Chapter 4 #2
“That’s nice, Mom,” I say, but she’s already staring back into Eugene’s eyes.
Cormac shrugs and takes another bite of the casserole before shaking his head and murmuring, “It turns out the best of several bad options is still not good.”
I smile at him, feeling at least fifty times more charitable toward him than I did this morning. Maybe it’s my ginger beer, which I’ve been steadily sipping, or his willingness to help me.
I’m halfheartedly chewing a bite of my chicken when José approaches our table.
“Congrats again, Mr. and Mrs. Peebles,” he says, grinning at them with his hands clasped together.
“It’s Applebaum-Peebles, actually,” Cormac offers.
José ignores him, his focus on my mother, who gives him a tentative smile. “Thanks, José. I hope you enjoyed your chicken.”
She’s been a bit weird with him ever since our short-lived relationship, as if she thinks the breakup was his fault. It was my choice, but she wouldn’t hear a word of it.
“It was delicious,” he says. “I ate every bite.”
Cormac coughs as if he’s choking, and I pat him on the back, fighting a smile. José’s BSing her, of course. He’s good at that, which is why he’s the charming face of The Ginger Station, while I prefer to stay in the back and experiment.
No one wants to put me on charm duty.
“I was wondering if I could steal Nora for a moment,” José says, his gaze skating to my hand on Cormac’s back. “There’s an important business matter we have to discuss.”
“But Nora isn’t working today,” my mom insists, her chin firming. “And she won’t want to miss our first dance.”
“It’s okay, Mom,” I say brightly. “I’ll be right back.”
I glance at Cormac, who holds my gaze for a second. I can’t read his expression, but he looks a little annoyed, and maybe even regretful.
“I’ll be right back,” I insist.
I follow José, who exits from one of the side doors and leads the way to the back of the brewery.
It’s insanely hot out today, which is why the reception is being held inside.
Still, a few guests have filtered out to the beer garden, and a couple is aggressively making out in one of the hammocks hanging in the trees beyond the picnic tables.
“What the fuck is going on, Nora?” José says, his charm falling away. “Pansy told me you’re secretly dating Cormac, which I know can’t be true.”
“Why not?”
“I’ve met all of your ex-boyfriends,” he says dryly. “I’m one of them. He’s not your type. Not even a little.”
“And Pansy’s yours?” I resist the urge to shove him. Barely. “You hate Bon Jovi, and you almost shit a brick when I set out fuzzy blankets in the tasting room a couple of winters ago. You said it messed up the feng shui. And now your whole apartment looks like it’s covered with dead Muppets.”
He presses both hands against the back of his head, as if I’m causing him a headache, before letting them drop. “It’s…cozy. But this isn’t about Pansy.”
It’s exactly about Pansy, since I wouldn’t have to pretend I have a boyfriend, my stepbrother or otherwise, if not for her.
But he’s never shown any sense when it comes to her.
Even if I told him about the Pads by Pansy extortion bullshit, he’d make up some excuse.
Oh, she’s just really excited, or it wasn’t a threat, Nora.
She was hoping you’d share her vision of a fuzzier world.
Puke. I can see what Cormac means about the whole marriage thing.
Yes, our parents seem legitimately happy together, but there are just as many couples who are poorly suited. People who shouldn’t be together and cause nothing but pain and misery for themselves and others.
I take a deep breath in, the way my friend Briar is always telling me to do, and then let it slowly seep out.
“What’s your problem with Cormac?” I ask, my voice simmering but no longer raining fire.
José glances around, probably looking for anyone he might know, and then guides me around the corner, away from the picnic benches and hammocks.
There’s not much over here, just some lights extending from the building’s facade, a side door embedded with a big glass window, a couple of round tables shoved close to the wall, and some maples that like to drop whirligigs all over the roof.
“My problem with him?” José hisses. “You’ve hated the guy for months. Hell, years.”
“I’ve never hated him,” I snap back. “He’s just…annoying.”
“And suddenly you’re into him? I don’t buy it.” He paces a couple of steps before stopping in his tracks. “Besides, I was talking to his dad the other day, and it sounds like he’s some kind of genius. He’s up for a Nikola.”
“What the hell’s a Nikola?”
“Some big inventing award. They grant them in the fall. There’s a big ceremony in Washington, D.C.”
