“This is all your fault!”
I can practically hear her eyes roll. “What did I do now?”
I’m thankful that Wren agreed to house sit for me so that Buttercream would be taken care of as well as my sourdough starter. But I’m still upset with her.
“You put confusing words inside my head, and now I’m having to pretend to date Luke around his family. He’s touching me and hugging me longer than three seconds, and we’re having to share a bed together. I can’t do this, Wren. I’m going to mess up and?—”
“You’re not making sense. Take a breath and start from the top.”
That’s what I do. I exhale before telling her everything that’s happened. Once I’m finished, we both sit in silence for a moment, the faint sound of Buttercream meowing in the background.
“So, you’re mad atmebecause I said that you could have both friendship and love with Luke.”
“Not just that.” I exhale loudly.
“You’re scared because you can’t find a man, and have been lonely, and that it’s going to make you catch feelings for your best friend because you’re having to pretend that you’re dating each other, which was allyourfault.”
I shrug my shoulders even though she can’t see me. “Basically.”
There’s a crunching sound on her end, like she’s taking a bite of something, and she says through a mouthful, “You know I love you, right?”
“You know I’ll be mad if I come home and see that all my precious sourdough has been eaten.”
“You knew that bread was my weakness when you left this house, full of baked bread, in my care. Now hush and listen to me!” I have to hold the phone away from my ear because of her shouting, and that’s when I notice the shower is now off. “For someone who’s usually laidback and full of fun, you’ve been the complete opposite lately.”
“I expect an apology as loud as your disrespect has been throughout this whole phone call.”
I smile, loving the bickering my sister and I always share and can hear her trying to hide her own laughter.
“Just have fun this weekend. Don’t overthink things. Let whatever happens,happen. And then when you’re back home, you can go back to overanalyzing everything and weighing your options.”
“You want me to put my friendship on the line for a ‘weekend of fun’?”
“Yeah, I do. Because with how close you and Luke are, I don’t think there’s anything in this world that could separate the two of you—despite what you may think. This could relieve some tension for you, help you clear your head of all thewhat-ifsyou’ve been clinging to.”
I know that she makes a good point, but it’s hard to accept when I’ve had to learn the hard way that playing thewhat-ifgame is dangerous. I've leaned into thewhat-ifsonce with Luke, giving into the smoldering flame between us. I was brave enough to admit out loud that I wanted more...and then Luke stomped the flame out. Since then, I've done everything I can to make sure that it never reignites.
Even after all these years have passed, somehow my heart still holds a flicker of that want.
“I’m tangled up in knots, Wren. I don’t know how to sort through what I’m feeling,” I admit softly, curling my legs toward my chest and giving them a hug with my free arm.
“Trust me, it’s okay to guard your heart. But don’t make it such a forbidden place that the one person worthy of entering will be shut out.”
For Wren to say something like this, even after her recent divorce, brings me hope. I want it to be a hope for her and her future, not hope within myself, because that kind can be risky. It makes you believe that you’re capable of anything. It makes you search for the tiniest glimmer of light on the darkest days. And when you’ve been burned before, that kind of hope only feels terrifying.
More than anything, hope can hurt. Maybe that’s why I’ve kept my distance from the idea of anuswhen it comes to Luke, because wanting something more with him means letting hope in.
“You always like to be brutally honest,” I say, biting my lip to hide from smiling, even though she can’t see me.
She snickers, “And you’re always good at sugar coating everything.”
“I don’t sugar coat everything. I’m not Willy Wonka.”
Just then, the bathroom door swing opens, and a cloud of steam comes rolling into the bedroom. My mouth slightly drops at the sight of my best friend—my shirtless, glistening-with-drops-of-water, super-muscular best friend.Lord, help me fight this temptation.
Had I really not noticed before how much Luke looks like a piece of art? How is it okay for someone to be painstakingly shaped to perfection? I know it comes from his dedication to the gym each day, but it’s almost like a slap in the face.
His hair is a dark sheet across his forehead, and the harsh lighting in the room makes his skin seem tanner, his stubble a shade darker. He’s in the gray sweatpants, the ones that always catch my attention. He looks over at me, catching me practically gaping at him, and smirks at me.
