Less than a few paragraphs in, Dad walked into our room. “Up and at ’em.”
Liz rolled over and pulled her blanket over her head.
Dad sent me a look and flipped a light on. “Up, up, up.”
I got out of bed and went to my dresser, but Liz moaned. “No.”
Dad smacked his hands together, and his voice turned deadly. “Get. Up. Now.”
My head jerked back, and I held my shirt to my chest.
Liz propped herself up on her elbow. “You can’t make me.”
He stepped closer to her until he was right in her face. “Oh, yes I can. You’re in my house, eating my food, using my electricity, so you’ll get off your ass and do as I say. I’m sick of this, and it ends today.”
My heart pounded. “Dad, are we working?”
He shook his head. “No. Just dress normal.”
That was the final word. He walked out and slammed the door behind him. I waited for Liz to go on one of her classic rants about Dad being a tyrant and how he didn’t respect women, but she just got up and changed, which was even worse.
After we were ready and each had a cup of coffee, he shepherded us and Mom into Mom’s car and then took off down the road. Dad was wearing his nice jeans, and Mom even had on a flowery blouse. This was strange—we hadn’t been on a family trip in years, unless you counted the night I stayed over at the hospital, which I didn’t.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
Dad met my eyes in the rearview mirror. “We are going to the Morton County Chili Cook-off.”
My eyebrows met over my nose, but then realization dawned. “What?”
He took in a deep breath. “Last night, I got a very nice letter from a young man inviting us to the cook-off. And I’m sick of seeing the two of you moping around the house. You need to get out. Skye has a job, but it’s time to start putting your life together, Liz.”
Liz trained her gaze on the floorboards, but I was still reeling. “Andrew wrote me?”
“No.” Dad’s shoulders lifted like his chest was puffing up. “The letter was addressed to me. But he did say to tell you he was sorry and that he hopes you’ll text him soon.”
A million thoughts I couldn’t even begin to sort out fluttered through my mind. He wrote my dad? Dad was on his side? I needed to look out the window and check to see if pigs had suddenly become airborne.
Yeah, I missed Andrew, but what did that matter? He was nice, too nice, and look where love landed Liz. In her old twin-sized bed so heartbroken she barely even ate. I glanced at her. She looked so pale, sallow, and her eyes had long, deep circles beneath them, even though all she did was sleep.
For the first time in days, I gave in and messaged Andrew.
Me: You wrote my dad?
Andrew: He got the letter?
Me: You could say that.
Andrew: What did he say about it?
Me: Maybe he’ll write you back.
Andrew: …
Me: ...
Andrew: Can we start over?
I rolled my eyes.
Me: What do you mean?
Andrew: Send me that first message again.
Me: …
Andrew: Just do it.
Me: Okay, Nike.
Andrew: ha
Andrew: I’m waiting.
Me: Fine.
Me: You wrote my dad?
Andrew: I had to. The girl I’m crazy about won’t talk to me, won’t accept my calls, won’t text me back. I’m terrified I’m losing her, and I don’t know what to do. I miss her.
My heart constricted. Because the truth was, I missed him too. And that scared the heck out of me, because I knew what it felt like to be in a real relationship with him and suddenly not have him anymore. I didn’t know if I could take another Damon, another James, another heartbreak.
Me: Even though she dates older guys?
Andrew: I mean, I’m technically a few months older than her, so that’s fine.
Me: Even though her family is insane?
Andrew: The best chili recipes have a few nuts.
Me: Is that true?
Andrew: No, but it sounded good.
“What are you smiling about?” Liz eyed me, a sour look on her face.
I straightened my mouth. “None of your business.”
Me: Seriously, Andrew.
Andrew: Seriously, Skye. Please tell me you guys are coming today.
Me: It’s not like Dad gave us a choice.
Andrew: So I’ll see you soon?
I sent him a thumbs-up emoji because I didn’t know what else to send. I tried to picture casually meeting him wearing some goofy apron, or waving at him across a table, or sneaking away to a bathroom to talk, but all the scenarios seemed wrong. Maybe because I never knew what to expect from him.
We drove in silence for an hour and a half, and when we pulled up to a big, metal building with a sign that said MORTON COUNTY EVENT CENTER, I was no closer to knowing what to do than when I first learned I’d be seeing Andrew there.
Inside the building, there were rows and rows of slow cookers and giant fans blowing the smells around. And so many people. Was chili really that popular?
Dad forked up five dollars for each of us, and we got sheets to judge the recipes. That wasn’t a bad deal for unlimited chili and corn chips. Plus, the signs said the grand prize was $500. Maybe we needed to get into this too.
I kept an eye out for Andrew but didn’t see him through all the people walking around.
Mom, Dad, Liz, and I drifted apart from each other, and that was fine by me. I started down one row of tables, sampling chilis from spicy to sweet, each time wondering if Andrew had any part in making it. I could imagine him carefully slicing onions, sneaking a taste behind his parents’ backs, adding seasonings until it was cooked to perfection.
“Skye?”
The voice came so close behind me, I jumped, sending chili in the air. I dodged the chili I’d spilt but turned into someone else who sent the hot, chunky stuff all over my back. In my attempt to spin and apologize to that person, I stepped right into someone else, sending their bowl down my front.
