Page 47 of The Way I Hate Him
“Well, I don’t have any plans if you want to get something.”
She glances up at me, a lift in her brow. “You want to grab dinner together?”
As if her sister asking her to dinner is the most insane thing she’s ever heard. See, Grand Canyon-sized space.
“I mean . . . it would be cool to catch up, spend some time with you.” When she looks away, I can tell she’s trying to come up with an excuse why she can’t do dinner, so instead of letting her, I say, “Come on, Aubree. It’s been a while.”
After a few seconds of contemplation, she says, “Yeah, sure. Okay.” She slings her backpack over her shoulder. “How about we grab pizza? I’ve been craving the pineapple pizza with hot honey dip.”
“Sounds perfect,” I say, letting out a pent-up breath. Sheesh, she’s my sister. I shouldn’t be so nervous about asking if she wants to grab something to eat. Then again, a lot has changed, and with change comes challenges.
For me, it seems like the challenges keep piling on.
“Want to walk?” she asks.
“Yeah, that would be great. I need to stretch my legs out. I swear they’ve been crossed for the whole day.”
“At your internship?” She looks me over. “Is that what you wore?”
“Uh, yeah,” I answer. “It’s a casual internship. Thankfully, I can wear what’s comfortable. Currently filing at the moment and sifting through papers.”
Her brow knits together. “That’s what you left school for? To file?”
Crap, probably should have left her alone instead of pushing her to go to dinner with me. I ramble too much, and that gets me in trouble.
“No,” I say. “I mean . . . yes, but it’s a great experience.”
“For someone earning their bachelor’s, that might be a good experience,” she says. “But not their master’s.”
“Trust me, it’s all good. I promise.”
“Okay,” she says, slightly skeptical but drops it as she heads out of the shop with me behind her. She flips the welcome sign to closed and then locks up before pocketing the key. She grips her backpack straps and crosses the road to the left side of town.
One of the things I love about Almond Bay is how clean it is. It has that unspoiled yet cute, small-town vibe. Every building is Victorian designed but freshly painted so they beam brightly along the boardwalk-style sidewalks. Iron light posts line the sidewalks as well as wooden planters, all the way through town with bustling bushes, and in the summer, they’re full of flowers. And every place of business has a cute sign outside their designated building, advertising what this town has to offer. From an antique store to restaurants to a book and puzzle store to an emporium of freshly made soaps, Almond Bay has it all.
Even a model railroad museum for those who enjoy a good train.
“Oh, hello, girls,” Ethel says as she pokes her head out of her inn. I swear she looks out the window, waiting for someone to pass who she can talk to. She pops up all over the place and at the right time.
“Hi, Ethel,” I say with a wave. Aubree waves as well.
“Thanks for the bottles,” she says. “They came in perfect condition.”
Ethel winks. “Told you I knew a guy. Glad they worked out for you.”
“Yeah, they were great. Filled them today. Was able to get the extract out on the shelves again.”
“Thank goodness,” Ethel says, hand to her heart. “Before the weekend, good work. I know my guests will be asking about it. Are you off to dinner?”
“We are,” Aubree says. “Pizza is calling us.”
“Enjoy, ladies,” she says with a smirk and then sits on one of the many rockers that line the inn’s porch.
Once we’re a good distance away, I say, “You know, I can help you if you need it, especially this weekend.”
Aubree shakes her head. “I’ve got it covered. Marlene and Fran are coming to take some shifts this weekend, so we’re good.”
“Okay,” I reply, trying not to be hurt by the rejection again.
