by Emma Hart
“Did you tell her what he said?”
“I did make that mistake. She demanded his number, and I think it was so she could use it to track him down, find his address, turn up at his door, and deliver a solid beatdown.”
Josh nodded slowly. “Sounds about right.”
“Mhmm.” I sipped my wine again. “Anyway. He wasn’t fooling anyone when he slipped out after spaghettigate, so he’s never getting a date in White Peak.”
“Who was your server?”
“Rihanna.”
“Ouch.” He winced. “Yeah, he’s never getting a date in Montana. For a teenager, she’s got one hell of a gossip network.”
“No kidding. She figured him out straight away. I expect she’s already gotten his full name from the reservation list and found out everything except his birth weight.”
Josh chuckled quietly, and we fell into a comfortable silence. Literal silence because there wasn’t even the sound of wildlife. It was eerie and a little disconcerting, but no sooner had I finished my wine than the sound of birds scattering from the trees at the end of the yard filled the air.
I set my empty glass on the table in front of us, and Josh immediately reached to pour me another. Sensible Kinsley on my right shoulder whispered that I should stop him because I was opening the store in the morning, but Naughty Kinsley on my left shoulder told me to go ahead and drink all the wine because hey, I deserved it.
I’ll let you guess which Kinsley I obeyed.
After a few sips of my second glass, a breeze filtered through the yard. It carried a light chill that elicited goosebumps from me and made me shiver.
“Do you want my sweater?”
I glanced across at Josh and shook my head. “Then you’ll be cold.”
“I’m not cold right now.”
“Because you’re wearing the sweater.”
“Here, it’s fine.”
I stood before he could remove one arm from it and headed for the back door. “Coming?”
With a heavy sigh, Josh grabbed his glass and the bottle and followed me inside. Since he was so good at locking doors, I called the request for him to do that over my shoulder and went into the living room.
When he joined me, he filled our glasses with the last quarter of the wine bottle and sat on the other end of the sofa. “So… More research next time?”
I nodded slowly. “Yes, please. Maybe I’ll spend a little more time talking to them, too.”
He shrugged one shoulder, taking a big mouthful of his wine.
“Don’t you have to drive home?” I knew he would have had a beer at Bronco’s and he was already one glass of wine in.
Josh paused. “Shit. I’ll call a cab and come get my truck in the morning. Is that okay?”
“As long as you’re not blocking me in. I have to be at the store at seven-thirty.” I leaned so I could see out of the window where I had a view of the driveway. “It doesn’t look like it.”
“If I am, just call me. I’ll be awake anyway.”
I looked pointedly at his glass and raised my eyebrows. “How often do you drink wine?”
“It’s not my beverage of choice,” he said dryly. “But I still have to go to work.”
“Okay, fine.” I waved my hand dismissively. “Is this my life now? I have bad dates and commiserate with you instead of my girlfriends?”
“I felt the need to apologize.”
“A smart man would have brought chocolate. Or cake. Or pie.”
“You requested wine.”
“A woman always needs snacks with wine.”
“And here you thought I was the one teaching you about dating,” he said dryly.
I knocked my fist into his arm, but there was no heat behind it. “I’ll have you know I was an excellent date tonight! I was courteous, I didn’t talk about my books, and I definitely didn’t rant about how badly they fucked up the third Harry Potter movie.”
“Yes, but by the sounds of it, you literally couldn’t do any of those things.”
“And? After that date, I know how I sound when I do, so I won’t do it again.”
“Ah, there we go. It wasn’t a waste of time after all.”
“Personally, I think anyone who actually thinks they made a good job of that third movie is someone who should be weeded out early. Make sure you ask my potential dates that in future. It’ll save us all some time.”
He laughed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why do you hate it so much? You have a complete vendetta against that movie that I’ll never understand.”
I shifted on the sofa so my back was to the arm and I was facing him. “Did you ever read the books?”
“Years ago, and only once. Not enough times to ever remember what really happened.”
“They butchered the book, Josh. This wasn’t a ‘oh, we had to cut things out for time.’ It was an honest-to-God shake up of the entire book, so much so that half of it doesn’t even make sense!”
“That doesn’t explain it.”
“Okay, in the movie, Harry gets his Firebolt at the end, right?”
“Yeah. Sirius sent it, didn’t he?”
“Exactly! In the books, he gets it in the middle, and it’s confiscated because they thought Sirius had sent it to harm him. It’s a whole plot point in the narrative about how evil Sirius is and how badly he wants to hurt Harry, and do they bother to include it? No, no. They don’t. They just couldn’t be bothered. And the worst part is that Azkaban is actually the best book of the entire series.”
Josh leaned over and wrapped his fingers around my wrist, then made me lift my wine glass to my mouth. Dutifully, I sipped, but in my efforts not to laugh, ended up snorting the wine up my nose.
“That didn’t go as planned,” he deadpanned.