I couldn’t say sorry enough. I said it at least five times, and there were more coming.
One older lady looked at her empty bowl. “No use crying over spilled chili.”
And the others started laughing. But I wasn’t laughing.
I was covered in chili, looking Andrew Brindon right in his beautiful blue eyes.
Chapter Ten
Of all the ways I’d imagined encountering Andrew today, this wasn’t one of them.
He took my hand, meat squishing between our palms. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”
A chunk of chili dripped down my arm to his, but Andrew didn’t seem to mind. He just led me past the staring people and toward a family bathroom at the back of the building. When we got in, he closed the door behind us and locked it. Then he went to the sink and started the water.
“You’ll want it cold to help get the stains out,” he said.
How did he know that?
I stood by the door, staring at this guy who used to kiss me like we had nowhere to be, nothing better to do. Who used to send me good morning texts and take my heart on a hot air balloon ride with each sweet word.
“You coming?” he asked.
Jerkily, I nodded and stepped closer. I took some wet paper towels from him and pressed them into one of my pant legs. He worked on the other.
He stared at my shirt. “I don’t think there’s any helping this while it’s on you.”
I eyed him with a smile. “You trying to get me out of my shirt?”
He looked at me, totally serious. “There’s no point in wasting all of that perfectly good chili.”
Despite myself, I laughed. “Sure, just let me grab my backup shirt.”
“You have one of those?”
I rolled my eyes. “Of course I don’t. I think I’m stuck with this.”
“You can have mine
.” He pulled his T-shirt over his head, leaving him in just a plain white undershirt. He still looked really good in that, especially with his skin a nice shade of golden tan.
I held the shirt in my hand, and he looked at me expectantly.
I shoved his shoulder. “I’m not changing in front of you.”
He shrugged, a joking grin on his face. “A guy can dream, right?”
“Sure.” I spun my finger in a circle, and he obliged.
Feeling vulnerable, even with his back turned, I slipped off my dirty shirt, careful not to get any more food in my hair, then pulled on the shirt he’d offered me. It was a little tight on my chest, but it worked.
I looked in the mirror, then stared down at the shirt.
BRINDON CHILI CO.
WE BEAN BUSINESS
There was an illustrated drawing of his family on the shirt too.
I burst out laughing. “‘We bean business’?”
Andrew turned and took me in, a smile lifting his own lips. “We don’t take chili cooking lightly. We’re kind of a big dill.”
“Seriously? Pickle humor? You can do better than that.”
“No, but I could probably do butter than that.”
I laughed harder, and he did too. And just like that, we were back to normal. I wasn’t worrying about what had happened in the past or how long it had been since we texted. We just were. Friends, maybe something more.
Andrew took my hand, and I didn’t even worry that it was still wet from cleaning off my pants.
“I’m glad you came,” he said.
“Me too. But I guess I have you and my dad to thank for that.”
“I missed you.”
That went straight to my heart. In a single moment, my memories came back. Prom night. Crying. In a relationship. His texts.
My chin trembled. “I missed you too.”
He leaned against the wall and rubbed his eyes. “This is such a mess.”
I gestured around us. “Literally.”
“Can we just—” he looked to the ground, sighed. “Can we just be us again? We don’t have to worry about labels or anything. I just want to talk to you before I go to bed, like we used to. Take you on a date.”
My eyes burned, and I nodded. “I’d like that.”
“Me too.” He lifted my chin with his index finger and gently touched his lips to mine.
The contact sent a wave of warm water over my body. This was what it felt like to kiss your incredibly cute, kind, amazing, long-lost best friend.
“Come on,” he said and bent to pick up my shirt. “Let me find a bag for this.”
With my hand in his, I followed him through the crowd, back to the building’s massive kitchen. It wasn’t state-of-the-art or anything, but it was filled with laughter from men and women of all ages wearing their own chili team shirts.
A woman who looked almost exactly like him, with wavy brown hair and red cheeks, waved us over. “Andrew.”
I went to drop Andrew’s hand, but he kept ahold of mine.
“Hey, Mom.” He led me a little closer. “This is Skye.”
She looked me up and down, calculating. “Didn’t know she was a part of Team Brindon.”
Andrew laughed. “She had a little run-in with a Crock-Pot earlier. I’m not going to tell you who won.” He glanced me over, then whispered, “The Crock-Pot.”
I hit his shoulder, and he cracked up laughing.
His mom gave us a smile I couldn’t quite place. Approving maybe? “Good thing we have extras at home,” she said.
“Yeah,” he agreed. “I thought you might know where we could get a plastic sack for her shirt?”
“Of course.” She went and grabbed one out of her purse.
Who just carried those things around? “You’re prepared.”
She winked at me. “A mom’s gotta be ready for everything.”
I still wasn’t sure if she liked me, but at least we weren’t as at odds as my dad punching Damon in the face.
Andrew took the sack from her and loaded up my shirt. “Thanks, Mom.”
The oddity of this whole scenario struck me again. I couldn’t believe Dad had driven us here to meet my ex. I took Andrew in, his shorter summer haircut, the scar below his right earlobe, the gentle curve of his lips. He was one of a kind, that was for sure.
