by Hart, Emma
“Are you surprised?”
“No. Kinsley would eat romance novels if they’d give her the necessary nutrition to survive.”
“Exactly. She knows what she wants but, buddy, I’m not sure those men exist outside of the books she reads.”
I shrugged and checked the messages again. “Whatever it is, I’m gonna try and get her a date and if I fail, it’s down to her. She said she wants to date more this year.”
“I know what she said, but do you really think it’ll go well? Don’t get me wrong, I love my sister, but she’s a dating disaster. You could do a Meghan Markle and marry her off to a prince, but that doesn’t mean it’s gonna go well.”
“Well, that didn’t go well, either.”
“I have no idea. I’m not even sure that’s her name.”
I snorted. “My sister is obsessed with the British Royals. It’s painful when we have a family dinner.”
And that was no lie. My youngest sister, Piper, was twenty-six, and she’d grown up with Kinsley and the other girls. She was the only one who’d left White Peak and was currently living in Vegas. She was working as a promoter while she saved up enough money to open her own bakery.
“I really don’t care about those,” Colt mused. “But Kinsley is an introvert, Josh, you know that. She’s awkward and nervous and all that other shit, which is why her dating life doesn’t exist.”
He was saying this like I didn’t already know. Like I hadn’t considered this before I went ahead and said I’d help her.
All right, I fucking hadn’t, but Colt didn’t know that.
“Yeah, I know,” I said as I deleted a message from a guy who lived across the state line in North Dakota, at least two hours away from us on a good day. There was another guy from Canada, but she’d already told me she wasn’t into border control being necessary for a date, so I blew him off, too.
“I think you’ve lost your mind,” Colt said putting his cup down.
“So you’ve said before.”
“Well, you have. Why do you care so much about what my sister does?”
“It was a spur of the moment thing. I told you that. I took pity on her.”
Colt made a noise that was halfway between a grunt of acquiescence and one disbelief, but he didn’t argue the point any further.
I got it. It was weird that I was helping her, but it would be even weirder if he knew I’d crushed on his sister for years.
When we were thirteen years old, we’d promised each other that we’d never hit on the other’s sister.
So far, I’d kept that promise.
I just hoped like fucking hell I’d carry on keeping it.
***
KINSLEY: What are you telling these people on the internet?
ME: ???
KINSLEY: Someone just wondered why you aren’t dating me if I’m so great.
Oops. Maybe I’d talked her up a little too much.
Also, I’d promised her brother I wouldn’t.
ME: I might have talked you up a little.
KINSLEY: I’m not sure what else you could have said. I gave a stunning account of myself in that bio, Josh.
ME: You tooted your own horn, Kins. It’s not that exciting.
KINSLEY: Well, excuse you.
ME: That’s not what I meant.
KINSLEY: What did you mean?
ME: That the internet is full of fakery and you know it. You were honest in your bio, other people might not be.
KINSLEY: Yeah, I know that. I read.
ME: You know your romance books aren’t real, don’t you?
KINSLEY: If they were, I’d have killed Alexandra by now.
ME: Who the fuck is Alexandra?
KINSLEY: This bitch who picked the wrong guy.
ME: So she’s in a book.
KINSLEY: Well she’s not trapped in an oyster, Joshua.
ME: You know people don’t pick the wrong guy in real life, don’t you?
KINSLEY: You are so freaking cute I could put you in my pocket and feed you to the wolves without a second thought.
Well, that told me.
ME: That sounded like a big old insult, Kinsley.
KINSLEY: Oh, good. You do still have some brain cells.
ME: If I were you, I’d be nice to me. I’m setting up your dates.
KINSLEY: Yeah, can you NOT set me up with people who do sports?
ME: I didn’t.
KINSLEY: Yeah, no, you did.
ME: ????
KINSLEY: One of these guys is from Twin Peak and skis!!! SKIS, JOSHUA!!!!
KINSLEY: Do you know what I do with skis?
KINSLEY: I beat the people who displease me with them.
ME: Sounds painful.
KINSLEY: Why don’t you come over and you can find out?
ME: I’ll pass.
KINSLEY: Why? Are you naked? What are you wearing? Is it a little silky number with lace?
ME: WHAT. THE. FUCK?
KINSLEY: I was practising my sexting. No good?
ME: Men don’t wear silky numbers with lace.
KINSLEY: Good to know. Neither do women. At least not when we’re texting guys.
ME: Really?
KINSLEY: Really. We’re usually on the toilet.
ME: That’s more information that I needed to know.
KINSLEY: Relax, Cupid. I’m lying on the sofa without a bra on. I don’t like you enough to text you while I poop.
ME: Thank you for the visual.
KINSLEY: You’re welcome.
KINSLEY: Do you think I should text that to the nice electrician guy who lives in Moose Knuckle?
ME: As your matchmaker, I think that’s a little forward before a date.