“No shit.” I laughed, wiping my nose with a tissue from the box on the coffee table. “Thanks for that.”
“I was trying to soothe you. You got a little worked up. Even had a vein popping just here.” He tapped the side of his forehead. “It was equal parts alarming and fascinating.”
“Yes, well. Now you know firsthand why I’m a terrible date. I can’t stop when I get started.”
“I don’t know. It wasn’t that bad listening to you rant. You’re passionate about it. If everyone had an ounce of your passion about something in their lives, a lot of people would be a lot happier, I reckon.”
CHAPTER NINE – KINSLEY
rule nine: not all dates are made equal. look at february 29th, for example.
I opened my mouth to reply, but no words came out. Instead, my cheeks suddenly got hotter until I was sure that I couldn’t hide it even by dipping my head and letting my dark hair fall around my face.
I’d never really thought about it like that, but he wasn’t wrong.
“Not that I’m saying that’s a rant for the first date. Maybe ease them in a little before you go nuts.”
I peered up through my lashes and caught his grin. It was contagious and, alarmingly, a little butterflies-in-my-tummy inducing.
I swallowed and dropped my gaze before I gave anything away. That was a new feeling, and one that wasn’t particularly welcome.
Josh was my brother’s best friend, for God’s sake.
What was I doing getting butterflies when he smiled at me?
I had no business feeling like this. For real. None at all. This was so wrong.
I coughed and shivered right after. It was the only way I could shake off those feelings before they went too far.
The next thing I knew, I’d finished my wine.
“Want another?” I asked Josh as I got up.
His glass was still pretty full, so he shook his head.
With a shrug, I headed into the kitchen and pulled the new bottle from the fridge. The screw cap opened with a satisfying series of clicks, and I filled my glass, then put the bottle back in the fridge door.
I was definitely drinking my feelings away tonight.
Despite what I said to the girls and Josh, my
bad date had bothered me. Finding someone who fit my very specific parameters didn’t seem to be all that hard, all things considered, but getting them to like me and not be a jerk?
That, dear Watson, was not elementary.
How many dates like tonight would I have to suffer through before I found someone who’d listen to my rants about bad book-to-movie adaptations? Who’d discuss whether or not Kiera Knightley was a good Elizabeth Bennett or not? Who wouldn’t care that sometimes I couldn’t text you back because ‘just one chapter’ had turned into ‘just two hundred pages?’
I sighed, slumping against the counter.
Maybe it was me.
Maybe I was the problem.
Wait—no.
No, fuck that.
This was who I was, and I wasn’t going to change that for anyone.
Jesus, I needed to get a grip.
I pulled a box of popcorn from the pantry and opened it. It was a brand-new box, so I grabbed one of the pouches, pulled it from the plastic, and put it in the microwave to make it pop.
I sipped my wine as the kitchen filled with sporadic pops. Within twenty seconds, the sporadic popping turned to frantic as the kernels fulfilled their dreams to become little salted bursts of goodness.
Sigh.
I really, really needed a life outside the bookstore if that was my thought process about freaking popcorn.
“Oh, it’s popcorn.”
I turned and met Josh’s green-gray eyes. “What did you think it was? A terrorist heist?”
“With you, anything is possible.”
I rolled my eyes and popped the microwave door open as the popping slowed. The bag was massive and full of air, and I pinched the corner to slide it out to open it. Steam wafted into the air as I pulled it open, and I let it dissipate before I poured it all into a bowl.
“So you wore the white dress?”
“Huh?” I grabbed the bowl and my wine glass.
Josh filled his glass.
You know, the one he’d just turned down.
“The white dress. To the date. The spaghetti?”
Oh. Oh. He thought I wore the one in the picture I’d sent him.
“Oh, no,” I said as we both sat back on the sofa. “I wore a white dress, but not the one you saw.”
“Oh.” If the way his shoulders sagged was anything to go by, he was relieved.
I frowned. “Why do you look so happy about that?”
“Happy about it? What do you mean?”
“Well, you went from looking like I’d kicked your puppy to telling you I’d bought you a puppy.”
“I just thought the dress was a little much for a first date, that’s all.”
“You didn’t say that earlier.”
“I was trying to be diplomatic.”
“So you’re saying it now?” I raised an eyebrow. “So much for being my guide through all things dating.”
“It just… isn’t a very you dress, that’s all.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
Josh rubbed his hand down his face. “Shit, that came out wrong.”
I put my glass down and glared at him. “Wrong? How was that supposed to come out that wasn’t almost entirely insulting?”
“I—” He clamped his lips shut, meeting my eyes. An emotion I didn’t recognize swirled in his gaze, and I tore mine away. I didn’t want to look at him right now.
I was freaking pissed.
I downed the last huge mouthful of my wine and stomped into the kitchen. If I wasn’t drinking my feelings before, I sure as shit was now.
It wasn’t a very me dress?
What the hell kinda crap was that?
