Our Star-Crossed Kiss

by Piper Rayne

  “Sit,” Mr. Erickson says.

  Eli sits next to me, looking at me as if he’s memorizing my face. “Your parents own Andrews Bagel?”

  I nod.

  “How do you know my name?”

  I’m not sure how to answer, so I say simply, “Evan told me.”

  His eyes widen. “Evan? You’re her friend?”

  I nod again.

  “Eli, go on upstairs. This will only take a moment.” Mr. Erickson sits across from me in one of the same chairs they owned twenty years ago.

  As Eli whines and Mr. Erickson’s voice grows sterner with his son, I case the surroundings. Sure enough, other than new pictures of the family, everything here is almost identical as it was all those years ago. Even her grandmother’s urn still sits prominently on the mantel of the fireplace. Evan confided in me how horribly creepy it felt to her to sleep in the house the first night it was here.

  At that point, I hadn’t lost my grandparents and I had no idea how to console her or comfort her.

  Eli eventually heads upstairs, but I catch his feet stop just out of sight at the top of the stairs, eavesdropping on our conversation.

  “What do you want, Seth?”

  Just then, a squawking of police sirens goes off and Knox yells through the radio, “We’re out. Way to grow a pair, Andrews.”

  I tense up and freeze.

  “Friends of yours?” he asks.

  “Yeah.” I sit on the edge of the worn-out brown sofa and run a hand through my hair. “Roommate actually.”

  “Good to know those are the people sworn to serve and protect us.”

  “Honestly, they’re good—”

  He holds up his hand to stop me and I shut up. Amazing how similar he and my father are in their mannerisms and general intimidation factor.

  “Okay, I’ll just get to the reason I’m here.” I swallow hard and fist my hands on my lap. My stomach feels light and tingly, and sweat forms on my hairline. “You don’t know this, but I’ve been dating Evan.”

  He quirks an eyebrow and his lips press into a firm line.

  “I know it comes as a surprise, but I’m sure you can imagine why we kept it a secret. You know, due to the family dynamics.”

  He says nothing.

  “Things have grown more serious, and I’m here to ask you for her hand in marriage.”

  There, I said it. I feel relieved that it’s out, yet somehow also guilty knowing it isn’t real.

  His face blanches white, still expressionless. This is it—I’m going to be the cause of his second heart attack. And then the families will never ever get back to where they were. Then again, that isn’t our end game. We just need to get them to agree on this business venture for the show.

  Then Evan and I will go our separate ways and… but damn, playing that game with my friends and being teammates felt good. Even though we lost and aren’t a real couple, it was pretty damn awesome.

  “You’re dating my daughter?”

  I blink and come back to the moment. “I am.”

  “I thought she was dating that asshole Brock Floyd?”

  I smile inside at his classification of Brock as an asshole. At least we’re on a level playing field, I guess.

  He sits back in his chair and props his ankle on his knee. “Just the other night he showed up here in his fancy sports car. From what she was wearing, I’m fairly sure it was a date.”

  I nod. “Well, we…”

  Shit, this part sucks. Lying to Mr. Erickson more than I already am puts me close to Trevor’s territory—where one lie starts it off and you allow them to pile up until before you know it, you start to believe the lies yourself.

  I wonder how Knox would handle him. Mr. Erickson’s like a police officer—the deafening silence, the eyes boring into mine as though he knows he’s got me right where he wants me.

  Fuck it. This is for our futures.

  “We kept our relationship a secret,” I say. “However, I will say she’s probably going to be shocked when I propose. It’s a little early, but I need her in my life.”

  His eyebrows rise.

  “I should clarify that. Um…”

  Again he doesn’t fill the silence, like he’s watching me tie my own noose around my neck.

  “I love your daughter.” It’s a lie, but in some messed up way, there’s a bit of truth there. I’ll always love Evan. Not as a fiancée or a wife, but as a friend. Even if I haven’t had a lot of contact with her in twenty years. I tried to warn her about Brock, that’s proof enough.

