Page 48 of Blush Crush

My mind is a mess, my nerves are shot, and I’m oscillating between embarrassment and the very real possibility that I’m seriously considering it.

I flop back on my bed and let out an audible groan.

Why couldn’t Cole just stay away like he had been? He disappears for months without a word, only to suddenly reappear and turn me into a twisted pretzel of anxiety. All because he planted a seed.

And now I can’t stop thinking about that goddamn seed.

Luckily, my thoughts are broken up by a knock on my door.

They’re early.

Layla, Elyse, Marisa, and Scottie said they were going to stop by for a bit in the group chat. I made the mistake of telling Layla about the pipe bursting and the subsequent flooding, and now everyone seems to think I really am made of porcelain, because of course I must be broken beyond repair to have survived such an ordeal.

I make a quick sweep of the apartment—tossing a throw pillow back onto the couch, closing my bedroom door so no one has to witness the state of it—before pulling the front door open.

All four of them are standing in the hallway like a welcoming committee. Layla is holding wine. Elyse has a takeout bag from the Thai place on Third. Marisa and Scottie are mid-conversation about something, still laughing when the door opens.

“We come bearing gifts,” Layla announces, holding up the wine.

“I told you I was fine.”

“And we brought wine anyway,” Scottie says cheerfully, already stepping past me into the apartment.

I stand aside to let them all through.

It’s funny how not that long ago it was just us sisters, but adding Scottie and Marisa to the mix makes it hard to remember what it was like before them. They fit so seamlessly with us. For all my brothers’ annoying antics in childhood and never-ending overprotection, at least they know how to pick partners. The jury is still out on Shane, though. I suspect if he ever does settle down, we’ll either love her or she’ll be the bane of our existence.

Duchess, who normally treats guests with thinly veiled contempt, immediately goes to Elyse, which tells me Duchess can likely sense that Elyse is her in human form—wants to be included and loves attention, but do not touch her wrong because she will snap.

We spread out across the living room—Marisa and Scottie on the couch, Layla cross-legged on the floor, Elyse in the armchair with Duchess already in her lap, me wedged into the corner wrapped in my fuzzy throw blanket.

Layla gets up to rummage through my cabinets without asking and pours the wine.

The conversation flows, and thankfully I’m not the center of it. Scottie tells us about her and Gavin and his daughter Lily’s time in Chicago. Marisa talks about her and Ethan potentially having a big-ish wedding. Ethan must really love her because I don’t think any of us could pay him to stand at an altar and declare his love for someone in front of hundreds of people, but we’re all quickly learning there’s just about nothing Ethan wouldn’t do for Marisa, and it makes my hopeless romantic heart squeeze with joy to witness it. Elyse recently found out she’s pregnant, so she’s been happily sipping on apple juice and glowing, not the least bit envious of being excluded from the wine. She and her husband Dominic have been very vocal about wanting to start a family, and after everything they’ve been through, they definitely deserve something to celebrate.

It’s so nice hearing about everyone’s lives that I almost let myself relax. But then I remember there’s no way they’re letting me off the hook that easily. They may be here to check on me, but they’re also here to meddle, like they always do.

“Okay so,” Layla says during a lull, setting her glass down. “We need to talk about getting you out there.”

I look at her. “Out where? I thought you guys were here to make sure I didn’t get hurt this morning.”

“Well, yeah. Clearly you’re fine. I’m almost an RN, so I’m qualified to say that.” She waves a hand vaguely at me. “What I mean is out there as in dating. Putting yourself out there. Meeting people.”

“I meet people every day. I own a coffee shop,” I say flatly, but beneath that my body tenses. They do this once in a while, usually with Layla at the helm, trying to get me to date some guy they want to set me up with or convince me to join an app for the millionth time. I’ve never had any interest, and I still don’t. I don’t understand why they can’t just leave it alone and let me go at my own pace.

“Making someone’s coffee order is not the same as getting to know them,” Marisa says. “That’s different.”

“Where is this coming from? My life is perfectly fine.”

“Your life is great,” Elyse says carefully. “That’s actually kind of the point. You’ve done so much good work on yourself lately—the new clothes, the confidence, you seem so much more comfortable in your own skin. We just think—” she pauses, glancing at Layla?—

“You should be putting yourself out there more,” Layla finishes. “While you’re feeling good. Strike while the iron is hot.”

I look around the room. Four faces, all varying degrees of earnest and well-meaning and absolutely not going to let this go.

“I appreciate what you’re all trying to do,” I say. “But I don’t need the advice, and don’t even think about trying to set me up.”

“What about a dating app?” Scottie offers. “It doesn’t have to be serious. Just?—”