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A waiter nearly dropped my coffee cup onto the saucer and I winced, pain lancing through my head.
It was super not helping my damage control tour planning that I was hungover as hell. Every time I tried to think of how I’d start the conversation, something—usually mind-boggling pain—would distract me.
“Ally!”
I looked up, trying to grin at Paige in an ‘I don’t feel like a dentist’s drill is going through my skull’ sort of way.
“Hey, Paige.”
She looked great, rested and content and glowing with new love in a pair of comfy jeans and a soft pink cardigan. Guilt turned over in my stomach, more painful than the hangover.
What I was about to say would probably wipe that happy smile right off her face.
Before I could even get started, though, the waiter swooped over, probably drawn by the glow of Paige’s contentment. “And what can I get you two ladies?”
“Stack of pancakes with strawberry syrup and whipped cream, a side of bacon extra well done, and a mint chocolate chip milkshake, please,” Paige said with a chipper grin, which only increased my trepidation. Paige only risked our mother’s wrath with a calorie-loaded meal like that when she was feeling on top of the world.
“Just more water and some dry toast, thanks,” I muttered, digging through my purse and wishing desperately that a bottle of ibuprofen would appear in the bottom. No dice. Of course not.
“Is something wrong?” Paige asked. “Did you lose your phone, or—?”
“Nope,” I grumbled, setting my purse back on the seat. “I’m fine.”
After the waiter was gone, there was an awkward silence that was probably less than five seconds, but that my guilt managed to stretch into eons.
“Ally, honestly, what’s bothering you?” Paige’s voice was concerned now. “Usually when we’re here, I can’t get you to stop raving about the waffles.”
“The waffles are still rave-worthy,” I said.
“Or else you’d be ranting about work,” Paige went on with a fond smile. “All the injustices and slights you’re fighting uphill against, but how it’ll all be worth it someday.”
“Didn’t realize I was such a predictable conversationalist,” I said awkwardly.
“No, no, I like hearing you talk about work!” Paige said quickly. “I’ve always admired how hard you fight—is that it? Did something really bad happen at your job?”
“No, no,” I said before she could get too worried about me and twist the guilt-knife in my gut any further. “Nothing bad. Something kind of good, actually. For me.”
Paige’s forehead creased slightly. “What’s the problem, then?”
“Good…for me,” I repeated. “Maybe not so good for you. Um…Hunter. Well. He kissed me. I kissed him. We kissed. I’m so sorry—”
Paige laughed.
My head snapped up, indignation fighting for space alongside the guilt and rapidly winning. “I’m serious, Paige. It’s the truth! I wouldn’t lie about—”
“Of course you wouldn’t!” Paige said, taking my hand and squeezing it. “Oh, I’m not laughing at you at all, Ally—well, not for that. Just for thinking you could hide something from your big sister. I could tell you liked him. We weren’t really dating.”
I gaped, unable to contemplate a reality in which people cheerfully decided not to date Hunter Knox. “Seriously?”
“Seriously,” Paige as**sured me. “To tell the truth, I only went along with the whole thing to keep Mom happy and off my back for awhile. I was never interested in Hunter; he’s not even remotely my type.”
I snorted in shocked disbelief. “How is that man not anyone’s type?”
“Well…” Paige smiled a secretive, happy little smile. “…you remember Sergei?”
“Vaguely?” I remembered some Russian guy from Paige’s college art courses: tall, skinny, androgynous; deep soulful brown eyes but couldn’t grow a beard if his life depended on it, and a build that reminded me of nothing so much as a collection of coat hangers strung together tenuously. “Well, different strokes for different folks, I guess.”
“Oh, stroking has been happening, all right,” Paige said in a low voice with a wicked grin that seemed imported from an alternate universe, not native to the face of my famously dependable and well-behaved older sister.
“Uh, what?” I said, an answering grin beginning to steal across my face.
Paige lowered her voice. “Can I tell you a secret?”
“Of course!”
That wicked grin widened, and she let out a little giggle. “I’ve been seeing him again! Under the Mom-radar, of course. He’s painting me,” she sighed.
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