  “You do?”

  “I do.”

  He examines me further, letting time draw out between us. “And she loves you?”

  “I believe so.”

  “And she was dating that Floyd guy as a cover?”

  I bite my lip and nod. “Yeah.”

  He sits up and places his forearms on the arms of the chair, linking his massive hands together. “Why do I find this whole thing odd?”

  “Um… I don’t know.” I swallow and gulp like a kid being asked questions after he accidentally broke a window. Okay, so that happened once before. When I was six, I broke Evan’s window by throwing a ball at it.

  “So you love my daughter and you want to marry her?”

  “Yes, sir,” I say.

  He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. There’s something cynical and conniving in the creases of his eyes. “We’ll plan a family dinner then, with both families. You and Evan can come over and you can propose to her here.”

  Shit. I’ll never be able to pull it off in front of both families.

  “I had a private proposal planned,” I say.

  “Nah, an engagement is a family thing. Since you love my daughter so damn much and you want to marry her, we should all be part of the moment.”

  I nod. “Okay.”

  Okay, what? I’m going to fall on bended knee in front of the people who know me best and try to pull off this lie?

  “Great. Tell your parents this Saturday at five-thirty. We’ll meet here and Jenny will make dinner for everyone.” He stands and puts out his hand.

  I nod and rise to my feet, which feel numb at this point. Fuck. I’m so screwed. “Sounds great.”

  He walks to the door and opens it for me. As I walk over the threshold, I’m thankful I still have my life, but that might change come Saturday.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Evan

  * * *

  I’m hurrying to fill a large order that’s supposed to be picked up in ten minutes. My mom was supposed to be here helping, but she called and said something came up. Then she wouldn’t give me any details when I pressed her.

  I know it has nothing to do with Eli because he texted me from my dad’s phone a half an hour ago to say that a friend of mine came by the house and was talking to Dad downstairs. When I called to pry more information out of Eli, he told me it was Andrew. It only took me about five seconds to figure out that Seth went to my house.

  Eli said he tried to hear what was said, but he heard Brock’s name and then he started thinking about his sports car. Then Eli asked me if he could go for a ride in the sports car, to which I had to say I didn’t think so. He of course asked why, and everything just trickled down from there.

  Now I’m jittery and nervous, wondering how it went with my dad. Not to mention concerned about how he took the news because of his heart.

  My phone dings, but I don’t answer it. I’m sure it’s Eli wanting to ask a million questions about Seth. He’s always inquisitive. Normally I’m happy to answer his questions, but not about this. Not right now anyway.

  The door chimes and my head falls back so I’m looking at the ceiling, letting out an exasperated breath. I can’t catch a break today. Taking off my plastic gloves, I toss them in the trash and walk to the front.

  There’s a guy with a ball cap pulled low over his eyes which are covered by dark sunglasses. Hair sticks out of the back like a mullet, and he’s wearing a trench coat that covers most of h
is clothes except for his classic Vans.

  Seth.

  “Is anyone else here?” He disguises his voice.

  “No, it’s just little ol’ me,” I play along.

  “Alone? No one in the back?” He nods.

  I suck in my lips to stop from smiling. “Hey, buddy, I gotta gun under the register,” I say, my hand moving to grab a stapler.

  “Whoa, hold up. It’s me.” Seth throws off his sunglasses.

  I burst out laughing. “Yeah, I know. What are you doing?”

  “I didn’t want your mom to recognize me if she was here.” He takes off the baseball cap with fake hair glued to the back.

  He’s such a weirdo sometimes. I smile at him anyway.

  There’s my handsome guy.

  My mind takes a mental pause. I didn’t really just think that, did I? He’s not mine. But unfortunately, I can’t deny the handsome part.

  “She’s not, but I gotta finish this order. I’m assuming this has something to do with you visiting my dad today?” I raise my eyebrows.