KINSLEY: So should I arrange a date?
I paused.
A massive lump had taken up residence in my throat, and I stared at the screen for a moment. I knew the answer there was yes, but there was a big part of me that couldn’t bring myself to say it.
I was fucking this up already.
ME: You’ve been signed up for ten minutes. Just hold on until you’ve spoken to some other people.
KINSLEY: Ugh, okay, DAD.
ME: I can’t talk to you when you’re like this.
KINSLEY: Should I go to my room?
ME: This is getting uncomfortable.
KINSLEY: I’m going to need a new friend to practice sexting with.
ME: If that was sexting, it was the worst attempt I’ve ever seen.
KINSLEY: Are you familiar with it?
ME: Goodnight, Kinsley.
KINSLEY: JOSHUA!!!!!!!
KINSLEY: Hello?
CHAPTER FIVE – KINSLEY
rule five: spoilers aren’t a thing in real life.
be patient, kinsley.
Wow.
There was a lot of dick pics on the internet.
Yes, yes, yes. I knew I was only supposed to talk to Josh Approved Guys—capitalization necessary, if anyone should end up reading my inner monologue as a future novel—but I was intrigued by the kind of people who did genuinely contact women on these websites.
And holy moly!
I was so leaving this to Josh.
He wanted to do this, so he could spend his days staring at all the schlongs that found their way into my messages. This was definitely not in my job description.
I really didn’t care how thick Johnny_435’s penis was, and nor did I care about the length of KasperTheHungGhost’s dick.
Although I did enjoy Kasper’s username. I was almost tempted to message him and tell him I found his pun amusing, but then… well, he’d probably take that the wrong way and think his dick pic had worked.
It had not.
Of course, none of that explained why I was standing before a dog crate full of ducks.
“But why are there ducks?” I asked, staring at them.
Saylor shifted uncomfortably next to me, presumably just as confused as I was. “They wanted ducks, so they got ducks, I guess. They do have the pond now.”
>
That was true. There was a huge pond in the center of the gardens of the retirement community that had been recently built, more to be a nice communal seating area for the residents as opposed to a duck pond. Since they’d lobbied for the ducks—a little too successfully, judging by how many were quacking their annoyance at being confined in the crate—they were now building another, smaller pond that would have a fountain and lilies and all that pretty stuff.
I was starting to think they had too much outdoor space here.
And charged way too much for a room.
“What are old people going to do with ducks?”
“Dress them up and parade them around town on a yearly basis in The Great White Peak Duck Festival,” Mabel said from behind us.
“The Great White Peak Duck Festival? That’s not a thing,” I said.
“It’s about to be, child.” She hobbled over on the arm of Grandpa Randy and stopped next to us. “Those are some ugly ducks.”
“They’re ducks,” Saylor deadpanned. “What were you expecting, Grams? Peacocks with vibrant tails? Pure white doves? A parrot?”
“I was expecting pretty ducks.”
“Ducks are ducks,” Grandpa said. “They’re not swans, Mabel.”
“Then I want to speak to the manager.”
Saylor stared at her. “The manager is bored of your complaining. Why can’t you just appreciate the pretty pond?”
Mabel straightened as much as she was able to. “Because the ducks are ugly, Saylor Elizabeth, and I can’t parade ugly ducks around the town. Besides, why do I want to look at ugly ducks?”
“You look in the mirror every day,” Agatha said, approaching us from the other direction. “You tell us.”
Wonderful.
We were about to have us a good old-fashioned elderly throwdown.
I liked it better when it snowed. They all stayed inside. And I didn’t really like snow at all, so that said a lot.
I know.
I was so living in the wrong state.
“They’re not that ugly,” I said slowly, eyeing the ducks. “They’re really quite pretty, if you look at them with a slightly tilted head.”
Saylor did that. “They still look like a cross between a platypus and a chicken to me.”
Weird.
Also, kind of accurate.
“I like them,” Agatha said, bending over as much as she was able to look at them. “They have character.”
“So do you, but your character is awful,” Mabel said.
Grandpa rolled his eyes. “Quit bitching at each other.”
I snorted. There was always something amusing about my grandfather swearing—especially when he did it in front of my parents because it drove my mom insane.
Naturally, those were the best family meals.
Thankfully for Grandpa, my parents had moved an hour away a few years ago, so family dinners where he had to censor himself were few and far between.
I, however, fully welcomed his salty mouth when we had dinner, and everywhere else in between.
“I like the ducks,” Agatha announced once again.
“Well, thank goodness that was cleared up,” Saylor muttered. “We were all wondering.”
Agatha shot her a dark look. “When are we letting them out?”
“When Amanda gets here,” Grandpa said. “She’s in charge of the ducks.”
Agatha wrinkled up her leathery face. “I don’t like Amanda.”
“I doubt she likes you,” Mabel shot back. “Nobody else does.”
