“This isn’t a date,” I correct. Her eyes narrow in on me, then the pizza box. “It’s a… strategy session. If we’re going to pull this off, we need a solid story.”
She twists the tie of her bathrobe around her hand. “You’ve thought this through.”
I push past the stab of disappointment at her disbelief. “You seem like you like a plan.”
“Eldest daughter syndrome.”
“Sounds serious. Here I am thinking middle children have it bad.”
“What? Being ignored? That sounds like a vacation.”
I move toward the cabinets. “Where do you keep?—”
“Over by the sink.”
“Thanks.” I open a door to find a stack of vintage china with little flowers curling around the rims. I glance at her, one brow raised.
“Too alpha to eat off a plate with a flower on it?”
It’s delicate, this dance we’re doing. She’s barely tolerating me being here, but I can also tell she’s at least a little curious.
“I like that you like what you like.” I set two plates on the table. “Didn’t know what kind of pizza you preferred, so I ordered half pepperoni, half veggie.”
She scoffs, sinks down in the chair opposite me, and pulls a piece of pepperoni free.
“Help yourself to a drink. Glasses are next to the plates.” She takes a bite, then points to the fridge. “I think I have some soda if you don’t want water. Guessing you shouldn’t have beer, but there’s some if you want it.”
She takes another long sip through her straw.
“So you will have a Slurpee with me after all?”
“I said I wouldn’t get one with you. Didn’t say I wouldn’t accept one as a bribe.”
She playfully flips me off as I fill up a glass of water, then grab a piece of veggie pizza once I sit back down.
“Wow, middle finger and everything. Easy, Sinclair, I might think you’re flirting with me.”
I lean back in my chair, trying not to laugh at how hard she fights a grin. I’ve done my research. I know about her bookstore, and I’ve seen the curated selfies. It’s a story she sells to the rest of the world. I’m just as fucking guilty of doing the same. Butright now, it feels like that’s all falling away to something more vulnerable.
I catch myself staring at her mouth, then glance away. That’s when I notice the record playing softly—something I don’t recognize. Candles flicker around us, a few scattered on the countertop and windowsills. Everything about Izzy is cozy and warm, and the small part of me that’s desperate to win her over relaxes just a sliver.
“We barely know each other,” she says finally, wiping her hands on a napkin.
“Then why don’t we fix that?”
She picks up her pizza, about to take a bite, then quickly tosses it down onto her plate. “This feels an awful lot like a date, Murphy.”
I try my best to ignore the way my heart pounds against my ribs when she says my name, her voice rough and exasperated. “Fine, we’ll skip the small talk and dive into the deep end.”
Izzy shakes her head, smiling. “You don’t want to know me.”
Except I do. More than I should.
She’s impossible to look away from—eyes that remind me of the deep water just past the breakwater, and just as moody.
“If you could magically become really good at anything, what would you choose?”
“Your middle child is showing, Jack. I’m good at everything.”