Shock zips through me, activating my synapses as I try to connect this piece of information with the Cormac I know, but José’s not done.
“So you’re probably not his type either,” he adds.
I almost stagger. “What, because I barely passed physics? You’re saying he’s too smart for me?”
“No, of course not. I only meant—”
He stutters to a stop, looking guilty as hell. That was exactly what he was saying, and we both know it.
I could easily end this by telling him the truth. Cormac and I have nothing in common, and we’ve only been thrown together by a series of strange circumstances that led to Pansy walking in on us. But my wounded pride won’t allow it.
“You’ve changed,” I say as heat presses behind my eyes.
I won’t cry. I never cry, but dammit, I’m mad at him for making me come close.
“So have you,” he says, his tone harsh. “You’ve always been a glass-half-empty person, but ever since your parents split up, you’ve been, all, fuck the glass. It’s exhausting. Pansy likes having fun, and so do I.”
“Fuck you.” My voice has the absolute nerve to quiver a little, but I steel my spine.
He holds my gaze for a long moment, and I’m slammed with half a dozen memories.
Like when we found this building, covered with graffiti and so dirty we’d needed to buy a stronger power washer.
We’d looked at each other as soon as we stepped over the threshold, and perfect understanding had flowed between us.
This was the place. This was our vision.
This was really going to happen, and we were doing it together.
We’d been nothing but friends—true partners—until a couple of years ago. Hours after closing, when it had felt like we were the only two people left awake in the whole world, we kissed in the dark of the tasting room.
We both wanted it to feel like something special, because we were special, and this partnership we shared had transformed our lives. We worked so well together. He was good at the things I sucked at, and I was good at the facets of the business he couldn’t wrap his head around.
But our romantic relationship never felt special.
There was no spark, and the effort of trying to build something that didn’t exist was exhausting.
I was the one who said we’re so much better off as friends, and he agreed. It happened not long after my mom finally caught my dad with his pants down, being sucked off by his TA—which led to the inevitable revelation that he had been unfaithful for their entire marriage.
Has José spent the last two years thinking I only broke up with him because of my father?
Cormac turns the corner, hands stuffed in his pants pockets.
“There you are,” he says, his gray eyes settling on me. He looks almost concerned, the same way he did earlier when Pansy walked in on us. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”
Without even acknowledging José, he strides over and leans down, kissing the corner of my mouth as if we walk around every day, brushing kisses on each other. His kiss is warm and soft and full of casual confidence.
Disbelief turns me into a mannequin, glued to the ground beneath me.
“They’re about to start their first dance,” Cormac continues, adjusting his glasses and then wrapping an arm around my waist, his hand settling on my hip. “We don’t want to miss that. They’d never let us live it down.”
My first impulse is to bat his hand away, but he must be doing this to help me. And yet…why would he bother?
I haven’t been all that nice to Cormac before today. Maybe he’s really desperate for a dog-sitter, or he got a better look at Hazel and realized the error of his ways.
Only…neither explanation totally fits.
He finally glances in José’s direction. “I take it Nora told you about us? I’m a lucky guy, but we’d appreciate it if you don’t tell our parents yet. They’d have some concerns, naturally, and this is their special day.”
José looks dumbstruck, as if someone just granted me a Nikola Award. He studies us in silence, his gaze dipping to Cormac’s arm still wrapped around my waist. His jaw clenches, and he glares at Cormac. “My fiancée and I know your secret, so surely you’ll agree to have drinks with us.”
“You want to go on a double date?” I ask skeptically. José and I have discussed double dates before, and both of us see them as a horror no sane person would willingly subject themselves to. What is he playing at?
My friend’s dark gaze flits to Cormac. “Pansy would love to get to know you better. And I’d love to get to know you better too.”
“We’d be delighted,” Cormac says flatly. “But it will need to be somewhere off the beaten path. We can’t be seen together in Asheville. Not yet.”
“We’ll figure out the details later,” José says, and with a final pointed glance at me, he stalks off.
As soon as he turns the corner, Cormac drops his grip on my waist. Still, he keeps scowling around the corner of the building, as if he hopes his disapproval can still be seen and felt by José.
“Cormac,” I hiss. “We can’t go on a double date with them.”