  He chuckles. “I forgot how intimidating he is.” Seth rounds the counter and walks into the back.

  “What are you doing?” I follow him and find that he’s already putting on plastic gloves.

  “What is this, tuna or chicken salad?” he asks.

  “Chicken,” I say, watching him scoop little dollops onto the bagels.

  “Come on, you put on the lettuce and tomato.” He continues as though this could be an everyday routine for us.

  I glance at the clock and find that I can’t really turn down his help. Mr. Tettlebaum will not be happy if he has to wait even one minute when he arrives. This order is for the book club he holds at the community center. He originally asked me to bake the title of the book on the bagels and I said no, so he’ll be cranky already.

  “Are you sure? This isn’t your job.” I put on a fresh pair of plastic gloves.

  “This is a husband’s duty.”

  Jeez, he never stops. “You’re not my husband.”

  “Same thing. Fiancé is just a husband-in-waiting.”

  How can the man who I thought disposed of women like a monthly magazine subscription step into the role that’s not even his reality?

  “Okay, well, thanks.”

  He looks up and our eyes catch for a moment. “You don’t have to thank me.”

  I say nothing.

  “When I go down on you, then you can thank me.” He winks.

  I throw a tomato at him and he laughs.

  “Are you ever serious?” I ask. I wonder if he’d notice if I stuck my head in the freezer right now to cool down from the thoughts of his face between my thighs.

  “I find humor to be the most effective icebreaker.” Once he finishes scooping, he picks up the onions.

  “Oh, and how did you figure that out?”

  He shrugs and concentrates on the task at hand. Seth always had a comedic personality, but never to the extent it is now. Now it almost seems like a defense mechanism.

  When I’ve given up on him answering and I’m about to ask about him going to visit my dad, but he says, “I think it was back when Trevor started using. It helped my parents. They didn’t laugh for a long time and things with him got progressively worse until they just looked depressed all the time.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “He’s in Florida. Another rehab place that will hopefully help him get his shit together. He says he’s serious this time, that he hit rock bottom.”

  I nod, placing a piece of lettuce then tomato on the bagels. He puts on the tops of the bagels and cuts them in half before wrapping them and placing them in the box. He’s obviously done it numerous times at his parents’ bagel place.

  “You don’t sound so sure?” I look at him.

  He glances at me. “Yeah, I know. I’m his brother and I should believe he’ll beat this disease, but we’ve been here before. Last time, my parents went to family counseling. I watched him like a hawk when he returned. Once I let up, he disappeared like usual, holed up in a cheap hotel for days, just getting high. My mom was freaking out and I was scouring every hotel parking lot, searching for his car.”

  I hear the struggle in his voice. The anger mixed with sympathy. Like he judges himself for not fixing his brother.

  “Maybe he’ll get better this time. There’s a lot of people who don’t recover the first time around.” I’m basing this on my slight obsession with The Dr. Phil Show and Addiction.

  “I hope so. But the first time, you go in thinking this is an easy fix. That the doctors will fix him, and he’ll go back to the Trevor we knew. We were lucky because he didn’t overdose before we got him help. But the second time, you go in eyes wide open. This isn’t a disease that gets cured with doctor visits and medicine. Trevor has to do the work, and if he doesn’t, we could end up on this rollercoaster for the rest of our lives. I’m not sure my parents will survive it.”

  My heart solidifies and falls from my chest, shattering on the floor for the pain his family has had to deal with. Mr. and Mrs. Andrews are like my parents—family problems stay within the family. So although they couldn’t hide that Trevor was stealing for his drug use, they’ve kept most of this to themselves.

  No wonder Seth cracks so many jokes if it’s his coping mechanism.

  “I’m sorry,” I say in a quiet voice.

  He cuts it in half and then wraps another bagel. “Please don’t.”

  “Don’t what?”

