Page 131 of Bridesmaid Undercover
“No,” I answer. “I don’t have feelings for Everly.”
“You don’t?” she asks. “That’s really surprising, because in the three years we dated, I don’t think you and I ever had the sort of connection that you have with Everly. It’s different between you two. The inside jokes, the teasing, the laughing. The way you were so comfortable around her, as if you’ve known her forever.How you shared food, how you were intent on listening to every little thing she had to say. You two are more than just friends.”
“But we aren’t,” I say as Everly’s beautiful face comes to the forefront of my mind.
Those green eyes that seem to glisten when she looks up at me.
That cheeky grin when she attempts to put me in my place.
That long, dark hair, curled at the ends, swishing over her back as we walked down Jefferson Street…
“And I’m sorry to say this, but I’m not the only one who thinks this. Timothy backed off, because he didn’t want to get in the way of you two. Also…I saw the way you looked at her, Hardy. You might not realize it, but when your eyes meet, both of you light up.”
I lean back in my chair, my mind whirling.
Her eyes light up when she sees me?
I’ve never fucking noticed.
I look off to the side. “I’ve never thought about her that way.”
“Maybe you should,” Maple says. “Answer me this. Were you disappointed when we left? Sad that your ‘date’ with me had ended? Did you guys stay longer or head straight home?”
Well, fuck. When she asks that question…
“We, uh…we finished the cake and then we took a stroll down toward the wharf.” Her eyes widen, and I know exactly what she’s thinking.
“Hardy, you never go down there.”
“I know,” I say, feeling a wave of stress and anxiety rip through me all at once. “But I wanted to walk off the cake, and then we were talking about souvenirs, and we ended up getting matching shirts, hats, and mugs…” I sit taller in my chair and look Maple in the eyes. Her knowing eyes. Her humored eyes.
“Hardy…” she says. “Come on.”
I grip my hair, distraught, anxiety ridden, heart pumping, mind about to explode.
“Holy shit,” I whisper, causing Maple to laugh. “Fuck, do I…do I like Everly?”
Maple chuckles some more and sips her drink. “You do.”
“But…I wasn’t. I was trying…fuck.” I grip my hair tighter, my mind replaying how she looked the other night with her hair down, how I felt this tingling sensation push through me when I leaned in to kiss her cheek.
How I liked that we sat next to each other in the booth and how she let me drape my arm behind her.
How she laughed endlessly throughout the night, her gaze fixated on mine when we shared a joke together.
Not to mention, when I see that I have an email from her, I genuinely get excited. I love hearing from her, seeing what kind of quick wit she’s going to use, or what kind of bizarre question she might ask. They brighten my day.
I think of the night I went to her office to help with décor for the bridal shower. I was in such a shit mood, pissed at my dad, and not wanting to interact with anyone. But Everly made everything better that night.
She seems to always make things better.
Holy.
Shit.
Do I…fuck, do I like Everly?
“Hardy?” My eyes connect with Maple’s, and I can feel myself start to spiral. She must see it too because she gently places her hand on mine. “I can see that you’re thinking over every interaction you’ve ever had with her.”
