Page 30 of Romantic

“Thank you.” Brandon stands up. “Where are those berry bars you were bragging about?”

“In the kitchen,” I answer. “You can take the rest of the pan.” I try to infuse my tone with extra warmth in an effort to compensate for the recent PDA.

“Perfect,” he says, already heading toward the kitchen. “I’m really not in the mood to share.”

You cannot deny me the privilege of disliking him as much as ever. —Sense and Sensibility

9

Brandon

I was right; humble pie is sweet. I had a large serving of it this morning when I apologized to Annie, and she apologized to me. I hate being at odds with her. Everything feels better when we are getting along.

That’s why I foolishly agreed to let Jack tag along on the hike Pepper and I have planned for this evening.

As I left Bumble Cottage yesterday with my pan of berry bars, Annie followed me out to ask if I was really okay with Jack coming along.

“Of course, but maybe you guys could take the PDA down a notch since Pepper will be there?”

I regretted saying that the moment it left my mouth. But Annie simply nodded like it was a reasonable request, rather than a pathetic jibe from a desperately jealous man.

“Of course. Honestly, Jack is comfortable with more PDA than I am.”

“Thanks for understanding.”

“Yeah, well, thank you for being so cool about him coming along, and the dumb things I said last night. I can’t say how sorry I am.”

“I know. You can stop apologizing.”

***

I keep reminding myself that I’m in this for the long game. I know Jack is making big promises, but something tells me he’s not the guy to stick around. Or maybe I just want to believe that. Anyhow, I’ve agreed to go on this hike, and that’s why Jack Willoughby is currently sitting in my passenger seat, whistling, and with one dusty sneaker up on my dash. I’m not going to say a word. I just keep my eyes on the road and occasionally glance at Annie in the rearview mirror. She volunteered to ride in the back with Pepper, who is still too small to sit in the front seat. Pepper and Annie are busily chatting away while Jack and I are struggling to make conversation. I’m racking my brain for things to ask him.

“Have you ever been sailing?” Jack asks me.

“Yes, my dad loves to sail.”

“And you?” he asks.

“It’s not my thing. Pepper gets seasick.”

“You could probably go without her.”

“I could, but I don’t want to. I work enough as it is. When I have time off, I spend it with her.”

“Wow! That’s admirable,” he says with real warmth.

“I didn’t say that to be admirable.”

More awkward silence. I know I should ask him something, but the only question I can think of is: Could you get your dirty shoe off my dash? But Annie said I was being cool about Jack, and so I’m doing my best to make that true.

“What’s that awesome looking plant?” he asks, gesturing to a clump of tall golden grass on the side of the road. I’ll say this for the guy: he’s trying. I’m not making it easy, and he’s still trying. Even if it means talking about plants. “There it is again,” he says pointing out the window. “It makes me think of Roman soldiers’ helmets.”

“That’s pampas grass,” I answer.

“Pampas grass. Huh?” he repeats. “You know that sounds a lot like pompous . . .”

“Jack,” Annie interrupts from the back seat. “Pepper’s in the car! No swearing.”