11. Kiara
eleven
Kiara
W hy am I going to this engagement party again? I promised myself— promised —I wouldn’t deal with them for at least another year.
Yet here I am.
Stressing out over what I’m going to wear. How I am going to spend a whole weekend with them?
“Pouvez-vous m’indiquer la poste, s’il vous plait?” the melodic voice on my language learning app sounds. Somehow this calms me down, and I strive to answer the question correctly. Since the whole debacle with my family and with Colton, I’ve been focusing on ways to make strides in my career, and I came across a scholarship at one of France’s most prestigious pastry schools.
You never know until you try, so I applied, and that’s why I’m learning French now.
There’s a knock on the door, and from the sound of it, it’s Colton. Three quick, two slow, assured, not too loud, not too soft either.
My heart does a little skip and a jump, and I take a breath.
He could have been my boyfriend.
But I’d rather have him as a friend.
I scold my features into mildly unwelcoming, I’ve got shit to do . Then I crack the door open, hoping Colton doesn’t catch onto the fact I’m getting ready to go somewhere.
But he has a bag at his feet, a carton tray with two coffees, and his charming smile on. I retreat inside my apartment, leaving the door open for him.
“Thought you might need a friend,” Colton says, handing me the carton tray. Two cups, each with a name. Colton. Kiara .
Ignoring the temptation of Millie’s coffee—a clear bribe if I’ve ever seen one—I set them on my kitchen counter and cross my arms. Please tell me this is not what I think it is.
“Going somewhere?” I ask, my chin pointing at his duffel.
Closing the door after him, he leans his hip on the other side of the kitchen counter, crossing his arms too. “Maine,” he answers, dragging the word.
My palms moisten. “M-Maine?”
“ Prenez la premiere à droite, puis la seconde à gauche. La poste… ” I click my app shut.
“You all packed?” he adds.
Shit . I shut my eyes. “You don’t need to—I didn’t think you’d…” I didn’t think you’d remember. But of course he did. Of course.
“Bill reminded me,” he says, and my heart drops a little. Smirking, he adds, “Disappointed I didn’t remember?”
Annoyed he can read me so well, I cross and uncross my arms.
“You’re an open book to me, grasshopper,” he says, then after a pause adds, “for the most part.”
Pushing himself from the counter, he pops the coffees out of their carrier and hands me one. “This party is important to Eloise.” He looks me top to bottom. “And I thought you could use a friend.”
I feel sorry for him. Colton is always coming through for me—hell, that’s how we met—and he always seems to be giving way more than I have to offer back. There’s only so many cupcakes a guy can eat, even if you add his staff. That’ll never compensate for the many ways he’s always there for me. But this is reaching whole new levels.
I set my coffee on the counter. “Colt, you don’t need to get roped into my family’s dysfunctions.” I sigh. “I don’t understand why Uncle Bill reminded you. He knows… I mean I told him we’re not together. What is he…?” I raise my hands, giving up. “Why did you even engage with him on that?”
Something hot passes in his gaze, something that brings back the memory of us standing in his kitchen and him declaring, “We should date.” But there’s no way Colton could genuinely be interested in me that way. He was just being lazy that day—and I get the feeling. The dating scene is tough. But I know his type. And it is not me.
“Grasshopper, get ready. We’re gonna make the most of it. That’s what friends are for, right?” He takes a long draw from his coffee.
I swallow with difficulty. “It’s an overnight thing.”
“I know.” He gestures to his luggage.
I narrow my eyes on it. The bulky thing on top of his duffel bag? It’s his dressy jacket on a hanger. “I mean, I booked a room. One room. If we’re pretending to be—”
“I’ll take the floor,” he interrupts, understanding what I mean: If we’re to continue with this charade, we’ll need to share a room. “Or the couch, if there’s one.”
“I can’t ask that of you,” I say, embarrassed that he’s willing to sleep on the floor for me.
He takes another long sip of coffee. “Fine then, we’ll share the bed,” he answers with a smile, not missing a beat.
That makes me laugh—kind of. It’s more like a bitter chuckle. I’m such a mess of confused feelings right now. “Colt, you can’t spend the weekend with these nutjobs. Trust me. It’s not going to be fun.”
“Friends aren’t only for the fun parts of life.”
I can’t really argue with that, and the little flutter at the bottom of my belly confirms what I’m dreading: Colton is successfully breaking my barriers. “Don’t you have better things to do this weekend?”
His eyes dance a little at my question. Bringing his cup to his mouth again, he tilts his head back then darts his tongue to lick the foam off his lips. “Can’t think of anything better than to keep you company.”
I force my expression to betray none of what my body’s feeling. “Colt, we’re not dating.” He really needs to stop the act. Has no one ever told him that when you’re a ten, you don’t pretend to be with a four, even to come to their rescue?
“Don’t think I haven’t noticed.” His gaze falters a bit, and I feel like crap. Maybe he doesn’t consider himself a ten. Maybe he doesn’t think in numbers or grades.
Regardless, I can’t take the risk. “Look, I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you lately.”
“Apology accepted. I’ve missed you. As a friend ,” he adds quickly.
“But we can’t keep doing this.”
“Doing what?”
“Pretending we’re dating.”
“And miss out on riling up those assholes? You’re no fun these days,” he answers with a chuckle and a genuine smile. “Come on, even Bill loves the idea.”
Uncle Bill loves Colton, and he wants him there. He might even think throwing Colton and me together like that will lead to something.
“You’re early,” I say, effectively conceding defeat. I guess we are going to my sister’s engagement party together.
He smiles in a way that makes me lose a little of my composure, with his gaze doing something close to a caress. “Wanted to make sure you didn’t leave without me.” Rubbing his hands, he adds, “Where’s your bag?”
