Chapter 13 #2
“Give Kevin some thought. He’s really nice, and I just want you happy,” she says, and I sigh, knowing if she uses this tactic—the soft, sweet one—I’ll end up on a shitty blind date sooner rather than later.
“I know. I’ll think about it,” I say. The grin she gives me tells me she probably knows that is my fate as well, though she’s kind enough not to rub it in my face. Instead, she gives Nat and then Emma a hug goodbye before she heads out the door.
Twenty minutes later, Nat finishes up Emma’s hair.
We both ooh and ahh over it, taking a few pictures to send to Mrs. King and Wren before sending her over to one of Nat’s co-workers for a manicure and pedicure.
I sit in a chair toward the entrance, flipping through a magazine, but when Nat comes my way with a meddling look on her face, my back straightens.
Unlike Wren, who takes things at face value and would rather die than make someone confess their deepest, darkest thoughts, Nat is a viper when she senses something.
And right now, the way she’s looking at me is like she’s about to strike.
“All good?”
“Yup, Emma just picked out her color,” she says, then sits beside me. Silence fills the space for a moment, and I think I might be home free until… “So you’re getting close with Jesse King, huh?”
My head shifts to glare at her.
“Don’t,” I say. She grins as if she already knows she won. Just then, as if the universe were working against me, my phone beeps with a new message. Quickly, I grab it and see it’s him confirming that he got a reservation at the steakhouse in town at five thirty tonight.
“He’s been texting you all day,” she says.
“I’m watching his kid,” I explain simply.
“Having his kid in your care requires a series of mirror selfies in tight-fitting button-downs?” she asks, tipping her chin to my phone, the message screen still open.
When I look down, I see Jesse’s sent me a few different outfit options for his dinner with Emma, and my heart pangs.
He’s so sweet, wanting to make sure he looks good for her.
He also looks unbearably hot in dress-up clothes, and despite my desire to look closer and possibly drool a bit, I play it off with a roll of my eyes.
“He’s taking Emma out on a fancy date and wants my opinion on what would look best.”
Nat gives me a disbelieving look. “He has a sister and a mom he could ask.”
I shrug. “I’m basically a sister to him, too.”
With that, Nat lets out a loud laugh, one that has a few eyes in the salon turning toward us.
“Nat, what the hell?” I ask in a hushed, chiding tone. Her laughter dies down, and she wipes a tear from her eyes, catching her breath.
“Sorry, the idea of Jesse King thinking of you as a sister was just too much.” She tips her head to the side a bit, assessing me. “Hallie, that man has been in love with you for years.”
“Bullshit,” I say, shaking my head. In an effort to distract myself, I scroll to a photo of Jesse in a blue button-down and heart it before texting him that that’s the right option.
“You’re not stupid, you know I’m right.”
I shake my head, then open up a solitaire, adamant about not looking at her.
“And you’ve always had a thing for him.”
“I had a crush on him when we were kids, Nat. That’s it. And I was a kid. I also thought I was going to marry Harry Styles.” I thought that would get a laugh, but it falls flat; her eyes are still assessing me.
“So there’s nothing there? Nothing at all?” she asks, and I shake my head.
“Nope,” I say, popping the p. A beat passes, and she sits back, and a small part of me eases, thinking she’s done.
Rookie mistake.
“So you’d be okay if I went for it?” she asks, and my head snaps up to look at her, falling right into her trap.
Shit.
The grin spreading over her red-painted lips is absolutely devious. I fell for it—hook, line, and sinker.
“Yeah, that isn’t the reaction of someone who has absolutely no feelings for someone.
” I roll my eyes and sigh, and she points at me, eyes wide and excited.
“I knew it! Something happened.” I don’t deny it, eyes staying down, not wanting to give her another way to read me.
“Oh my god, tell me right now.” I don’t speak.
“Did you guys fuck? Was it so good? Oh my god, please tell me everything. I—”
Without meaning to, in a hushed tone, I spill, not wanting her to continue down this path.
“We kissed, okay? It was a year ago in Vermont. It was late, and we both had drank a little bit too much, and—”
“I’m sorry, what?” Nat says, eyes wide. “A year ago?!”
I groan, realizing there’s no going back now, and I’ll need to tell her the whole story, so I do, telling her everything about that weekend in Vermont and then everything since.
To my surprise, it’s a relief to get it off my chest. It’s been held so close to me all this time, something I’ve played over and over but never wanted to talk to my closest friends about.
If I did, Wren would either get that look in her eyes and start planning a wedding and birthday party for future nieces and nephews who don’t exist and never will, or she’ll be hurt and a little skeptical of me.
I’ve seen it before, a dozen times over: someone gets close to Wren, and Wren gets excited to have a new friend to fawn over and take care of, but in two or three months, it becomes increasingly clear it was an excuse to talk to her brothers.
And every time, it breaks her heart a little.
Sweet Wren, who couldn’t use someone if she really, really tried, will never understand someone becoming friends with someone just to date their brother.
So all this time, I kept it my own little secret, but sharing it with Nat now feels as if a giant weight has been lifted. Her face goes from excitement to confusion to frustration to intrigue as I tell her my story, mimicking all of the emotions I’ve felt, but she doesn’t speak until the very end.
“And now?” she asks after I finish my story.
“And now?” I ask, confused.
“Yeah. You’ve spent nearly every day together for two weeks. You’re living right next door to him. His daughter adores you. There’s clearly something between you both that you’re ignoring.”
“No, there isn’t. It was one kiss, and neither of us wants to date,” I say with a shake of my head. She looks at me skeptically, but I move past it. “We’re just friends.”
“Friends,” she says, deadpan.
“Why are you saying it like that?” I ask, irritation brewing.
“Oh, no reason at all.” She sits back, arms crossed on her chest. “How is he going to feel about Wren trying to set you up?”
My forehead creases. “Why would he have feelings about that?”
“Oh, so you’re in denial, got it. Cool,” she says with a little nod.
“You’re so dramatic. I’m not in denial, Nat. I’m the opposite, actually. I’m being very much a realist.”
She looks at me, something too close to sadness on her face for my own comfort, before she sighs and shakes her head.
“I just…I hope you know what you’re doing,” she says, low.
“I do,” I promise, but it felt hollow. And as my phone buzzes in my hand with a thanks, I don’t know what I’d do without you text, and a little girl turns to look over her shoulder and smiles at me from across the salon, I know it’s because it was a lie.