I pretended not to notice Agatha’s double middle finger salute to Mabel and turned to Grandpa. “Amanda? Who’s that?”
“New nurse,” he replied, letting Mabel drift over to the ducks to continue bickering with Agatha. He slowly lowered himself down onto the bench. “You know her. You went to school together.”
I shared a look with Saylor.
“Amanda Donoho,” Grandpa said. “Can’t remember her maiden name, but she’s a little older than you are.”
Saylor frowned. “Wait, you mean Amanda who moved away a few years ago?”
He nodded.
“Oh,” I said brightly. “She’s got three kids now, right? When did she get back?”
“Six months ago. Her grandma died and left her the house since she was the only grandkid, and she said her kids weren’t getting on in Dayton so they came back. Only been back a few weeks. Her husband is commuting until his office in Bozeman is set up.”
Made sense. I understood she’d moved for her husband’s job, but most people in town had always wondered when she’d come back.
Not if, when.
It was an occupational hazard of living in a small town.
Everyone was up each other’s asses all the time.
Nothing, and I mean nothing, stayed a secret. At least not for very long.
It was slightly cumbersome.
We all jerked around as the sound of Ivy and Holley’s grandma’s voice carried across the gardens. Rosie was being placated by another familiar voice I knew was Amanda’s, and they rounded the bushes to join us just as Agatha bristled.
“Oh, good,” Rosie drawled, her lip curling as if she’d smelled a dead body. “The cats dragged in their prey.”
Saylor dropped her head and pinched the bridge of her nose.
“Yes,” Agatha said, looking her up and down. “They did.”
How on Earth those two had birthed daughters who were best friends, I’d never know. Much less how that had continued on down to their granddaughters, Ivy and Tori, who’d been inseparable their whole lives.
Even now that she was pregnant, I think Ivy spent as much time with Tori as she did Kai—but that was probably because Tori didn’t tell Kai just how much ice cream Ivy was eating.
Mind you, I think she was playing them off against one another.
She was nothing if not resourceful.
“Shall we go?” I whispered to Saylor. “I don’t really care about the ducks, and I’m not in the mood for a pensioner bitch fest.”
“Yeah, we really need to get back to the store and give Holley a break.”
“Always leaving me here,” Grandpa mumbled.
I kissed his cheek. “The last of your tomatoes are ready. Give me a week and I’ll have a huge bowl for you.”
“You better leave, then. They need feeding with that tomato feed I gave you. And put a banana around the stems—”
“It’ll help them ripen.” I grinned. “Don’t worry, I didn’t forget. Most are ready to ripen in the bowl anyway.”
Grandpa beamed. “I’ll send you photos of the ducks later.”
Wonderful.
I couldn’t think of anything better.
“Good luck,” Saylor whispered to Amanda as we made a swift departure. Our old friend gave us a wry smile as she immediately got in between the three arguing elderly ladies.
“Thank God for that,” I breathed as we escaped the craziness of the retirement community.
“Don’t count your ducks before they’re lined up,” Saylor said, unlocking her car and looking at me over the top of mine. “It’s not over yet.”
***
I groaned as I stretched my leg out to the side. I’d been sitting cross-legged on the hard, wooden floor of the bookstore for the last twenty minutes. Our new outdoor chalkboard sign had arrived, and Holley had printed out a bunch of ideas from Pinterest with the demand that the board was identical on both sides.
I’d only done one, and I wasn’t sure if I’d ever feel my ass again.
The chalkboard was now covered in dust and big, block letters that said, “books that way,” with an arrow that, when the sign was outside, would point to the bookstore, and another that would point toward the mountain trails in the other direction accompanied by, “that way, bears. wouldn’t risk it.”
I chuckled to myself as I got up to stretch my legs. It was super cute, and I hoped it would make the tourists laugh so they’d come inside and give me their money.
No, really.
I did.
I flipped the board around and bent forward to stretch out my tight back muscles. I felt as though I’d been stapled to a wooden board for hours.
I was too old for this.
“Not the first thing you expect to see in a bookstore.”
I jolted at the sound of Josh’s voice, straightening back up so quickly I think I pulled something. “You’re not treading your building site dirt all over my store.”
He held up his hands. “Even if I had come from work, I think you’ve got the dust covered.”
A glance at the floor confirmed the truth. There was chalk dust everywhere.
“Oops.”
“What are you doing? Drawing a hopscotch on the floor?”
“No, don’t be stupid. I’m doing the new outdoor sign. Look.” I turned it so he could read the side I’d already done.
A laugh burst out of him. “Well, at least nobody can accuse you of not being factually accurate.”
I clicked my tongue and tapped my temple. “What do you need?” I asked, grabbing the dustpan and brush from behind the register.
“Uh, Grandma said she wanted that new book.”
“Oh, well, that narrows it down.”
“Don’t be snarky.”
“I’m always snarky,” I replied. “Do you know who wrote it?”