buts,” she cuts in, shaking her head. “Please, you have to help me. I can’t ask anyone else, and we have to do something. Fast. Before Dad marries someone he doesn’t even love. He has a third date on Friday.”
I frown. “So? That doesn’t mean he’s going to marry someone else.”
“He never makes it to the third date. I mean never , not in my entire life since my mom died. But he and Pammy are going to dinner and a movie on Friday. Pammy .” She makes a gagging face. “That’s her name. Do you want me to be cursed with a stepmother named Pammy, Wendy Ann? Is that the kind of awful thing you would put on an innocent kid?”
I cross my arms. “No, of course not, but I honestly don’t see what we can do. Your dad has his mind made up, and he seems like a stubborn guy. And I know Binx likes him, but she’s a proud person. If she realizes he’s getting serious with another woman, that’s going to push her away, not make her want to try harder to change his mind.”
“But he doesn’t love Pammy,” Sprout says. “I know he doesn’t. He loves Binx, and I do, too. She should be part of our family, not some weird stranger with huge boobs and gross yellow Barbie hair.”
“Oh wow, Pammy Gore?” I ask as her description brings up a vivid mental picture. “He’s dating Pammy Gore?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “He didn’t tell me her last name. I only know what she looks like because she used to come drink at Grammy’s bar in the afternoon with her girlfriends. They all wear way too much makeup and laugh like witches, and Pammy’s boobs are bigger than my entire head. Each one of them.”
I hum. “Yeah, that’s Pammy Gore. She went to high school with my older brother, Barrett. She got the implants their senior year. It was a huge scandal.”
“It’s still a scandal,” Sprout mutters. “I’m embarrassed for her.”
“You’re a funny kid,” I say with a huff of laughter.
She scowls. “I know, but I’m not trying to be funny right now. I’m worried. I love Binx so much. Our house feels so cozy and happy when Binx is there. She belongs with us. Even my chickens love her, and Hilda, Henna, and Hermione are very picky. They won’t sit and snuggle with anyone except me and Binx.” She sighs. “And I know my dad will be so sad later, when Binx marries someone else. He’s making a huge mistake, but he won’t listen to me about it because I’m just a kid. He told me if I said another word about him dating Binx, he wouldn’t invite her over for game night anymore, so I’m completely stuck.” She lifts pleading, emerald-green eyes to mine. “If I can’t find someone to help me, all of our lives will be ruined.”
I shoot her a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry, but?—”
“Three lives,” she cuts in, her eyes widening. “Maybe four because Pammy will hate being in our family.”
“Maybe she won’t,” I offer, though I still think she’s jumping the gun with this Pammy stepmother fear.
“She will,” Sprout insists, adding in an ominous tone that’s a little disturbing in an eight-year-old, “I plan on being a real pain in the butt to any stepmom who isn’t Binx.”
I huff again and shake my head. “I see why Binx loves you. You’re just like her when she was a kid.”
Sprout’s face lights up with a joy that makes my heart hurt a little. “Really?”
“Really,” I assure her. This kid truly adores my sister, and I know Binx feels the same way. And just from watching Binx and Seven chat beneath the tree for a few minutes, it’s clear that they’re meant to be. They communicate with the ease of old friends and have the kind of chemistry that gives off sparks in the darkness.
And if age is truly the only barrier…
“So, he has a date Friday night, you said?” I ask, even though I know better.
I can’t meddle in Binx’s love life. She really will kill me. She’s a kind, generous big sister who loves me, but she’s also independent to a fault. She wants to do everything by herself, with no help from anyone else, especially a bratty little sister who used to steal her clothes and read her text messages while she was sleeping in on Saturday mornings.
“Yes,” Sprout says, perking up. “And I know which restaurant and which movie. We can get there first and set booby traps.” She chuckles. “Get it? Booby traps? Because Pammy has giant gazoombas?”
I snort. “Yes, I get it. But no, we’re not going to booby trap anything. We’ll have to set a different kind of trap, one Binx and your dad won’t see coming, and that we can deny having any part of if the mission fails.”
She nods, her eyes narrowing. “Yeah, that’s good. I don’t want to get in trouble. I’m already in trouble from tonight.” Her brow furrows. “Sometimes I don’t think things through as much as I should. It’s a problem.”