Andrew waved at his mom, and we headed back into the fray.
“Let’s go see your parents?” Andrew asked.
Deftly, I nodded.
“And I want to meet this sister of yours. She seems intense.”
“Um.” I’d rather he didn’t. At this point, she was a loose cannon. It was just a matter of time until she exploded and destroyed everything in her path. She’d already ruined things with Damon, and I didn’t want Andrew to be next.
At least he didn’t seem like the kind of guy who’d hook up with some random girl at a party without knowing her last name.
He stalled, and I looked back at him.
“You don’t want me to meet her?” he asked.
“She’s…” I sighed. “Well, Liz’s—"
“I’m what?”
Standing behind me, a bowl full of chili in her hands.
Andrew stuck his hand out. “I’m Andrew, Skye’s friend.”
We’d agreed not to label anything, but why did my heart sink at being called his friend and nothing more?
Liz gazed between the two of us, one of her eyes slightly squinted. “Ah. Nice to meet you.”
Andrew dropped his hand. “Good to meet you too. Glad you could come out.”
“So, which one’s yours?” she asked.
“I’m not allowed to say.” Andrew coughed. “Thirty-four.”
She laughed. “That was my favorite one. You added mango, right? Nice touch.”
My jaw dropped. That was the first time I’d seen her smile since she’d been home.
He made a shushing sound. “Secret recipe. But nice palate.” He nodded approvingly.
Her cheeks got just the slightest hint of color, and she raised her bowl. “Nicely done.”
He smiled back at her. “Any idea where Mr. and Mrs. Hoffner are?”
Looking bored again, Liz jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “Somewhere around forty-three.”
Andrew nodded. “Nice to meet you, Liz.”
Gawking between the two of them, I followed Andrew down a row of tables, much more carefully this time. “What was that?”
“What? She seemed nice.”
“I mean, she is—was—but she’s been so sad lately. Won’t even get out of bed, getting sick a lot. I’m starting to think she has something seriously wrong health-wise.”
He frowned. “Yeah, she looked really pale.”
I nodded. “I hope…” I shook my head. It sounded too crazy to say aloud.
“What?”
“I hope she didn’t come home to die.”
Andrew stopped and turned to face me. He rubbed my arms with both of his hands. “I don’t know why she came home, but you can’t worry about that. She’s probably just figuring things out.”
I sighed. “I hope so.” I had some figuring out to do of my own.
Chapter Eleven
The chili contest might have been just what my family needed. When the announcer said Andrew’s family had won, my parents hugged each other, and I clapped excitedly. The entire way home, Mom and Dad talked about making chili and trying to compete in cook-offs on their own.
Andrew couldn’t text right away since he had to help with cleanup, so I texted Anika instead and told her about everything that had been going on lately, including my breakup with Damon.
Anika: Good riddance. That guy sounds like an idiot.
Me: A hot idiot.
She sent a laughing emoji.
Anika: Do you believe Andrew about the fake relationship stuff??
Me: Yeah.
Me: Does that make me naïve?
Anika: I don’t know. You think you can trust him?
Me: I do. He�
�s just…when we’re together, it’s like being with my best friend, ya know? Like I’m supposed to be with him.
Me: Ugh. I know that’s lame.
Anika: It’s not lame. It’s sweet.
Anika: I think you know, deep down, when a guy’s for real. Just don’t let this image you’re building up of him cloud out your judgement.
That was good advice. I had to wonder, did I trust him because I didn’t want to be alone or because I believed, down to my core, that he was being honest?
When we got home, Mom and Dad insisted we all play board games together. Never mind that we hadn’t done that in at least ten years and all the games had a bologna-sized layer of dust on them. But they broke out Scrabble, and Liz turned it into dirty Scrabble, so soon we were seeing who could put the naughtiest words on the board. Dad even played along. It was the most fun I’d ever had with my family.
Around eleven, Dad said we should all go to bed since he had a job lined up for the next day and Liz was supposed to go with him.
I took my time getting ready for bed, and when I walked into our room, the lights were off. Liz lay under the covers, barely illuminated by the light from the moon coming in through the blinds. I didn’t worry about being quiet—the window unit produced enough noise to cover whatever sounds I made walking in and getting in bed.
“Hey.”
I jumped. “Liz, I thought you were asleep.”
She propped herself up, an amused grin lighting up her face. “I know.”
Even though she couldn’t see me, I rolled my eyes and lay back. “You’re crazy.”
“And?”
I snorted. “That’s it.”
“What did you think of today?”
I looked over at her. Was she actually up for talking? “It was good.”
“So, Andrew.”
“Yeah?”
“Well, you’re still wearing his shirt.”
My cheeks flushed. “It’s comfortable.”
The truth? I couldn’t bring myself to take it off, even with the lame pun on the front. It still smelled like chili, and it reminded me of him.
“It smashes the ladies down at least.” She paused, just long enough for comedic emphasis. She did that sometimes. “What’s the deal with you two anyway? Dating? About to be?”
Loving Skye: Book Three (The Texas Star Series 3) Page 4