“I’m not packed yet.” The procrastination has been brutal this morning. “I need breakfast first,” I declare, planting my ass on one of the two kitchen chairs as I resume my coffee-drinking activity.
Colton opens the fridge and takes eggs out, making me instantly uncomfortable. “That’s not what I meant, Colt. Jesus, I don’t want you to cook me breakfast.” I was stealing some time. Hoping we could simply be together without our minds on this stupid weekend ahead of us. Meanwhile, Colton sets a pan on the range, then drops English muffins in the toaster. “I just wanted to enjoy the delicious Road to Heaven you brought me.” I take a sip. “Thanks, by the way.” I need to stop the bitch act. It got me nowhere anyway.
“Nice to see you’ve had time to go grocery shopping,” he mumbles as he cracks eggs in the pan.
Then he reaches for his coffee cup and as he brings it to his mouth, I can’t help but stare again, remembering the feel of his lips, the taste of his tongue, and his possessive grasp on my nape as he brought me closer and I got lost in him.
The toaster snaps, making me jump, the smell of toast not nearly as arousing as the memory of him, but something familiar to hold onto. Colton calmingly puts the coffee down, takes two plates out, slides two eggs on each, butters the English muffins and sets them on each plate. Then he puts one in front of me, one across from it, sets cutlery and napkins, and finally sits down and starts eating like it’s the most natural thing ever.
Like we do this every day. Which we used to—though not at breakfast. So this has to be good, right? I take a sip of coffee.
“You learning French?” Colton asks out of the blue.
I takes me a second to understand where his question is coming from. “Yeah. Nudging the universe, like Cassandra would say.”
“What?”
I’ve totally confused him. “I applied to this pastry training in Paris. I don’t stand a chance, but I decided to act as if I’m going. See if that makes a difference.”
“What’s Cassandra have to do with that?”
“Nothing. She just has these theories.” I wave between us. “Never mind.”
“How long is the training? And when?” he asks, squinting his eyes at me.
“You realize I haven’t been accepted, right?”
“You will be. How long is it?”
I take a beat, Colton’s faith in me hitting me hard. “Three months.”
He looks at me intently, making me almost squirm. “Okay.” His voice comes out low, yet strong.
I don’t know what “okay” means right now, so I stand up, collect our dishes, and take them to the kitchen area.
I hear his chair scrape the floor behind me. “I’ll take care of this, you go pack.”
Not five minutes later, his footsteps sound in the short hallway. “What are you wearing tonight?” he asks once in my bedroom. From the corner of my eye, I can tell he’s just as lost as I am, looking at all the clothes accumulated on my bed.
“Hell if I know.” What do you wear to your evil twin’s engagement party?
“Where’s your red dress?”
“My what?”
He produces something from the very back of my closet. An old memory jumps at me, from a time that seems to be slipping away—real fast.
“I can’t wear that.”
“Why not?” Colton asks.
This is the dress I wore to the prom-like party the community college organized after our little graduation. I’d never been to a prom, and I was so full of hope for the future. I can’t say that my life turned out bad—it didn’t—but at that time, I still had some pretty unrealistic expectations. I thought by now I’d have my own legit business with employees, a storefront, and a state-wide reputation. Turns out having seed money can be crucial to getting a start in life, and seed money doesn’t grow under the foot of a runaway teenager. Others in our class had their lucky breaks. I’m still waiting for mine. I’m hoping the all-expenses-paid training in Paris might be that.
“D’you think I could Airbnb my apartment?” Now that’s an idea to make some extra cash while I’m gone.
“Don’t change the topic, grasshopper. Why can’t you wear that dress?”
“My body changed,” I declare.
“Not that much,” he answers straight away, making me blush slightly.
I huff but don’t move. I am not trying this clingy dress on, and certainly not for Colton.
“Come on.” He holds the dress at arm’s length, toward me. “There’s gonna be dancing. This dress moves real nice on you.” He gives it a little shake as if to prove his point.
“How would you know?” I’m not looking for trouble with my question—just for answers.
He frowns at me. “That’s the dress you wore at the party the community college organized for us. Don’t think I didn’t notice. Don’t think anyone failed to notice.”
Heat flushes my face. “You spent the night with whats-her-face.”
He quirks an eyebrow. “I wasn’t sleeping with anyone at the time.”
I cross my arms. “That’s not what I said.”
He frowns, his mouth setting in a thin line. “I asked you to come with me to that thing, and you said something about not shitting where you ate.”
This isn’t going well. “See, this is why we shouldn’t be doing this.”
“This what?”
“This blurring the lines. We’re great as friends.”
“The only person blurring the lines is you. You go all jealous on me because years ago I danced with some chick I don’t even remember but clearly you do. Wouldn’t have happened if you’d gone with me. We would have danced together, had a good time. Instead you turned me down. Rudely. Hurt my feelings a little,” he adds with a smile that belies his words.
“And we wouldn’t be friends anymore.”
He rolls his eyes. “Not this again. You made your point. We’re just friends. Not crossing the line. Now try the fucking dress on.”
“How do you even remember the dress?”
“Trust me, grasshopper, any dude with half a dick has that dress seared in their memory for decades.”
I gasp at his words. Then blush harder. Then snap it from him and duck in the bathroom to try it on.
When I come back out, he’s sitting on my bed, looking down at his phone. He glances up at me, does a quick body scan, and his eyes widen for a fraction of a second before he looks away and stands. “'Kay, I’ll be waiting for you out there while you pack the rest of your stuff,” he says and walks out of the bedroom.
I look down at myself, not sure what’s going on. I was pretty happy. I was going to concede he was right: I thought the dress looked fine after all. “What’s wrong with the dress?” I semi-shout so he can hear me.
He clears his throat. “Who said there was anything wrong with it?”