  “Give me that pitying look. I’m fine. I have no control over Trev, and my parents have to learn that too. But getting that look from you, the same one I get from every other person in this damn town who knows about him, sucks.”

  “They just feel sympathy for you.”

  “All I see is them asking why couldn’t you fix him? Or worse, what did your parents do to bring up a boy like that?”

  “No. Not the people around here. They’ve known your family for a long time. They understand—”

  He shakes his head. “No, they don’t, Evan. It’s sweet that you think that, but they don’t. People judge until they find themselves in the same shoes.”

  I hate that he has such a cynical view of this town. He’s lived here his entire life, and the fact that he puts on a smile and wave for everyone while thinking they’re rooting against him makes me sad.

  “Anyway, enough of that. We have bigger problems,” he says.

  “Like your visit with my dad?” I say.

  “Yeah, how did you know?”

  “Eli,” I say. “He took my dad’s phone and said Andrew came by.”

  He laughs, then his mood grows somber. “Does he know? About—”

  “The feud? Not really. He knows there’s another bagel place that competes with us. But I’m not sure he understands what happened in the past. To him, you’re just my new friend.”

  He huffs. “I wish I had that bright of an outlook.”

  “What happened?” I box up the bagels as the door chime rings. I hold up my finger. “Give me a minute.”

  I head to the front with the box. Mr. Tettlebaum is here. Usually he’s dressed in costume, but today, the only thing different than his suit jacket and gray hair sneaking out of his tweed flat cap is the stuffed cat on a leash that’s tucked under his arm.

  “We read ‘A Man Called Ove’ by Fredrik Backman,” he says, as though that should make sense to me. I wish I had time to kick my feet up and read a book so I did know what he was talking about.

  “Oh, nice.” I push the box toward him on the counter. My phone dings from the kitchen and I glance back before taking Mr. Tettlebaum’s money and giving him change. “Thank you.”

  Seth comes out of the back room and Mr. Tettlebaum steps back, his beady eyes widening and alarm striking his face. “Seth?”

  “Hi, Mr. Tettlebaum. I’ll get that for you.” He swoops up the box. “See you later, Evan. FYI, your mom just pulled up in the alley.”

  I nod, realizing why he’s getting th
e hell outta Dodge. He makes a motion behind the old man’s back that he’ll call me later.

  Mr. Tettlebaum asks Seth point-blank what he’s doing here, and I find myself holding my breath, waiting for the answer.

  “Evan and I are friends. Didn’t you know that?”

  Mr. Tettlebaum glances back at me as though he wants confirmation. “Huh, I didn’t know that.”

  Seth winks at me, and my stomach reacts as though there’s a tiny gymnast in it. “Remember when everyone thought we were going to be married, what with our parents being best friends?”

  “That was twenty years ago,” Mr. Tettlebaum says like that’s obviously not the case now.

  “A lot can change in twenty years. Then a lot stays the same too.” Seth smirks as though we’re sharing a secret.

  I haven’t shared a secret with Seth since we were nine years old, and I’m ashamed to admit, I missed it. I missed our friendship so much, but my body is yearning for more than friendship and that’s only going to cause me trouble and heartache.

  “Evan?” my mom says. “I’m sorry—”

  I gather myself and say goodbye, then I walk into the backroom to find my mom with the plastic supplies.

  “Can you believe they said they couldn’t deliver it? I had to pick up some knives,” she says.

  “But they delivered plasticware last week. We still have plenty.”

  I pick up my phone to see who was texting me. There’s a voicemail, which I’m sure is probably Eli, and a text message from someone named Mack Daddy.

  Mack Daddy: We have a situation. Meet me at my work after you close. If the red light is on, just wait in a chair.

  I text back as my mom goes on and on about the plastic cutlery situation.

  Me: Mack Daddy?

  Mack Daddy: I think it’s a cute pet name? No?

  Me: No.

  Mack Daddy: Wait until you see what I saved you under.

  Me: I probably don’t even want to know.