It would be unspeakable torture, like having someone pry your fingernails off. No, having a sloth pry them off, so slowly you feel everything.
He scratches his head, looking a little embarrassed, and frowns at the side door briefly. I follow his gaze but notice no one behind the glass, thank God.
“I may have gotten a little carried away,” he finally says. “But I was worked up.”
He was? He acted as unaffected as an undercover MI5 agent.
“I didn’t like the way he was speaking to you,” he finishes, finally looking down at me. He’s so tall I feel like I have to lift my heels to meet his gaze.
“How much did you hear?”
“Fuck the glass is right,” he says with a slight smile. “Why would someone ask you how much water is in a glass anyway, when most people could see it with their own eyes?”
I smile back at him, feeling a lurch of emotion that I swallow. “You raise a good point.” I pause, scanning his face. “Are you really up for some fancy award?”
He lifts one shoulder. “It’s for one of my robots.”
“The…one I broke?” I ask weakly.
I hadn’t realized he was a genius. I thought his science project robot was something he’d built after watching a bunch of YouTube videos or using some make-your-own-robot-companion kit.
“No, Nora,” he says, his voice surprisingly soft. “But don’t give up now. You’ll have a chance to break it when you dog-sit next weekend. There’s no getting out of it now. It was a binding agreement.”
I laugh, surprised by it, and discomfited by the feeling of heat welling behind my eyes. I don’t want to cry, and I especially don’t want to cry in front of Cormac.
“For the record,” he says, “you’d be plenty smart enough for anyone, and grumpy people are better to have around than optimists. Optimists don’t have a lot of patience for reality.”
I nudge him with my shoulder. “Says the man who’s agreed to be in a secret fake relationship with his stepsister.”
His smile catches me off-guard. It’s wider than usual, and his face lights up, all of his features getting in on the action. “You make it sound deviant.”
“Maybe it is,” I say. “You know, I thought about telling him the truth, but he came at me like—”
“He was being an asshole. If he follows up, we will go.”
“I hate double dates.”
“So do I. Which is why I resent him for backing us into it. But if this is what you need to get to keep this place, then yeah, I guess we have to do it.”
“You know, you’re a pretty good secret fake boyfriend. You’ve been killing it today.” I don’t intend to do it, but I feel my fingers skating up to the corner of my mouth, as if his lips left an imprint.
He bows, the top of his curly head brushing slightly against my face. I have an insane urge to run my hand over his hair, but I preserve the illusion of my sanity and keep my arms by my sides.
When he looks up, he’s grinning at me. “Thank you. But my swagger has not improved. I told your cousin her hair looks like a round loaf of bread, and five minutes later, she came out of the bathroom with a new hairdo. So we probably have that to smooth over. Should we head back inside? I’ve got to set up with the band. ”
“Shit. Are we holding up the reception?”
His lips twitch upward. “The lady I’m not allowed to call little and old is reading tea leaves. I heard her telling someone yours were very interesting.”
“I didn’t drink any tea.”
“Not to worry. Sounds like she drank it for you.”
“Let’s use the back door. This one locks from the outside.”
He nods and leads the way around the building.
I walk with him, his long strides quickly eating up the sidewalk pavement as we circle the building. He enters through the back door, and I have to catch it before it slams me in the face.
“I’ll give you this bit of dating advice as a free bonus,” I say as I follow him inside. “Hold the door for people.”
“Really?” he asks, turning around. There’s a studious look on his face, as if I’ve suddenly transformed into his romance professor.
“Isn’t it more of a hassle? I always feel like I’m supposed to run when someone holds one for me, and it becomes this awkward dance when there’s more than one door in a row.
One person holds it for the other, who has to hold the next door open for them, and so on.
It seems like it would be easier for everyone to just open doors for themselves if they can. ”
I laugh, because honestly, he’s not wrong. “I get that. Still…people think it’s polite.”
“So it’s a way of acting polite without actually being polite.”
“Something like that. But if you want to get into a woman’s pants, you should probably still open doors for her.”
He shakes his head ruefully. “My mother might have taught me manners, but she had no interest in helping me get into women’s pants. This is useful. A bonus for my fake boyfriending.”
“Are you humoring me?”
The dubious look he gives me makes me laugh. “That’s for you to decide.”