Was it any wonder I read romance? Guys didn’t say that nonsense in books.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Josh said, following me in and standing next to me.
I returned the half-empty bottle to the fridge door, putting a barrier between us. It swung shut after, revealing him to me, and I glared at him. “Then how did you mean it? Did the dress look that bad on? Is it something I should burn so I never wear it again?”
“No, shit—you didn’t look bad.”
“Then why was it a bad thing if I wore it?”
“It wasn’t a bad thing.”
“Then it must have looked terrible.”
“You looked fucking beautiful.”
I froze.
So did Josh. Almost like he wasn’t expecting those words to come out of his mouth.
I know I wasn’t.
“What?” The word left me on a whisper.
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You looked beautiful,” he repeated, his voice a lot softer this time. Same with his gaze. It no longer held the edge it had a moment ago, but it was just as intense.
Intense and scary.
I swallowed and looked down at my bare feet. My nail polish had chipped on my big toe, and it was easier to focus on that than what Josh had just told me.
He thought I’d looked beautiful.
“Thank you.”
“I should go.”
We both spoke at the same time, neither of us looking at the other. Whatever it was that’d just happened had put in a kink in our easy friendship, even if I didn’t know what that meant for now.
“I should go,” Josh repeated, scrubbing his hand across the stubble that coated his jaw. “Work, you know.”
“Uh-huh. Um, you want me to call you a cab?”
He shook his head. “I’ll walk. It’s not far.”
“Are you sure?”
He gave me a tight smile and nodded. “Yeah, I’m sure. I’ll come get my truck in the morning.”
“Okay.”
He offered another smile before he turned, running his hand through his hair. “Kinsley? I am sorry about your date tonight.”
I stared after him for a moment. The lack of sincerity in his voice astounded me, but I just didn’t know why. He’d already expressed that sentiment once or twice this evening, and I’d genuinely thought he was sorry.
So why wasn’t he now?
The front door opened, and I rushed after him.
“Josh.”
He stilled in the doorway. “What?”
Swallowing, I asked, “Are you really sorry? That my date was terrible?”
He didn’t move for a long, agonizing moment. Then he slowly turned his head so he was looking over his shoulder. His gaze caught mine, a storm swirling in his eyes.
And he said one word.
“No.”
Then, before I could say another word, he was gone.
My front door clicked shut. It was such a gentle sound, yet it seemed to echo through my hallway.
What the hell did that mean?
***
JOSH: I have another guy for you.
I stared at my phone. Twelve hours ago, he’d basically said he was happy my date had gone badly and that I was beautiful, and now…
Well, now, it was like none of that had ever happened.
If we’d both been super drunk, I’d have written it off as a slip of the tongue. But we weren’t. Sure, I’d been solidly on the other side of tipsy when I’d gone to bed after I’d polished off the rest of the wine, but Josh had been nowhere near that.
Judging by the hole he’d dug himself just before he’d said those things, he’d been trying not to say them.
I had no idea what any of it meant and, honestly, it was easier to ignore it today.
I was slightly hungover and eating my body weight in salted chips.
I shoved some chips into my mouth and brushed the crumbs off my fingers on my jeans, then grabbed my phone to reply.
ME: You have?
He responded quickly. I glanced at the time—twelve-fifteen. He’d be on lunch.
JOSH: Yeah, he messaged late last night. He just moved nearby a month ago. Works at the Montana Bears.
ME: Sports? Really? Did I ever tell you how much I hate sports?
JOSH: He doesn’t play. He�
�s a physio for the team.
ME: Oh. Does he travel with them?
JOSH: Yeah, but he mostly works with the injured players who are in recovery so he’s here most of the time.
ME: Oh. Okay.
JOSH: Interested? He’s 29. Fits all your parameters. Never read the HP books but likes the movies.
ME: He’s already better than the last one.
JOSH: If you say so.
ME: He can’t be much worse. And if he is, I’ll know you did it deliberately.
JOSH: Why would I deliberately send you on bad dates?
ME: I don’t know. Why are you happy last night went badly?
Welp. So much for not bringing it up.
Nothing. No quick reply. It’d only been a few minutes since we’d struck up our conversation, so there was no way he’d suddenly had to finish lunch and get back to work.
I wasn’t buying it.
ME: You’re the one who said it.
JOSH: Actually, I said I wasn’t sorry it went badly.
ME: That’s the same thing.
JOSH: Technically not.
ME: Technically is.
JOSH: Do you want me to give you his number or not?
ME: I want to know why you aren’t sorry my date went badly.
I was well and truly in the trenches now.
May as well keep going, Kinsley.
ME: And don’t try to tell me it’s just because you didn’t like the guy. That’s my brother’s line.
I didn’t really expect a reply.
Which was just as well, because as I rung a customer up twenty minutes later, I still didn’t have one.
“Thank you.” I smiled at the customer and waved as she left with her adorable little boy. He waved back, and the bell over the door jingled to announce their departure.