“You have glitter on your teeth,” I tell him, then turn to Frank. “Does Normie have any dietary restrictions I should be aware of? Any substitutions that will be made?”
“Not a one,” she assures me.
“Frank is lactose intolerant,” Liam cuts in, eyes stuck on the pink ribbon.
I blink, then nod. “Lactose-free options that don’t suck. Got it.” Easy enough when I’m already offering a half vegan menu.
“Is there a theme we’re supposed to be following?” Frank asks, coming out of her craft-induced haze for the first time to have glance around at… chaos. Utter,uglychaos. Will’s invitation looks like a kindergartener threw up on it, and Liam’s now has so much frill you can’t read the wedding details at all. Brian’s, while neat, might as well be an advertisement for the post office. He’s even drawn a little stamp in the corner.
Frank’s, though… Frank’s invitation, I can get behind. They told me that she’s the queen of graphic design, and I fully believe that. Her invitation is soft blues and pale pinks—swirls and subtle pops of texture that show at leastoneperson making these things has an eye for design.
“The theme islove,” Will says, sighing happily, the lovesick fool. His blue eyes spark with unbridled, unmistakable joy.
Brian lifts his head and beams as he announces, “That’s why I have my Cupid wings on!”
Ah. That’s that mystery solved, then.
“What other main do you want?” I ask Will, pushing a runaway pompom back before it rolls onto the paper where I’mjotting down notes. “We need at least one more. Preferably two.”
Will shrugs, pasting a primary-blue heart on a row of alternating blue and pink ones at the bottom of his invite. “Aren’t we supposed to go over this a couple of weeks from now? Elodie scheduled us a meeting for it.”
I scowl. “Elodiedoesn’t understand the amount of time I need for recipe testing.Elodiewill get over it.”
Will’s brows rise. “I thought you guys were getting along better.”
I hum, noncommittal.Betteris such a relative word.
Sure, we’re only at each other’s throats four hours a day instead of twenty-four, but that doesn’t exactly mean we’re doing well. She’s still Elodie, taking everything I say the wrong way and refusing to listen to me because of it, whether my intentions are good or not. And, more often than not, theyaregood.
I’mtrying. I’m making her favorite foods. I’m biting my tongue. I’m remembering what she said about wanting to be in charge of her own life, taking care of herself, and I’m doing my best to let her do that, even when I so desperately want to pick her up, toss her in her room, and bar the door.
It’s just so freaking unsafe out in the outdoors and the wild of the city, where she’s constantly roaming. Elodie, a gorgeous, slender young blonde woman, roaming the city without a care in the world.
It makes my skin crawl just thinking about it. I’ve got more than one cut on my tongue from how hard I have to bite it not to remind her to put her safety gear on before she goes to her hobby classes, though that doesn’t stop me from standing close until I’m sure she’s put onallthe pads and helmet she needs before riding off on her ridiculously dangerous bike.
It’s like she sees the danger and invites it in just to spite me, I swear.
“We are getting along better,” I answer Will. “I didn’t even spit in her breakfast this morning or anything.”
He snorts, knowing I’d never desecrate a perfectly good meal like that. “What’s your deal with her, anyway?” he asks. “What’s the genesis here? Because as far as I can remember, you always seemed to hate her, and she always seemed to hate you. You guys just spawned like that?”
I sigh, tapping my pen against the table. “No,” I answer. “I don’t think we spawned like this. We did, however, have a terrible first meeting, wherein she insulted my lemon cake.” My nose scrunches as I remember it. I walked into my house to find my sister sitting next to the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, discussing what I thought was a desire for me but turned out to be only a desire for supposedly subpar lemon cake.
I can remember vividly the moment Elodie turned around, golden curls brushing my skin as they flew, to look up at me with wide, dewy blue eyes.
I canextravividly remember her insulting my cake while she simultaneously asked for a piece. I’d just come off a rough shift of recipe development for Sweet & Salty, attempting to perfect a carrot cake recipe—a feat I still haven’t mastered, all these years later—and her, a stranger sitting in my kitchen, showering her judgment on me?
I’ll admit, I didn’t respond the kindest. I was a little petty, refusing to let her taste the lemon cake and then avoiding her for the next several months as she and Ruby’s friendship grew, despite my many pleas to my sister that it would not.
I did not want a woman who looked like an angel but had the attitude of abrathanging around.
Ruby, as is often the case, did what she wanted, ignoring my requests that she not.
Little sisters, we know, are often bratty themselves.
She embraced Elodie with open arms, welcoming her intoa sisterhood that nearly rivals the friendship I have with Will, whom I’ve known a decade longer.
“Insulting your lemon cake,” Will says solemnly, shaking his head. “How dare she.”
