Page 15 of Business Casual
“What’s that?”
“Who is going to run the farm while I’m gone?” Her forehead scrunches up until she has that narrow line between her brows. The same one I get when I stare at my computer screen too long. “There’s the pumpkin patch and the bonfire and hayrides start up soon and—”
“Relax. Everything will be fine, okay? It will be taken care of.”
“How? Who is going to take over for me while I’m out of town for the month?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” I slip my thumbs under my suspender straps and pull them away from my chest. I’m about to enter my farmer era. Cowboy Charlie, unlocked. “I am.”
4
NOVA
I watch Charliefrom the other side of the reception. He’s been talking to Stella and Luka since we left the dance floor, an easy smile on his face. He certainly doesn’t look like a man who just rejected my clumsy attempt at a one-night stand.
It was impulsive. I felt his hand against the small of my back, saw the way his eyes kept drifting to my mouth, felt the thrill of tension between us, and just…asked.
And he laughed at me.
Then he told me to ask him again. Probably so he could laugh some more.
It’s not going to happen. I am not going to ask him again. I don’t think I’m ever going to look at him again. He reacted like the possibility never even crossed his mind. Like he hasn’t been flirting with me for the last two years and counting. I’m going to be haunted by that look. I’m going to think about it in between the edges of sleep and awake and sink into a horrific state of recollection.
Why the hell did he say no?
I’m embarrassed. And immensely, incredibly grateful that Charlie lives four hours and twenty-three minutes up the coast. The next time I see him, I’ll just pretend this never happened. It’ll be fine.
I’ll overthink it to death and cringe on the inside, but it’ll be fine. I’ve endured worse. And I have plenty of other things to focus on thathave nothing to do with men over six-feet tall with laugh lines by their eyes.
“What are you doing?”
I jump and almost flip the table where only a couple slices of wedding cake remain. My sister Vanessa emerges from between two trees like a movie villain, face cloaked half in shadow.
“What am I doing? What are you doing?” I press my hand to my chest. “Why are you impersonating Michael Myers? How long have you been there?”
“Either three minutes or thirty. It’s unclear.” Vanessa frowns and leans precariously to one side. Like me, she’s also missing her shoes, but I have a feeling that she parted with hers unintentionally. She squints in the glow of the twinkle lights, confused. “Michael Myers. The guy who plays Austin Powers?”
I sigh. She somehow managed to make that sentence one big slur. I eyeball the bottle of wine in her hand, then grab her elbow and help her stand straight. “No. The guy from those slasher movies.”
She leans into my grip and buries her face in my neck. “Oh.”
I stumble beneath our combined weight and wrap both of my arms around her, trying to hold her steady. “Nessa?”
“Hmm?”
“Were you drinking from the bottle the firemen were handing around?”
She nods. “It was delicious. It tasted like schn-schna-schna—”
I raise both eyebrows. “Schnapps?”
“No. I was gonna say schnozzberries. You know.” She tilts back up and grins at me.“These schnozzberries taste like schnozzberries.”
She collapses in a fit of giggles. Giggles that slowly turn into quiet hiccupping sobs.
Oh boy. The last time I saw Nessa like this was when she sprained her ankle and had to stop dancing for four to six weeks. I smooth my palms over her arms. “Ness. What’s going on?”
She rarely drinks. Usually at events like this, she’s spinning around and around the dance floor, making the rest of us look bad. She comes alive under the music, her joy contagious. Beckett usually has to drag her off the floor at the end of the night.
