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Extreme cleanliness. Another one of the quirks I let convince me that Pete was what I wanted him to be. I’m so glad it doesn’t matter anymore that I was hopelessly clueless.
ME: He has OCD. Apparently, clean cuticles are a thing for him.
BRICE: Wow. I wondered if something was up. You’ve been quiet lately.
ME: Sorry. I wanted to figure some things out on my own without my lifeline.
BRICE: I will ignore how useless that makes me feel, but I’m proud of you. Things are going well, I take it? Where the hell are you anyway? That’s not the office.
ME: So far so good. We’re at his family’s orchard a few hours outside of Bellevue.
BRICE: You met his family! Damn, Muff. You’re in like flint.
His reply has me warming from head to toe. I can’t resist gawking at Pete this time with a stupid smile on my face. Straight men don’t bring their boyfriends home to meet their family. I am in like flint.
CHAPTER 22
Pete
The gulp of moonshine slides down my throat, no longer giving off its bite. I can feel my bones getting heavier by the minute, but I know this is the best plan of action. If I get drunk enough to pass out, it will keep me from sneaking upstairs to see Cam.
“You bring that boy back next week,” Mom says. “I’m going to show him how to make a pie. Did you know that no one in his family can cook? They have a chef. Can you imagine that?”
Thoughts of Cam being denied the delight of homemade pie have me frowning. “He’s not a boy, Mom. He’s twenty-five.”
“A little protective there, are we, Pete?” Miranda asks, smirking.
Oh, brother. Fucking moonshine-on-the-porch torture again. I’d take my glass and go inside but then I’d be that much closer to Cam. I don’t trust myself to stay away from him. After my meltdown this morning, the last thing he needs is to be caught in the middle of me outing us to my family.
“I’m just stating the obvious,” I rationalize.
I wish I could talk to him and ask him in private how his day went. He seemed to be enjoying himself today, but how much fun could it have been to listen to me bicker with Jesse and Miranda before Mom stole him away to the house to help her make apple butter?
My phone shows it’s nine o’clock. He might still be up. Glancing up at the second-story window, I can see a soft glow of light coming from inside. I either need to get drunk faster so I’m not tempted, or my family needs to wrap up social hour and clear out so I can covertly creep up the stairs.
“Got a big date with whoever you were texting last week?” Jesse asks, nodding toward my phone in my hand.
“Yes,” I deadpan. “I was seeing if I still have time to pick some roses.”
Surprisingly, he has no obnoxious comeback. Instead, he yawns… dramatically. “Man, I am bushed. I think I’ll crash on the couch tonight, Mom.”
“Oh, no, honey. You can’t,” Mom lets out before I have the chance to. “I made it up for Pete so that Cameron could take his room. You could probably go bunk in your old room with Bradley and Bethany though, if you think you can sneak in without waking them up.”
“If you wake up my youngest child, I will murder you,” Miranda warns. “I’m not about to lose my babysitting privileges with Mom.”
I don’t understand why Jesse can’t just make the fifteen-minute drive to his place, the little bum. His request, however, has me seeing an opportunity. Mom turned Miranda’s old room into a sewing room, so there aren’t any other sleeping arrangement options.
“I can sleep on the floor in my room,” I offer as casually as possible. “Jesse can take the couch.”
“Are you sure?” Mom asks.
“Yeah. It’s fine.” It is more than fine if it gives me an alibi to kiss Cam goodnight.
“Wow. What a great brother you are.” Jesse’s forced compliment comes with a slap to my knee. If I wasn’t so buzzed, that might have hurt. I smell fuckery. “Strange though,” he adds, pressing his index finger to his lower lip. “You’ve never once let me have a sleepover in your room. Did you grow out of that shared-space thing finally?”
“Do you want the couch or not?”
“I mean, sure. Then you can check on our guest…in case he needs anything.”
