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I place a hand on my hip. "No, Mom. This is Wilder. You've already met him. He's been our neighbor for, like, six years."
Mom shrugs as she takes a swig from her bottle. "I like his hair, but he has deep-set eyes. You know what they say about deep set eyes, Ingrid."
"No, I do—"
"According to face reading experts on the TikTok—"
"Here we go," I mutter under my breath as Dad and I share a look.
"—deep set eyes belong to calculating people who thirst for power."
"Jill," Dad groans, embarrassed.
"They're also slow to act," Mom continues. "If you're hoping he's going to make a move, you might be sorely disappointed. But that doesn't mean you can't be the one to make it."
"Thanks for... that," I blink slowly. "Anyway, Dad can we borrow your car to go see a movie?"
Dad points to the kitchen. "Keys are on the counter."
"You should read Reality Murphy's blog," Wilder says to Mom. "Sources are saying it's Kristin who wins the final rose. Not Joanna."
Mom gasps. "Really?"
"Really," Wilder shrugs.
"Thanks," I say loudly, interrupting Wilder and Mom's weird, reality TV gossip. I grab the keys, then Wilder's arm, and drag my latest suitor through the foyer.
"I love your family," Wilder chuckles as I shut the front door behind us. "They're a nice blend of crazy."
"They're a mess," I shake my head. "It's even worse when Queen Isla and Frank the Fornicator are around. My parents are terrified of them."
"Well," Wilder hitches a shoulder, "every story must have quirky side characters."
I scoff. "Isla is not quirky. She's deranged."
"She's like the evil stepsisters of The Winthrop-verse."
"Okay," I laugh as I walk beside him to the car. "What does that even mean?"
"Isla gives off big main character energy, but she's too selfish to ever be the hero. She's just an intriguing side character who pushes the heroine into the garden to meet her saving grace," Wilder winks at me. "A pumpkin that turns into a carriage."
"I'm sorry," I clear my throat, "but beneath this flagrant fuckboy facade, are you actually human?"
"No," he stands perfectly still before stiffly raising his arms. "I am robot," he rattles off in a monotone voice. "Sent here to destroy you."
"Why are you so weird?"
"Because I have deep-set eyes," he raises his eyebrows at me. "Didn't you hear Jill?"
"No, deep-set eyes denote a thirst for power crippled only by your inability to act quickly. Doesn't explain why you're weird."
"You really believe that face-reading stuff?" Wilder throws a thumb over his shoulder. "Do I have deep-set eyes?"
"Hmm," I study him curiously. There's a tiny mole beneath his left eye. Soft greens and bright golds in his hazel irises. Long, dark eyelashes that flutter against his tanned skin every time he blinks. Under the gentle glow of the fading sun, he's kind of beautiful.
What?
No.