“It’s okay,” I say gently, falling a little in love with this kid myself. “You’re only eight. Your frontal lobe is a long way from being fully developed.”
“What’s that?” she asks, looking suspicious.
“A part of your brain that deals with executive functions like problem-solving and planning ahead. You’ll get better with those things as you get older.”
“I’m already smarter than most teenagers,” she says. “My cousin Jack does way stupider things than me on a regular basis. He ate laundry detergent one time on a dare and had to go to the hospital. And he never reads anything except captions on the videos on his phone. Grammy says his brain is going to rot straight out his head, and that if she were Uncle Nolan, she would take his phone away until he proved he wasn’t an idiot.”
“I would, too,” I agree. “I wish someone would take my phone away. I hate it, but I can’t quit it. I’m too addicted to checking my email.”
Sprout nods seriously. “A lot of grown-ups are. That’s why my dad is building his retreat center. So people can go there and get away from their phones and stuff. He’s going to have a big black box where everyone has to put their phones and computers and they can’t get them out again until they leave unless it’s an emergency.”
“Yeah, Binx mentioned that,” I say, my brain cogs catching and spinning in a new direction. “He bought the old Boy Scout camp outside of town, right? The big one?”
“Yeah. It’s huge. We have to use a four-wheeler when we’re going to the waterfall because it’s too far to walk from the cabin.”
Cabin…
Hmm….
“I think I have the beginnings of a plan,” I say, shushing her when she starts to squeal. “But we have to keep this quiet. The first rule of Parent Trap Club is we don’t talk about Parent Trap Club with anyone but each other.”
She presses a fist to her mouth, hiding her smile. “Okay, but I’m so excited. I knew you’d help me! I just knew it. We can do this! I know we can!”
“Maybe, with a little luck,” I say, my lips curving. “Let’s get a piece of cake and discuss things further at one of the tables in the corner, where we won’t be overheard.”
“Okay, but we’ll have to talk fast,” she says, following me over to the dessert table, where Tessa and my brother, Wes, are about to cut the first slices of their giant cake. “Dad said we were leaving after cake.”
I nod. “Okay. I’ll give you my phone number, in case we need to follow up. Do you have a phone?”
She shakes her head. “No, but I can call from the phone at my house or at Grammy’s.”
“You should use the one at your grammy’s. That way your dad won’t get suspicious if he looks at his call records and sees a strange number.” I pause, reconsidering my words as soon as they’re out of my mouth. I turn to her, frowning as I say, “You realize you shouldn’t do something like this with any other grown-up ever, right? Not even one you think is nice? I’m a stranger. I could be horrible and awful and dangerous.”
She snorts in amusement. “You’re not a stranger. You’re Binx’s sister, and she said you were great and super smart and that I should say hi to you.”
“She did?” I ask, touched. I’ve always thought Binx was great—she’s my cool as hell older sister—but I wasn’t sure the admiration went both ways.
“She did. And I know not to call weird grown-ups. I’m not stupid.”
I twist my lips to one side, still not feeling great about colluding with a child without her parent’s knowledge. But considering the nature of our collusion, I can’t very well ask Seven for permission to call his kid. “I think we should tell your grammy about our plan,” I say, figuring that’s a decent compromise. “And if she’s on board, then we can move forward.”
Sprout groans. “Oh, come on. I’m big enough to call people on my own. And Grammy’s going to say no.”
“Maybe not. Not if we have a solid plan, and she realizes I’m on board, too. There’s strength in numbers.”
She grunts. “Maybe. But the plan is going to have to be really good.”
“It will be,” I assure her with a grin. The more I think about this, the more it seems like it actually might be easy. I know my sister better than almost anyone, and Sprout and her grandmother know Seven inside and out.
If we can’t figure out a way to get these lovebirds out of the tree and on the road to happily ever after, who can?
And what’s the worst that can happen?
Binx and Seven don’t take the bait and remain “just friends?” That’s not so bad. It’s just a continuation of the status quo, nothing catastrophic.
Catastrophic…
It’s a word that will soon come back to haunt me.
Very, very soon…