Page 13 of Business Casual
My throat tightens. Maybe I’m an idiot, but the thought never crossed my mind in all the lead-up to today. I’ve been entirely focused on Stella, on being exactly what she needed.
“Oh my god,” I breathe out. Stella’s eyes grow wide with faint panic as my arms fall limply at my sides. A ragged exhale bursts out of me. I sound like a balloon that’s slowly losing air. A submarine going under. “Oh my god,” I say again.
Stella touches my arm. “Are you okay? Are you going to pass ou—oomph.”
She can’t talk when she’s squished between me and Luka, myarms wrapped around his shoulders. Stella got a husband, but I got a brother. Abrother.
Luka pats me on the back, his laugh low. Stella wheezes somewhere in between us.
“This is the best,” I mumble into his jacket. “I take back what I said when you told me you weren’t moving back to the city.”
I called him a defector. Some other rude shit too. When he lived in New York, we’d have lunch together twice a week at a deli halfway between our offices. Luka was one of the few people in the city I actually enjoyed hanging out with. I’ve been sitting at that stupid counter by myself for the last couple of years like a sad sack.
“Yeah, well.” He leans back and claps me on the shoulder. Stella sucks in air and tries to untangle some of her hair that’s stuck in my suspender strap. “Maybe we can convince you to come down here more often.”
Like I need an excuse to spend more time in Inglewild. I like how I feel when I’m here. I like who I get to be. I already visit every other weekend, content to force everyone to deal with me on a regular basis. I’m pretty sure that’s why Stella built that guesthouse at the edge of the property line. She said it was for an Airbnb, but I know it’s for me.
“Thank you, that reminds me.” I hold up the envelope again and wave it between us. “Your wedding present.”
Luka’s face twists in confusion. “Didn’t you get us like six wedding presents?”
Stella tips her head back. “Thank you.”
I ignore them and force the envelope in Stella’s hands. I might have gotten them six wedding presents, but this is the one I’m most excited about. This is the one I’ve been plotting and planning over the last couple of months.
Stella tears open the envelope and peers at the piece of paper in her hand. “Are these plane tickets?” She brings the paper to her nose. “For tomorrow?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“To Italy?”
“Yes, that is what the ticket says.”
She drops the paper with a frown. Behind her, Luka mirrors it. It is…not the reaction I was expecting.
“I can’t go to Italy tomorrow.”
“Why not?”
She gestures around her at the farm. She’s making a point, but I’m distracted by Gus from the firehouse standing on a table, whipping his shirt over his head to a Backstreet Boys song. Mabel, his girlfriend, is sitting at one of the seats below him like absolutely nothing is amiss, calmly sipping a mug of cider. I guess she’s used to that sort of behavior from him.
Stella snaps in my face. “Because it’s September and I have to oversee the farm. It’s pumpkin season.”
“Ah, yes.” I roll my lips against my smile and shove my hands in my pockets. “Whatever will the pumpkins do without you?”
Her frown deepens. She looks like an angry cupcake in her pretty pink dress. I can’t take her seriously at all. “Charlie.”
I lower my chin and give her the same look she’s giving me. “Stella. You really weren’t planning for a honeymoon?”
“We were planning on Annapolis for the weekend,” Luka offers, taking the ticket out of Stella’s hand and studying it. “Why is the return date on these tickets a month from now?”
Stella gasps like I’ve just pulled a raccoon out of my pants and plopped it on top of her head. “A month? Charlie!”
“What?” I laugh.
“We can’t go to Italy for a month! That’s practically the start of the Christmas season! How much is this costing you?” She rips the ticket out of Luka’s hand and tosses it at me, pressing it into my chest. “Take it back. We do not accept.”
Luka straightens behind her, trying to grab the ticket. But she’s like an angry little spider monkey, trying to shove it down the front of my shirt. “Hold on a second, La La.”
