“You know that’s not actually the same thing,” Fiona says, with a concerned look. “When’s the last time you actually talked with someone on a date?”
My brain immediately goes blank. “Honestly? I have no idea.”
Do dating apps even count as flirting? Because swiping right doesn’t exactly require advanced social skills.
“See?” Mabel says. “You can’t even remember.”
“I’m just having a memory lapse,” I protest, even though I’m definitely not remembering a single conversation that might have even hinted at flirting.
What if I’ve lost whatever mysterious ability I once had to make a man interested? What if I’m now permanently stuck in coffee-shop-customer-service mode and can never escape?
“Then prove it,” Mabel says, crossing her arms. “I dare you to be extra friendly to the next guy who walks through that door.”
“What if he’s ninety and can barely walk?” I ask.
“Then you’ll make his whole week.” Fiona grins.
“Come on, you remember how to turn on the charm, right?” Mabel asks.
My palms are suddenly sweaty because I honestly don’t know if I remember how to do this. Like, do I need to smile a certain way? Slip innuendo into the conversation? The only double entendres I make are completely accidental. That won’t be helpful.
“Okay, I accept your challenge,” I say, wiping my hands onmy apron. “But if I do this, you’ll stop pressuring me to get back into dating, right? No matchmaking schemes and no more ‘helpful’ advice.”
“Sure,” Mabel says. “One demonstration of your skills, and we’ll back off.”
I’m already regretting this decision. “If this goes horribly wrong and I embarrass myself in front of some poor, unsuspecting customer, I’m blaming both of you.”
I take a deep breath, trying to channel some inner confidence I’m not sure exists anymore.How hard can it be, right?Smile, make eye contact, maybe throw in a compliment and a comment about the weather. You know, basic human interaction.
A gust of wind sweeps up the leaves outside the bookshop as the bells on the door jingle, letting me know my next opportunity to prove myself has arrived. I straighten my shoulders and turn toward the door with newfound determination to prove to my friends I’mnotout of practice.
In walks the only man in all of Maple Falls who could possibly make this challenge both impossible and utterly mortifying.
Oh, and did I forget to mention he’s my new neighbor?
CHAPTER 8
NEESHA
Just let me die now.
Especially when he’s dressed in flannel, baring those arms like he works at a charming little pumpkin farm. Men like that don’t belong in a small town like Maple Falls unless they’re auditioning for aGilmore Girlsreturn. When he catches me looking, his face breaks into the kind of smile that should be illegal.
Note to self: never accept challenges from my friends.
I glance at Mabel and Fiona with a panicked look. They appear like they’re two seconds from bursting into laughter and possibly giving me a slow clap.
And right now, I feel like someone’s stuffed my mouth with cotton.
“Hi…ho,” I stammer because that’s what happens when you try to say “Hi” and “Hello” at the same time. You sound like one of the Seven Dwarfs having an identity crisis.
“Hi-ho to you too,” he says with an amused glint in his eyes. Either he’s secretly laughing at me or finds it somewhat endearing.
I really hope it’s the second.
Mabel bites back a laugh so hardI’m worried she might rupture something. Fiona covers her mouth like she can’t decide whether to feel sorry for me or start taking notes so she can coach me on social skills later.
“I meant…just hi,” I say, internally scolding myself to please get it together before I further humiliate myself.
