Chapter 2
SNAG
Thane
“We’re in the kitchen!” my mom yells from down the hallway.
I lag a few steps behind Sera and admire the handiwork that has taken place the last few years as she grew into her curves.
I wouldn’t exactly call it a “glow up,” because she has always been beautiful, but the way her skinny jeans outline her best asset makes me have to remind myself, yet again, that she’s my best friend’s little sister.
I have been “looking, but not touching” Sera for most of my life, and frankly, I’m beyond frustrated that I know every freckle, every curve of her face, yet I’m forbidden to do anything about it.
“Oh good, you’re both here!” Mrs. Spencer says with a smile as we march into the kitchen.
“Yep, we sure are!” Sera chimes in. “The both of us.” Then she shoots a glance at her mother that says, a little warning would’ve been nice.
My mother starts in. “We’ve hit a bit of a…”
“…Snag,” Mrs. Spencer finishes.
I shove my hands deep into my pockets, waiting for whatever comes next, which sounds ominous, judging by their shifty eyes and lowered tones.
“What’s the matter?” Sera asks, sliding onto a barstool across the island from our mothers.
I leave an empty stool between us as I sit down. There were so many days of our childhood spent sitting at this very countertop, and the empty seat between us makes Sebastian’s absence spill over into the silence.
“We got a call from the travel agent, and there’s a problem,” my mother says.
“His assistant misplaced the message to book our flights last month. So when I called to confirm everything, he went online and there were only five first-class seats left. So you two have half an hour to figure out which one of you gets to sit in economy.” My mother’s face twists into a cringe as the news smacks Sera and me in the face.
Sera’s mouth drops open. She was never the princess type growing up, which is why she gets so angry when I call her names like “Boss” and “Princess” in jest, but flying in economy just might be her limit.
I stifle a laugh imagining her squished between two giant, sweaty dudes the entire flight to South Carolina.
She looks from Mrs. Spencer to me and motions for me to speak up.
“Don’t you have something to say, Thane?”
“Uh, sucks for you having to ride in coach?” I tease.
“Nathaniel James,” my mother chides.
“What? You know I need the legroom in first class, Mom. While Sera, here, would fit into the overhead bin if you squished her hard enough,” I defend.
“Of course you’re not volunteering yourself,” Sera hisses.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well, that’s what a gentleman would do.
And apparently, even after all these years, you still haven’t figured out how to be one.
” She folds her arms and leans her elbows on the counter before continuing.
“I refuse to fall on the sword so you can get drunk and hit on all of the stewardesses in first class.”
I scoff. “You would assume that.”
“What other conclusion am I supposed to come to, Mr. Travel-The-World-And-Party-In-Every-City? I’ve seen your Instagram feed, Thane.
Don’t pretend you’re innocent,” Sera accuses through narrowed eyes.
“’Legroom.’ Yeah, right.” She shakes her head like it’s impossible to imagine that being a good enough excuse.
Spoken like a true short person.
“Well, if that’s what you think of me, then I guess your expectation of me being a gentleman was pretty low anyway. I’m not budging.”
“Neither am I,” she pushes back, her bright red lipstick accentuating her stubborn mouth.
I love this back-and-forth between us; it energizes me to watch her boil.
Sera lives her everyday life on a low simmer.
I always assumed it was the Puerto Rican DNA she got from her mom—even if it is watered down by a few generations now.
She’s still fiery and passionate, and I used to live for the animated way it grew to a roar in arguments.
When we were teenagers, if I didn’t stir her up at least once a day, I went to bed feeling unaccomplished.
A collective sigh comes from across the counter from our mothers.
“After all this time, you two still can’t get along? I remember a time not too long ago when you kids were inseparable,” Mrs. Spencer laments.
Flashbacks from that summer rush me: the “accidental” contact that became a secret language only the two of us spoke. Glances lingering longer than friendship allowed, and nearness that hummed with an energy more intimate than just proximity. The kiss that changed everything.
My heart races as a montage of emotions plays through every nerve in my body.
I want nothing more than to travel back to that summer and hold onto her forever.
But that ship has sailed. I forced myself long ago to accept that if I couldn’t have her in the future, at least I had her in the past. I know I need to move on and close Memory Lane just like she has, but it’s my favorite place to visit.
There’s a time and a place for it, though, and now is not that time.
Especially while sitting next to her in her mother’s kitchen.
I sit up straighter and fold my arms to match Sera’s.
“Disagreeing is the only thing we can agree on, Mama,” Sera says.
I nod.
“If you two can’t come to an amicable decision on this, then we will make the choice for you,” my mom says sternly. “Thane, you’re excused.”
I open my mouth to protest, and her hand flies up to stop me. “You’re excused,” she repeats.
Sera snorts a laugh, which prompts Mrs. Spencer to excuse Sera as well.
Like a ten-year-old boy, I slide off my barstool and slink down the hallway, shutting the front door behind me. Before I can make it across the lawn, Sera storms out onto the porch.
“What on Earth was that in there?” she demands, marching across the lawn toward me.
The corner of my mouth raises in triumph.
There’s that boiling point I aim for.
I’ll sleep well tonight knowing I got her going before noon. There is a five-step process I’ve developed over the years for getting the best reactions from Sera.
Step one, play dumb.
I wipe the grin from my face and turn around. “What was what?” I ask, fighting a smile with every fiber of my being.
“That awful display! I mean, I knew you’d completely discarded your manners years ago, but I’d kind of hoped they were just left in your old room like your box of Legos or your basketball.”
I finally unleash my grin, because I know it will throw gasoline on her fire. I wait eagerly for the chemical reaction of my words and her attitude to explode.
When her only response is a glare that I’ve missed more than I realized, I respond. “I haven’t come across them yet. But you never know, I’ve got a lot of boxes to go through still, there may be hope for me,” I taunt.
“I seriously doubt that.”
“Then you ought to lower your standards when it comes to me, Princess.”
Step two: call her nicknames she can’t stand.
Her hatred blossoms right before my eyes.
“I hate being called that.”
“I know,” I reply as I turn to leave.
Step three: walk away when I know she’s not finished.
“Don’t you dare walk away until we have settled this!” she yells after me.
I pivot and take a few steps back toward her. “Oh, it’s already been settled. Enjoy economy, Princess.”
She scowls, and the satisfaction that rises within me tugs at my urge to laugh.
Step four: minimize the argument by suddenly pulling back.
“See you bright and early tomorrow. Don’t forget your toothbrush, we don’t need a repeat of 2015,” I holler as I make my way to my parents’ driveway.
She lets out an exasperated groan. “I hate you, Thane Donnelly!” she yells, her fists balled up by her side.
Step five: never let her have the last word.
“The feeling’s mutual!” I yell back, fully knowing that it was a complete and utter lie, and duck through my parents’ front door.